village voice

When Satire Turns into Reality

Tuesday, January 20th, 2009

wearefucked

Eight years ago when George W. Bush was handed the election by the Supreme Court, I was in New York City, working at the Village Voice, that bastion of liberalism and lefty queers. The night of the election, I was in Astoria, Queens, eating an Italian dinner and checking my phone for news updates, then a newfangled technology that was certainly costing me a lot of money.

As the dinner progressed, and me and my roommate made our way back to our house in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, the updates were more and more dire; Al Gore, who had previously seemed like he would take the Presidency, was in a lock with Bush. We waited for hours and hours and stayed up all night, and in the morning still didn’t know who was the leader of the free world.

The week before the inauguration, the Onion ran a satirical story,  “Bush: ‘Our Long National Nightmare Of Peace And Prosperity Is Finally Over.’” At the time, it was sort of funny, ha-ha. We laughed, but were uneasy.

While I knew a lot of people who didn’t like Bush and preferred the other guy, there were plenty of lefties who voted for Ralph Nader, having bought Nader’s pitch that Bush and Gore were essentially the same and voted for Nader. I knew they weren’t at all the same; I knew that on women’s issues and gay rights Gore and Bush were further apart than the Israelis and the Palestinians. I knew that Bush was a born-again Christian hellbent on pushing his binary vision of the world, good  and evil, and was sure that he would push legislation that he thought would work to banish his definition of “evil.”

That Onion article, it turned out, predicted, with frightening accuracy, all of the things that I feared.

Could the writers of the Onion really been thinking this would become a reality?

“During the 40-minute speech, Bush also promised to bring an end to the severe war drought that plagued the nation under Clinton, assuring citizens that the U.S. will engage in at least one Gulf War-level armed conflict in the next four years.”

Here we are, six years after Shock and Awe in Iraq failed to shock or awe, we are still in Iraq, with our troops stretched thin, and needed to battle forces in Afghanistan. People forget, also, that Bush, when when he wasn’t taunting Iran, essentially threatened and bullied North Korea, and if Iraq had been the cakewalk they had been predicting, we would have no doubt gone into another war, for absolutely no good reason.

Perhaps my favorite passage:

“We as a people must stand united, banding together to tear this nation in two,” Bush said. “Much work lies ahead of us: The gap between the rich and the poor may be wide, be there’s much more widening left to do. We must squander our nation’s hard-won budget surplus on tax breaks for the wealthiest 15 percent. And, on the foreign front, we must find an enemy and defeat it.”

And how scary accurate is this fake-prediction-turned-true?

“On the economic side, Bush vowed to bring back economic stagnation by implementing substantial tax cuts, which would lead to a recession, which would necessitate a tax hike, which would lead to a drop in consumer spending, which would lead to layoffs, which would deepen the recession even further.”

The unemployment rate is 7.2 percent, the highest since after the second World War; people are foreclosing on their homes; and I have so many friends who are out of work it’s hard now to swallow that pill that Nader was selling. Does anyone believe today that Gore and Bush were basically one and the same?

By the time Bush was elected in 2004, I had printed out and taped a piece of paper that was a mock-up of  a Time magazine cover. It was a picture of W. with a “who me?” look on his face over a black background, and the words, “We’re Fucked,” emblazoned across the top. I looked at that picture every single day. This time, I am looking forward to giving myself a more optimistic outlook. I just needed a little hope and man named Barack Obama.

yes-we-did-o-on-map

Riffs&Revolutions: Michael Gonzales on writer Nelson George

Wednesday, November 26th, 2008

The moniker “renaissance man” is perhaps overused, but I really can’t think of another way to describe journalist/author/producer/director/man about many towns Nelson George. That’s a lot of slashes for one East New York raised dude, but the fact that he does each with perfection is enough to make a roomful of posers pissed on sight.

As New York as a George Gershwin song played by Bobby Short, as Harlem as a Chester Himes novel directed by Woody Allen, as Brooklyn as a Biggie Smalls track produced by Danger Mouse, as international as a black Bond, the brother is everywhere. Still, no matter how busy the man is, there has never been a time when he couldn’t spare a few moments to give yours dearly a little insight on whatever old R&B legend I might be writing about at the time.

Damn, even in the midst of promoting his 2007 HBO film Life Support (which he wrote and directed), the brother still found time to school me on the DeBarge family drama for my then upcoming Vibe feature “Broken Dreams,” which will be reprinted next year in the Best African-American Essays 2009 edited by Debra J. Dickerson and Gerald Early. From a man who has jiggy folks like Jamie Fox, Chris Rock and Queen Latifah on his speed dial, color this “colored” (lets thank Lindsay Lohan for bringing the word back) brother impressed.

Of course, being a fan of his ’80s writings in Billboard and the Village Voice (where George penned more than a few superb essays for his Native Son column) I’ve known Nelson George longer than he’s known me. Being the geeky nerd boy that I am, a brother still remembers our first meeting one warm summer day in 1988.

Standing in the train station at 145th Street and Broadway, there was funny drunk who was talking much junk out loud. Looking like the Ned the Wino from Good Times, dude was ranting about who knows what. Yet, while everybody else was moving away from him, I noticed Nelson George watching this “performance” as though it were a one-man show Off-Broadway. “There’s nothing as entertaining as an old school drunk,” Nelson said, when he noticed me.

Like the great Richard Pryor, whose ghetto observations was a major influence for many urban writers, Nelson clearly understood that raw material for future writings could be found wherever one might be.

Since then Nelson has written many non-fiction books (on topics ranging from Motown to basketball, hiphop to black films), novels short stories and magazine articles; in addition he also helped fund Spike’s first joint She’s Got to Have It (released two years before I met him), wrote and produced Strictly BusinessCB4 and and, currently, is the man behind VH1 Hip-Hop Honors and BET’s popular American Gangster. As if that wasn’t enough, he has also started shooting a series of short films, the first being A Barber’s Tale.

Next year, I’m looking forward to reading his upcoming autobiography City Kid: A Writer’s Memoir of Ghetto Life and Post-Soul Success. How he does so much I’ll never know, but in my next life, I want to be Nelson George. [Ed note: Me too!]

TO VIEW A BARBER’S TALE, GO TO: http://starworksny.com/blog/2008/11/07/barbers-tale

http://nelsondgeorge.net

[Ed note, part 2: Check out Nelson's awesome new show, which he hosts, on VH1 Soul, "Soul Cities." So far, they've profiled Chicago, Philly, San Fran and New Orleans. Next up: Los Angeles! Check out more here.]


This originally appeared on Michael Gonzales’ blog.

All That Jazz

Tuesday, October 7th, 2008


My friend, venerable music critic Michaelangelo Matos, has a good piece in Good magazine, titled, “Who’s A Dilettante?” It’s about how, despite the fact that he likes jazz, and listens to it, he’ll never be an expert on it. Which, for a critic, is sort of like admitting total defeat, because critics are supposed to be all-knowing-know-it-alls. And while Matos does a great job on most genres, he admits when listening to Duke Ellington:

Then I hit a wall. I listen to and like jazz, own a lot of albums.
If I put them on a shelf together, you might think I know something
about it. But I know squat, and listening to all that Ellington just
proved it further. Even allowing myself the luxury of writing about him
was a map so big you could never find its end, where would I begin? I
realized that however much I enjoy jazz, I’ll likely remain a
dilettante about it. And I discovered something else as well: this is
how I prefer it.

That made me laugh out loud. I sort of understand where he’s coming from, but I have a much more extreme relationship with jazz. If you looked at my music shelf, you might think it didn’t exist at all. Because I own no jazz. Purposely.

My father was a jazz musician. He played the bass. At one point he did it professionally, but then he grew up and got a real job in the casinos in Vegas and picked it up in his off hours. It was all the most severe noodlely instrumental stuff. Duke Ellington, who Matos writes about, figured prominently; so did Miles Davis, and some other people who I’ve totally blocked out.

I hated jazz. I hated the timbre of it—I like deep bass sounds (probably the only legacy Dad has left me)—and didn’t find the high-end, treble-centric tonality of it aesthetically pleasing. I didn’t like how it meandered all over the place, and I needed to hear vocals. Listening to jazz was sort of like eating broccoli as a child. You knew it was supposed to be good for you, but you didn’t like it, not one bit.

Of course, it didn’t help that whenever I was playing say, the latest Guns and Roses record, he would wander in and give me a lecture some 20 minutes long about how my music was garbage. He would then list the specifics. We did not have a great relationship. I was 16.

Later, when I had moved to New York, and was writing about dance music for the Village Voice, longtime Voice music critic Greg “Ironman” Tate was sitting nearby and writing on a computer. Somehow we got onto the subject of jazz, and I told him my little story, and he laughed at me. “You listen to today’s jazz,” he pointed out.

This was sort of true. Dance music is mostly instrumental, with long meandering sections that come back together at the end of the piece. I looked sheepishly at the floor and had to admit a certain amount of defeat. The Ironman was right. There was one thing that dance music favored in a way that jazz did not, though—and that was bass. But then, I realized, maybe, I was my father’s daughter after all.

GOOD » Who’s a Dilettante? »