Posts Tagged ‘the past’

FEATURE EXCLUSIVE: 1450 Days (And 48 Years) After The End

Saturday, April 23rd, 2022

As you have heard me say on this blog too many times already to count, DEVO holds a continuously relevant presence in our society whether you want it to or not. And while the majority of the world still sees them as just some harmless, kooky one-hit-wonder from the 80s, their philosophy runs much deeper and darker than wiggly lines and bright colors suggest, and it dates back to the seediest early seventies basements of Kent, Ohio, places where new wave sheen would never dare to shine. DEVO were in the trenches, residents of Ground Zero, witnesses to de-evolution in action.

It just so happens that their second ever public musical communication of their de-evolutionary theory happened 48 years ago today. (Can you believe it’ll be 50 years since their first show next year?) As a partial live recording of the concert surfaced last year, current de-evolutionary scholars have a better idea than ever of what that early gestational period was like before Akron catalyzed DEVO’s big break, overshadowing Kent’s undeniable birth of the band.

One such scholar, my good friend and collaborator Max Devo (AKA Zhir Vengersky) has summed up the events in a brilliant little essay he wished to have me expose to the world. I was more than willing to handle the job. I’ll stop my spiel now and turn the microphone to him.

Read on below:

(more…)

01/06/2022

Thursday, January 6th, 2022

A year ago today, I did not go to school. Due to our COVID-enforced hybrid schedule, Wednesdays were at-home days where no virtual classes took place.

In our living room, my mother had the news on in anticipation for the televised electoral vote count from the previous year’s election. I was interested to see how the event would play out, as I was well aware that protestors would be at the Capitol insisting that the loss of the previous president to the people’s vote was unjust. I was expecting to laugh at a gaggle of delusional, pathetic fools as one of this country’s final remaining tenets of democracy did its thing.

What I actually ended up seeing was a direct, effective, borderline killer threat to democracy itself.

I was practically glued to my television screen as rioters with their profane chants and absurd displays of red, white, and blue clumped into a boisterous mass eventually powerful enough to seep into the Capitol with very little restraint. I got to see a makeshift militia of brainwashed, blood lusted, homegrown terrorists, ordered by their chosen leader to protect their country by trampling on its foundations, stumble around those supposedly sacred halls of American institution, power-drunk and disgraceful. What did the popular vote matter when these once-marginalized, now-organized morons didn’t get their favorite flavor of Popsicle?

I knew right away that things would never truly be the same again.

The storm was ultimately unsuccessful at actually overthrowing the government. But it threw the doors wide open for those who cannot stand to think that we are all human. It beamed from the rooftops: fight for your belief in lies! Fight for inequality! You can do it! And these signals have worked, based on how many concerned parents have been putting up hands at school board meetings or opting for homeschool because their districts dare to teach children basic truth, or how many people are passing around cups of bleach flavored Kool-Aids about everything under the sun.

A lot of people love to cry “never again” at every big, culture-shattering event before excusing events of similar magnitude that do not negatively effect them or their favorite political pundit. But it’s true: deluding yourself has never been so cool.

Maybe it’s time we stop living in fear of the truth. Maybe.

09/11/2021

Saturday, September 11th, 2021

Since I could first cognitively think, September 11 has been a day of lecture. Every year on that day, my teachers would take a special few minutes at the beginning of every class period to reflect on and explain their personal 9/11 experiences to us. It was an attempt at contextualization for our young, burgeoning minds who never got to live in a world without taking your shoes off at the airport or the Department of Homeland Security.

It sometimes feels unreal that, as much as I may relate to the adult role models who surround me, they knew waters that I will never swim in and no one ever can again. The pool is remodeled, and all those changes can’t be undone, and all I can do is read the recounts, look at the old photos, and try to understand the facts.

I never intend to speak for my entire generation’s perspective, though. As much as my generation gets classified as a homogenous cluster of activists and freethinkers, I know first hand how blatantly ignorant and close minded some people my age can be. Sadly, looking at the world through the clearest lenses I have, it’s quite safe to say that most of them will retain their false pride for the rest of their lives. While some love to argue otherwise, cruelty and selfishness know no generational restriction. Just look at the response that was unleashed twenty years ago, when not blindly saluting the flag in the name of Middle Eastern slaughter was “un-American.” I wonder why Muslim hate crimes in America have yet to reach pre-9/11 levels after they skyrocketed in 2001. Humans here aren’t as nice as the propaganda makes them out to be.

With American flags waving in the wind right beside Trump 2020 signs, it seems like barely anyone has learned from the jingoism, the violence, the hatred. But was learning ever the point? The wildfire continues to rage, and people continue to suffer in cruel ways supported by deep roots. The fostering of close-mindedness and suppression of critical thought that billowed up like clouds of debris smoke resulted in a terror that was homegrown, not some tricky bogeyman from abroad. It is a terror that has culminated in the destruction of lives and the obliteration of common sense, and there’s just no going back.

You can decline the supersize Freedom Fries offer with your Happy Meal, sure. But when Big Daddy has force fed you blind submission to the powers that be your entire life, isn’t succumbing just so much easier?

Poor News Report

Saturday, August 21st, 2021

It’s 2021, and the boys are back in town—the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan boys, that is. Almost twenty years after the American military sent the Taliban’s government went into exile, they’re back in power after America’s (truly weak sauce) withdrawal. You would think that twenty years of occupation would have produced some hurdles for the Taliban to climb, but their regain of what they had lost was sickeningly swift.

It’s the miserable end of a miserable war that has been going on since before I was born, one that, looking at the plain hard facts, ultimately proved useless for the greater good. The money has been spent, the death toll is still staggering, the weapons suppliers are doing exceptionally well, and the innocent people of Afghanistan, humans like you or me, are back to being incessantly victimized by an excruciatingly oppressive and fundamentalist state. Got enough of rose-tinted late 90s-early 2000s nostalgia? Try going back 500 years, when women weren’t permitted autonomous thought and simple forms of recreation were considered a front against the man upstairs. Heaven on earth, truly.

But is that really that different from the country I reside in? You can rejoice in the streets about how a man in a blue tie is in office, but that isn’t stopping the men in red ties, the conservatives, our own Taliban, from trying to exert their own archaic control over the populous. Bills proposing the restriction of voting rights, abortion, and gender expression continue to pop up like kernels of butter-drenched popcorn at the movie theater, granted that movie theater hasn’t closed down because of a local spike in COVID-19 cases.

The COVID problem is also an important matter here, as leagues of religious fundamentalists claim that wearing a mask for the safety of others in the middle of a worldwide pandemic is some ungodly offense. Vaccines, too, are seen as satanic, as they’ll apparently rape your body with either a tracking chip or reptile DNA, depending on which science disbeliever you ask. All this when hospitalization rates of those who abide by these reckless behaviors are spiking from their selfishness. We’re going back once again, back to when leeches and snake oils were used as cure-alls. Mind, these are the same people who also want to restrict the bodily autonomy of women and other innocent people in the name of the lord, just like those Taliban boys over there.

And did we all just forget about when the so-called patriots who believe all of this tried to pull their own takeover at the Capitol building last January? I witnessed the attempt at insurrection on live television, and I can remember it like yesterday. Unsatisfied by Biden as the country’s choice of president but fully aware that his election win was genuine, I had innocently turned on the news hoping to simply observe his presidency be validated, because seeing democracy actually happen successfully is pretty satisfying in today’s perpetually corrupt hellworld. I was aware that the moment was one that would be placed in the history books after months of incessant “Stop The Steal” squabble calling for another four years of Trumpolini (like the country hadn’t been decimated enough by the first four). I also expected counterprotests at the scene by those delusional goons indoctrinated into his suicide cult of personality, because you can’t help but do so after four years of fringe conspiracy insanity becoming mainstream political discussion.

What I ended up seeing was a nation’s people mobilized against itself, their brains rotted by lies and conspiracy, exerting violence in the name of tyranny, the decimation of what remnants of democracy we still claim to cling to. The halls of the Capitol became the stomping grounds for a horde of neurotic rednecks, a deranged militia free to roam in defilement of something once considered worthy of protection. All sanity and sense of what should be was forcibly ejected out the window. The patients had taken over the asylum.

It still unsettles me to think about; I never would have expected for the world’s forces of de-evolution, those dangerous delusions, to catalyze such an attack, to go that far off the deep end. People died that day. Many others feared death or worse. It was a nail in a coffin.

But we’re America. We’re united. We believe in freedom—freedom to treat others like dirt because they’re different than you. It could never happen here, could it?

Going Wild For Jihad Jerry

Monday, July 12th, 2021

I made a spur-of-the-moment post a few weeks ago upon the release of DEVO bassist Jerry Casale‘s new single, “I’m Gonna Pay U Back.” The song’s music video came out on the 8th, and upon watching it, I think I got a taste of the “positive brainwashing” I’ve been longing for recently. For the rest of that day, I was as excitable and positively charged as ever, coinciding with a period of creative stimulation in my own regard. Three days later, the wave of excitement, relief, and emotion that drenched my mind has (for the most part) subsided, allowing me to write about the matter at hand with more precision.

The music video coincides with the widespread reissue of Jerry’s 2006 solo album as the venerable “Jihad Jerry,” who wears turbans that match his suit coats and declares that “[his] is not a holy war.” The album itself supplies hard-hitting blues rock injected with an indie-electro twist, and Jerry is flanked by two soulful female backup singers to help him spit his de-evolutionary bars. Three DEVO rarities and a Yardbirds song receive updates for the twenty-first century.

Me discovering the album due to my exploration of the DEVO discography was cathartic. Jerry’s declaration of a “war against stupidity” instead of one against drugs or any specific religion was a refreshing statement for an angry, skeptical girl in a prejudiced, complacent world to hear. The project was satirically bent and just plain baffling at times, just like DEVO’s tactics of confusion and absurdity that made their medicinal messaging go down so tightly. It was bold and funny and refreshingly weird, and it spoke to me unlike much else had. (I touched on this here, too.)

With CD copies being scarce, I always hoped it would receive the reissue it deserved someday, though I did not entirely expect that to happen. I figured it would be too easy for a naive public to decontextualize Jerry’s tomfoolery and try to rip him a new hole for his alter ego, and part of me wondered if the project would get buried in the sands of time in the name of “playing it safe.” Cue the album getting reissued after all, with Jihad placed front and center, burning with passion and pride in woodblock effigy, on the album cover. Go figure.

It’s the perfect time to reissue it, too: nostalgia holds a fifteen year cycle, and fashion magazines seem to be plugging “Y2K” trends as the hottest thing a lot recently, though the low rise jeans and flip phones they promote seem more “mid-ohs excess” than “late 1990s techno fear.” Even I’m not completely immune: I ordered a brand new iPod for my birthday, as I still haven’t jumped the shark from MP3 collecting to streaming. (And now I can listen to remastered Jihad Jerry on it.) It seems like everyone is looking back on that dark and trashy time, trying to find refuge from an increasingly dire present. But is mindless indulgence and glamorization the best way to deal with thousands of faceless humans dying on the other side of the planet? Jihad Jerry asked this question back then, and now he asks it again.

In his new music video, Jerry confronts his alter ego in acknowledgement of his past and the mutinous multitudes he contains. It’s a daring example of self-expression, and Jerry is still bold and unapologetic in his seventies, despite various societal aggressions that the role of the elderly is to gripe about the youth from their high rocking chairs. (Not that he doesn’t look a good twenty years younger than he actually is without the video’s sci-fi Prisma filter.) He remains a spirited misfit and provocateur just as he was back in the day. But times have changed since then, and the future is even more uncertain than it was fifteen years ago. That also explains his urgency, his willingness to be so forward. Best to let yourself be heard while you still have the ability to speak.

Flash Flood

Sunday, June 13th, 2021

The five hour drive was worth it. Kent was a success!

From exploring the town Wednesday night to touring the campus the next morning, my time in Kent was a fascinating and eye opening experience. I was not sure what to expect, as judging a location’s current condition when most of your knowledge comes from its history can be difficult. Yet I was overall extremely satisfied while I was there.

Twelve beaming floors of library at Kent State.

My primary gripe: leaving so early. We stayed just one night, and a large part of me wanted to do nothing but continue wandering the campus in the burning heat, taking in the brutalish buildings and towering trees, fantasizing about undergraduate life. Chances to escape from my usual surroundings are often scarce and always short lived, making every drive home something to dread. Too often these excursions seem to zip by in a flash in retrospect, which is what I guess results from savoring something so much that you let go of some of the uptightness you’ve grown accustomed to and start living in the moment…not that’s a necessarily bad thing.

This temporary change of scenery extremely refreshing for my psyche, but it was also enlightening to spend time in a place that holds both historical significance and increasing relevancy, especially since learning of the massacre that occurred on campus in 1970 left a large impact on me. It was a genuinely sobering experience to walk where four young innocents had their futures obliterated decades ago, the same grounds where modern youths currently prepare for their own postcollegiate lives to unfold. Seeing markers for where protesting students were shot and the sectioned off areas in the nearby parking lot showing where the four were killed seemed unreal in the moment, and my emotions only began to really hit home after leaving. I was able to leave that campus with feelings of actual hope of an actual future. Allison, Jeffrey, Sandra, and William suffered a very different experience than what I would envision for myself or anyone else.

A memorial for the four slain students by the parking lot where they were murdered. The lot is still in use.

The abuse of illegitimate authority that resulted in the May 4 massacre remains the same today, albeit in more refined form. At Kent State, the memorials and informational placards are the most blatant reminder of why the good fight is still worth fighting, though the somewhat seedy wooded areas on the outskirts of the town that we got lost in upon our initial arrival also seem to serve that purpose. I remember reading that, during that period of turmoil and pain, Kent State’s liberal students considered the campus an “oasis” from the surrounding deep red territory. Living in an area where I am constantly bombarded by Trump 2020 signs alongside various less explicit methods of bigotry, I can’t help but feel for them. If only life was just and everything was easy.

Despite this, the chances of me joining their ranks as a “Golden Flash” have only become more likely since my visit. Kent State genuinely felt like a place I could worm my way into and find plenty nourishment. Brand new things and brand new places often have an atmosphere of impenetrability and intimidation, as they are associated with breaking out of one’s comfort zone and embracing a new world. But I didn’t feel as much like a fish out of water in Kent. Actually, my visit felt more like I was entering a comfort zone of sorts. It was a comfort zone formed by both the assertion of myself as an independent person and constant reminders of history and the experiences of others. But isn’t that a fundamental—albeit complicated and looming—aspect of the human experience?

All There Is

Saturday, June 5th, 2021

In examining the world around me, I constantly find myself longing for something more.

Over time I’ve become extremely tired with my current, mostly static environment, one that I still have around a year to revel in before the onset of college. Example: I went on a spur-of-the-moment excursion today for a nearby town’s annual neighborhood yard sale. The majority of that time was spent marching through a small town sidewalk hell hole in overwhelming heat spying nothing but baby clothes and grimy rom-com DVDs. Such a scene serves as a textbook example of what I hate about my current location, the fuel for my daydreams of mid-century minimalist abodes and illuminated action cities. (Don’t get me started on how today’s sights support my attitude towards society as a whole, or we’ll be here all day.) I insist that my reveries are not entirely selfish, though it is impossible for any human being to truly escape their innate ego. All human beings have the right to live life in the way most fulfilling to them; cruel societal barriers say otherwise.

The only items I acquired on my misadventure were found far away from those goons in a completely different part of my area, in the much shadier suburban driveway of an older yet lively woman who was inviting and didn’t have a vengeful Trump sign hanging outside her residence. My finds screamed of hope chest material: A classy button jacket for when the weather gets chilly, a simple red and silver necklace to spruce up dinner dates that I’ve never been on, and two matching cummerbund sets for when me and my future hubby want to have some fun at fancy dinner parties. All this investment for six dollars. If you couldn’t tell, I’ve thought out what I’d like my future to hold quite a bit.

I am fully aware that, in order to make my hypothetical future happen in some capacity, I’m going to have to work. No matter my determination level, I’m still going to have to negotiate with everything else happening around me. Both roadblocks to progress and unexpected opportunities are guaranteed to emerge and run me off track. My plans could very well become fragmented or shattered entirely.

It’s also hard aspiring to resemble one’s heroes in life, even though the circumstances they gained their success under have gone extinct. Comparing the past to the present is a natural reflex—for me, at least. Too many assume that our present is automatically better than our past solely because, according to some, the forward movement of time always signals a positive societal progression. This is not the case in a world as chaotic as ours, and if anything that trajectory is burrowing deeper and deeper into the pits daily. While I do witness many notable changes occurring on a societal scale, these changes are rarely positive. Bigotry and idiocy continue to be normalized, causing most attempts at progress to function as largely meaningless, superficial pandering. Knowing that the world you live in is a much tougher sell in a multitude of ways than it was even ten years ago isn’t comforting, especially when it feels like the end of the world is always just around the corner. Time machines don’t exist, and the flying cars that were promised to us decades ago are nowhere to be found.

I’ll be in Kent, Ohio in four days to observe the grounds of its college campus. It will not be the Kent, Ohio it was years, months, days, seconds ago, despite being probably best known for its undeniable history. Maybe Kent State will fulfill the hopes I’ve set aside for it. Maybe it won’t.

All I can do right now is wait.

My Side Of The Story…Again

Tuesday, May 4th, 2021

Today marks the fifty first commemoration of the 1970 massacre at Kent State, where four students were murdered by the National Guard at a peaceful anti-war protest.

I had first learned of the massacre in a book about the 1970s that I had rented from a library as a middle schooler. It shocked me, as did reading of other protests and more subterranean movements of rebellion that came into fruition in reaction to the Vietnam War, and I never forgot about it thanks to the ever-striking image of a young teenager kneeling over the body of Jeffrey Miller. Down the line, I would become more familiar with the event after learning that one of my greatest role models, Jerry Casale of the musical group DEVO, was present at the protest and was forever altered by it; he had been acquaintances with two of the students killed that day. [Last year, coinciding with the event’s fiftieth commemoration, I wrote on my Instagram about the great influence that Jerry’s story had on me; it is a much better read than this post.] It was only then that I became exposed to the true horror of May 4th’s aftermath—misinformation campaigns brainwashed the majority of America into believing that the students were to blame for their deaths while Kent locals flashed each other four finger signs—”at least we got four of them.”

Not much has changed in terms of illegitimate authority silencing the voice of reason and filling the masses with pro-complacency propaganda. To this day, some still consider the protesting students to blame for not being armed, even though it would have been even easier for those in power and the public at large to demonize those students had they been given the ability to fight back, and who knows how many more would have died that day had both sides been exchanging gunfire. (Ah, the irony: the oppressed can only rise above via force, yet that force gets them an even worse beating from their oppressors, who have the power to use the same tactics scot-free.) Even more people continuously bend over backwards to excuse the abuse of power and proliferation of idiocy that has become the status quo. Popularizing and normalizing alternatives remains difficult; not many have the guts to nip the hand that slaps. Some brave souls do, even if mainstream acceptance seems out of reach. Jerry Casale himself, who obviously has much more authority on this subject than I do, has been outspoken against injustice in all forms through his work; see this essential article from last year’s commemoration. Many more also worked to promote the truth about Kent State, such as Alan Canfora, who was shot on that day and passed earlier this year. Others across the planet who were not there, including myself, cling to a similar fire of urgency, militancy, and passion, having never fallen prey to the mainstream’s program.

Not many, but some.

It’s a bit surreal observing the commemoration this year, as I have plans to visit Kent State this summer as a prospective student. Having been aware of the university’s history for a while now, I always wanted to step foot on campus to at least pay my respects; simultaneously, I do find the university appealing as a place of higher learning to attend. I’ll admit, it would be pretty neat to help keep the memory of Kent State alive from Ground Zero.

But no matter where I attend college, I still plan on continuing the legacy of those brave individuals who came before me, even if I know it won’t be easy.

My deepest respects to all of those who keep raising awareness of Kent State and all who continue to fight the good fight.

It Ain’t Over ‘Til It’s Over

Thursday, April 22nd, 2021

Small victories, small victories.

It’s Earth Day today, which ironically coincides with my recent contemplation of world “suckage.” Pardon my language, but as beautiful as our planet is in it’s natural state, the society we humans have built on top of it overall really, really sucks.

Alleviation of such man made suckage most often comes in the form of small victories, such as, say, a court case outcome, while large scale victories—abolition, revolution, the like—are extremely rare. Large victories take even more strenuous amounts of effort to achieve than the small, and they require the sacrifice of the participant’s personal comfort. In a world as individualistic as ours, no one wants to give up what they have grown so accustomed to, no matter how harmful the underlying factors may be; those who do are looked down on as insane. Simultaneously, large victories are so often associated with past cultural shifts that many believe that movements of similar magnitude are not needed anymore; the work was, in their eyes, already done before they were born. Under these circumstances, small victories are enough to satisfy any rebellious blood lust that still lingers.

And as for the people making everything suck in the first place? They’ve just gotten better at convincing the masses to get on their side. Modern society provides just enough comfort to quell the spirit of rebellion in the vast majority. A roof above your head and a cell phone in your hand are all you need to be “okay.”

Actual change takes mobilization and determination in the face of adversity, and despite how fun talking about societal revolution is, we’re simply not at that level of mass mobilization and determination yet. Looking at how tight conformist society has its grip on the populous, we may never reach that goal. Will the majority of the people whose lives have been unjustly ended receive true comeuppance on a societal scale? Most likely not. I’m not trying to be pessimistic; I’m just being realistic.

And I wish it didn’t have to be this way.

But giving up in the face of such adversity is the coward’s option. Take some time out if you need, but leaving the fighting spirit to wither and rot just makes the tyrannical grip tighter for all of us. Keep the memory of your fallen comrades alive. Walk, talk, and breathe in their names. Get out of bed. Do something.

Make Planet Earth proud.

One Step Closer To Becoming A Cyborg

Saturday, April 17th, 2021

Are YOU jabbed?!

Because I am.

The immune cells in my body are currently training to whoop some coronavirus behind. Though the movement of my left arm became limited for a day due to annoying stings of pain, the knowledge that there are cells fighting a war within my fleshy shell definitely made up for it. Through my temporary inconvenience I felt power; it’s almost like wearing heels.

I’m also probably the only person in America to rep Jihad Jerry, the politically charged electro-blues side project of DEVO bassist Jerry Casale, while receiving my shot. The album is receiving a vinyl issue this summer, so I’ve been recently revisiting it in all its mid-2000s glory. Ever since I first listened to it, I’ve been a supporter of the project, and I always perceived it as oddly relevant to our current timeline despite its blatant roots in anti-Bushism and War on Terror satire. Some may question its longevity in light of current events. Fifteen years after the album’s initial release, the U.S. is scheduled to pull all of its troops from Afghanistan by the eleventh of September—a supposed end to the “forever war.” But “counterterrorism” forces are still going to be active indefinitely in the country; is that a true “end?” And besides, the damage has already been done.

When COVID-19 hit, I heard a lot of 9/11 comparisons. Generation-defining events, moments that would permanently change our preconceived standards of “normal,” though COVID impacted the wider world on a more visible scale. Looking at the cultural repercussions of both, I can see it. Post-9/11, we still have to take our shoes off at the airport—or, we will once events important enough to fly to begin occurring again—and I assume that face masks and remote communication will still play some role in America’s future twenty years down the line. From the fall of the Twin Towers sprang absurd acts of discrimination against anyone who looked vaguely Middle Eastern in the name of “patriotism;” the “China virus” only encouraged attacks against Asians. Same plot line; different bogeymen.

With all of this on our plates, I’d argue that Jihad Jerry, the self-proclaimed “lightning rod for hostility,” still deserves a seat at the table. Give a curmudgeon a microphone and he’ll use it. Maybe that curmudgeon will sing some songs made for a world where actual change seems so close, yet so far.

And maybe those songs will be pretty good.