The Tomato Patch Murder I

THE TOMATO PATCH MURDER I

This much is clear, on May 18th, 1997, Billy Crowder and John Stanton entered the bedroom of Thurman Martin, Billy`s maternal granddaddy, and shot him to death with a 22 rifle as he slept. Then they wrapped him in a shower curtain and buried him in the backyard. In order to cover up what they done they planted tomatoes on top of him to account for the fresh dirt. As an afterthought, Billy had taken Thurman`s wallet and used the money to pay some bills. This action would prove to be Billy`s fatal flaw. They made it seem like the grandfather had disappeared. Katie Crowder, Billy`s sister, had cleaned up the bedroom, wiping blood off the walls. This case would become known as The Tomato Patch Murder, since the disposal of the body involved the planting of tomatoes on top of the grave.

A random stack of hand-written notes, trial transcripts, and Polaroids rested quietly on a tabletop in a corner of my room. I had done my research well, yet how could I organize this data in such a way so that people could make sense of it? Troubling too was the fact that there were many things about this case that were unknown to me. The biggest one was the question of who Thurman Martin really was? Why was Thurman Martin such a despicable person? Why was he the perfect bastard towards his own wife, his own daughter, and his very own grandkids?

Much of it was coming back to me now. I had been searching frantically for a photograph of my yellow Mustang to share with a friend. Over the holidays I found a musty archive box with some forty unlabeled VHS tapes in the closet. I carried the archive box over by the TV and put the first tape I could grab in my Sanyo player, just out of curiosity. Gradually, it came back to me just what I was watching. This was the Tomato Patch Murder Trial on Court TV, with the familiar face of Dan Broden as your host.

The main focus of this case is on Thurman Martin, a retired truck driver, husband, father, and ‘good old boy’ from the small town of Ludowici, Georgia. He had one other character trait also, he was an abuser, chronic and violent. Thurman abused his wife, Lula, for a lifetime. He hated her with a passion and beat her repeatedly, right in front of his grandchildren, Billy and Katie. The abuse spread to his grandkids, and over a span of time I intend to detail for you many of these sorted events. As far as motive goes, Billy Crowder felt as if he had no choice but to take the life of his granddaddy. The reprehensible pattern of behavior would not seize until Thurman Martin was stone dead.

So ten years have passed by since The Tomato Patch Murder Trial was broadcast on Court TV; that was January of 1999. It was my habit at that time to tape record many shows that I deemed worthy for future reference. In the back of my mind I recognized the remote possibility that some of these tapes may come in handy one day. I believe that it has come to pass now. I watch this fragile VHS tape over and over again. I am reviewing the evidence for something I may have missed, a tiny speck of evidence that may have been carelessly overlooked. I didn`t want to take that chance. Good God, one thing is for certain, Billy Crowder might well spend the remainder of his life in jail for what he`s done. We can surely afford to be critical of the case made by the state of Georgia, and contemplate the worthiness of incarceration a s the only option on the table for this young man.

I meandered over to the research table with the stack of Tomato Patch evidence again. I recalled all the labor involved in compiling this data. But I also saw shortcomings. A visit to Ludowici is necessary. Interview witnesses, attorneys, family members, and friends, if possible. I hadn`t seen the crime photos either. I feel a need to share what I do have with you. This will improve the process. I will release it little by little, in parts, or chapters. Serialized, you see. Truman Capote had done it this way in his book In Cold Blood. If there are flaws, let me know. If Thurman Martin was as bad of a man as I suspect he was, then maybe more facts should be disclosed about his life to fill in the picture.

XTC`S SKYLARKING REVIEW

SKYLARKING IS A RARE GEM AND A HIGH MARK FOR XTC! By John G. Kays

SKYLARKING *(please visit me over at Newsblaze) IS A PAISLEY UNDERGROUND MASTERPIECE THAT IS PERCHED IN THE PANTHEON OF GREAT ENGLISH ALBUMS AND FURTHERMORE, PLAYED A ROLE IN THE CREATION OF A MOSTLY FORGOTTEN COMEDY/PARODY BAND FROM DALLAS, TEXAS: THE POTATOES!

Rediscovering XTC`s Skylarking after twenty-three years is indeed a pleasant prize. I had recently read Bucks Burnett`s (a former proprietor of Fourteen Records and present day owner & General Manager of Earotica) piece “My 10 Favorite English Albums Ever”; he had sung its praises as “ridiculously melodic and irritatingly good.” I concur with his positive accolades. A “Sentimental Journey” was unleashed after this reading. The mnemonic runs something like this: during one particularly crisp fall evening sometime in 1986 I ran into a friend at the now defunct Peaches Records in Dallas, Texas. Hubert Winnubst, a guy I had worked with before in a band named Rachel Bazooka, had in his hands a gigantic stack of LPs ripe for purchase. Skylarking was intermingled amongst this stack.

“Hey Hubert, do you want to get together and jam sometime next week?”, I blurted forth with a wavering throat. “Why not,” Hubert retorted. We did just that, and over a few near-beers we jammed freely on guitars and Hubert played that lovely record several times over. We whipped up enough inspiration to start up another band, and we did just that. Later, after many of the members were assembled, each with their own distinguished musical assignments in place, we called ourselves The Potatoes (1987-1991). It`s difficult to put a moniker on this band, but it approximated a Comedy/Parody band, a Dinner Theater revival group that danced around many genres and made a sizeable splash on the local scene, mostly in the Fair Park District of Dallas. So Skylarking does have a permanent parking place in my heart; thus I hungrily snatched it up at Waterloo Records last Saturday, and have been listening ever since.

It`s produced by Todd Rundgren and he was hired to make a record that could result in some kind of commercial success. Todd`s sequencing of the songs is nothin` short of brilliant, one song syncs into another seamlessly and mellifluously. He also decided which songs were used from the demos that he received from XTC. Rows between Andy and Todd were rumored widely, but later Partridge recognized the gifted hand of Rundgren, that delivered the goodies, indeed a very beautiful product. The genre is psychedelic pop; the lyrics remain abstract and the music stays tuneful and inventive. It is, roughly speaking, a ‘concept album.’ Let me shed a few impressions of this sonic kaleidoscope for you. Let`s see here…

I am interpreting “Summer`s Cauldron” as Andy Partidge`s coded statement on his dire addiction to pills. “Please don`t heed my shout I`m relax in the undertow.” I could be wrong. ”Grass” is my favorite song, a pastoral spoof written by Colin Moulding, a clever play on words, a blatant double entendre where turf and pot are interchangeable, and vice versa. Huh? “Over and over we flatten the clover.” Is this a zany scene from Green Acres? “Shocked me too the things we use to do on grass.” Like what? Play croquet such as Alice In Wonderland? Fight off fire ants at a bummer-of-a Sunday School picnic? Should I marvel at Astro-Turf newly revealed at the Astrodome in the mid-sixties? Let yourself take a tumble in the hay as this lilting melody sends you away to Day Camp. Clean-cut lawn or up-in-smoke, it`s green either way!

You will find yourself humming “The Meeting Place” in the shower or on a work break in some hefty-foreclosed-building in the middle of nowhere. Moulding`s melodies are contagious! “That Really Super, Supergirl” is comic book song that combines a catchy tune with upbeat lyrics that may be partially biographical for Partridge, but things remain metaphorical to the umpteenth degree. “Ballet For A Rainy Day” is a psychedelic tune and reminds us of the Paisley Underground phase in the mid-1980s, that XTC partially fits in with. Think of bands like Green On Red, The Dream Syndicate, and Jesus & Mary Chain as examples of this interlude in pop music. ”Silent film of miracle play” is a most pleasing line for me in terms of palpable poetry. `Twas a refreshing blast of Nouveau-Flower-Power for that time in the mid 1980s.

“Another Satellite” is a catchy outer-space type theme, where people orbit around each other like planets around the sun, or otherwise around each other. “Don`t need another satellite” with treated guitars and synthesizer is out there and seems to be a plea for your own free space. “Mermaid Smiled” was cut from the LP to make room for “Dear God”. It was put back on when Skylarking was remastered in the 2000 reissue. Mermaid is an enchanting nautical nursery rhyme that chimers and chimes ryely.

Two late appearing tunes by Colin Moulding are pleasantly plump partridges resting sweetly side by side. “Dying” is a melancholic reflection on the death of an unidentified acquaintance, “the day you dropped in the shopping line.” Moulding does not want to die like his unfortunate colleague? An enviable goal for sure! “Sacrificial Bonfire” is puzzling? It reminds me of a Medieval, quasi-Provencal yarn; Colin delivers the vocal in a knavish nasal phrasing, as if he were a servant/clown/bard at some fictitious royal court of yesteryear. He sings it almost soprano, happy, like some kind of comic puppetry, yet the lyric is dark and foggy. The theme is change, which can only be gained painfully. “Burn up the old. Ring in the new.” Savonarola burning at the stake in a Florentine square? The tragic bonfire at Texas A & M? Two odd parallels, yet not transparently logical, that rang the doorbell of my mind as I listened.

The thought-provoking track “Dear God” was initially just a B-side to the single, “Grass”, but was added to the U.S. album. It helped boost the sales of the record, and you can easily see why. It starts out with an acoustic guitar and a child singer asking if God got his letter. On the second verse Andy Partridge pipes in with: “Dear God, sorry to disturb you, but…I feel I should be heard loud and clear.” The tone gets more passionate and angry as the song progresses. Basically, Partridge is voicing skepticism and anger towards God. If God made Man in his own image, then why is Man hungry and suffering and all? So the argument might go, why is Man not all perfect and happy like the Buddha-Head God? This doesn`t make sense? Andy is making a valid point, and in concurrence with some of our modern-day pundits of theology, who have gone south on God themselves!

The music is delightful with Colin Moulding`s thumpy bass, Andy`s jangling guitar, and the middle lead section with Dave Gregory`s synthesizer ching-a-linging like a toy instrument orchestra. The finale C section is a choppy staccato and oozing umbrage. “I won`t believe in heaven and hell. No saints, no sinners, no devil as well. No pearly gates, no thorny crown. You`re always letting us humans down. The wars you bring, the babes you drown.” God comes off as a bad guy in this song! Bohemians love this kind of Existential banter…echoes of John Lennon`s “God,” “I don`t believe in Jesus.” And the child singer has a touch of Pink Floyd`s “Another Brick In The Wall, part II.” Profound also is that in the B section, Partridge says that man made God first, then God made man…this makes sense, from what little I can remember from my isolated bible studies.

I have a cloistered compartment in my heart for Skylarking, it resides in the childhood section of my heart where daydreaming in some empty cow pasture of Texas (a good part of the day) is allowed, and make-believing life just might work out is also legal.

MY FUNNY VALENTINE-LA PARISIENNE

This is, for me, a good representation for Valentine. It is Minoan (Late Minoan IIIA,c. 1400 BCE) and is a fragment of wall-painting from the palace at Knossos. It is simple, yet elegant, and gives us a glimpse into Minoan notions of feminine beauty. Bronze Age cosmetics are gleaned, with ruby lips and talcum powder white on the cheek. The eye is huge with prodigious eyeliner and flowing curly black locks. Presently, this is my Funny Valentine-La Parisienne!

THESE WERE THE DAYS: THE AUSTIN PUNK SCENE IS REANINMATED!

THESE ARE THE DAYS: THE AUSTIN PUNK SCENE IS REANIMATED! By John G. Kays

IT`S JUST A JOKE MAN! IT`S JUST A JOKE MAN! IT`S JUST A JOKE MAN! PERE UBU-THE MODERN DANCE-1978

On January 24th, 2009 I stepped into the Arthouse to take a peek at These Are The Days show, and was amazed as I walked around the facility fancying music flyers, vinyl singles, LPs, tattered Tee-shirts, and flaking fanzines on the walls and `neath glass cases. Punk poptones wafted from an adjacent room where a film installation called itself home. I thought I had vacated a Time Machine such as Rod Taylor in the H. G. Wells movie by the same name. Was I at The Museum of Natural History looking at Neanderthal dioramas in a primordial backdrop? I don`t think so. I pondered prodigious ephemera from the Punk/New Wave scene of a bygone Austin ala 1978? Rushing (or sorta rushing) through my mind was the scary visage of the Ayatollah Khomeini, Jimmy Carter`s haircut, his silly brother`s Billy Beer line, and the Kool Aid party of doom. I stumbled about, partly in the here and now, and partly in the ELO electric groove of the late 1970s!

The show was put together by Matt Stokes, an artist from England who is more interested in, how say a music movement affects people`s lives and how it shapes that local culture. Social anthropology, my friend. Matt interviewed many people who had a role in the scene and they gave him materials that he displayed at Arthouse. None of the ephemera is labeled but is rather displayed organically about the gallery in no particular chronological sequence; I knew enough about the scene to enable me to categorize particular bands or writings and associate them with the appropriate philosophical components of ‘The Movement.’ Through the years, I`ve manned Aristotelian methods of procurement that enable me to sort things into its proper box. Youngsters may not be so lucky, but should contact one of us ‘New Wave Historians’ for a fleshing out of the period.

When I first conceived of this show, after hearing about it from friends, or opening their emails, I imagined it to be more of a massive installation, perhaps an experimental sculpture of sorts. I thought of it as a New Wave Funhouse where you`d be on a joyous watery log ride, like at Six Flags, and you`d float past dioramas of Duke`s Royal Coach, punk puppets would pop out suddenly and sing their old songs, there would be footage on the waxy, stalagmite cave walls, as you drifted in and out, with holograms of faded events looming large…okay Goofy, I woke up. The actual show was more linear and two-dimensional, self-evident ya see than my pipedreams, but Matt did a good job of assembling these replicas of this bygone era. Never will all of these Punk/New Wave flyers, records, and fanzines be gathered together in one space again. You should definitely check this out!

Read Contempo Culture lampooning society and religion, terrific music reviews, & a jiffy interview with William S. Burroughs-King of the Grizzlies & Urban Buccaneer, best Art Cassettes around! Cap`n BrewKid`s Yankee Doodle Freak Flag poem springs outta the page again! Read Stewart Wise`s original interview with Patty Smith as if it was yesterday! Listen to The Reverend Neil Xs New Wave radio show on KUT! Can calibrate my groove to `is tunes! Is that Skylab selling British Punk import singles over at Inner Sanctum…I believe it is! Doc at the Radar Station, here ye be. A Fairy Queen`s Paradise of X-Y-Z! Fanzines `neath glimmering glass?Foosball anyone, at the Posse East? There`s Doctor Stix telling jokes at Dukes at a Gator Family show! Fritz Brow zooms by on a mopad or flips a steak over the hot Raw Deal grill while wiggling and writhing in his kitchen to Devo`s Crack That Whip! A Touch of Evil emanated from the punk flyer?

I enjoyed Matt`s 16 millimeter film, but I primarily focused on the pasties *(paper, pastiche, & plastic) from the Austin scene, since I had played a minor role in this trip, and I knew many of the parties involved from these creative times. Look, there are many 45 rpm vinyl singles lined up on a shelf! A partial list of the bands with singles is: The Stains, Inserts, The Offenders, Dicks, Re*Cords, Terminal Mind, Pork, Radio Fre Europe, Big Boys, Huns, D Day, and Lester Bangs Y Los Delinquents. On another wall Long Playing Records are prominently fitted to the plaster wall as trophies to a remote, but mostly not forgotten time. The punk music scored my circuit board as I drifted in and out of reverie or returned to observations of graphics in this moment…of experiences echoing through time where more than thirty years have passed by our confounded eyes.

For a flash, I focused on the Sluggo Fanzine display case, and read a faded article on Nick West that explains his position on the media, as he defined it. In his latest issue, No Tocar (some time in 1980, I fathom), he focuses on ‘Psychotronic Warfare’, an apparent hidden agenda of the Soviets that acts as a counter-punch to American aggression, and then it summarizes an article on the mutilation of cattle that has mostly hazy attributions. Nick West describes his magazine as “cultural blips on a distant radar.”

Nick`s angle on the culture of that time was that the real dialectic, that might define dynamics in our culture, was between Science and The State, not between Religion and The State. This is an out of date model. His reason for believing this is that Science has replaced Religion in the context of spiritual values. Science is Religion now (1980 ya see). This makes sense. My own take: Nick West was a media guerrilla capturing subliminal messages, decoded by Sluggo, that had slipped between the cracks of the ‘generic media’. I began to wake from the slumbers of bubble dreams…


The video and film installations were everywhere! There were two old TVs, Magnavox I suppose, and two big film screens. One small TV had The Re*Cords (a very early, influential New Folk band) in the Capitol Rotunda playing Guyana Holiday acoustically while strolling the interior of the Dome; the accordion player Bert Cruz is interviewed for a nightly news broadcast, defending his art. Also, there is a video of Lynn Keller doing perhaps the best song of the entire ‘Movement’, Plastic Money, penned by Doug McAninch (okay Bert, Guyana Holiday is a masterpiece too).

One film loop projected on a canvas screen was black and white footage of Rauls (the vintage Punk club of Austin) with frenetic dancing and the pusillanimous pounding of bass strings flickering past your eyeballs. On the other side of the exhibit was a film of The Huns (the most Punkie of the bands) gigging in East Austin-footage of The Beatles and The Stones was mixed in, for some reason unknown? My favorite was the footage of every day people from the late 1970s just on the drag (Guadalupe) noodling on the street. Random unrehearsed chaos. I saw The Varsity Theater, I recognized Tim Kerr, Gary Floyd of The Dicks, and many young punks who I didn`t know. Recognized Conans Pizza next to Rauls and saw Zebra Records where my sister Jenny had worked. This footage provided a natural gut-shot of Austin at this innocent juncture, unstaged, direct and simple…

The reverie kicks in again…stop studying Lester Bangs` Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung, it`s not a bible! Stop analyzing the period like it was The Roaring Twenties! The period only ran from 1977-1980, then morphed to a new configuration! There are three separate periods her, maybe five! Start looking at the Xyphoid Process Xeroxes again. Control Rat X was a Xerox Artist of the highest caliber! Triple chicken fried steak with greenie/tan gravy at the Stallion-can`t wait! If it`s in stock, we have it! Paranoid Of Banana Yogart, you know the drill!

Matt Stokes` title for the exhibit is These Are The Days, but for me it`s Those Were The Days, such as in the Mary Hopkins song on Apple Records. For me, PUNK ROCK IS DEAD! The dribble coming out since 1980 is recycled garbage, nothing` more! Men At Work is the most banal excuse for New Wave, that I`ve ever heard! Those were the gunslinger days of the Old West. Austin was Dodge City or Abilene Kansas (ala 1870) back then! No amount of an injection can re-vivify this pale, gossamer Frankenstein. & Lester is kaput…so is Willy Pickel! No one to carry the ball…Doke Walker is gone.The biggest genius of the scene was Brian Hanson…he died a long time ago…Radio Fre Europe and the film Speed Of Light-Future of Man, God rest his soul!

Austin had an open atmosphere at that time, not tethered by the media and sweetly free as a bird in the blue sky. Afterwards, The Austin Chronicle gobbled up the local culture, like the Giant in Jack and the Beanstalk, in its own image and pigeon-holed artistic output into icy, concrete molds of sterility. Bands were simply sucking-up to these media-master slaveholding bastards! This was unfortunate, but is the record, Post-Punk. Matt`s show REANIMATES those days, almost brings them back to life, but the dummy sputters, falters, then quivers on the floor, a lifeless manikin on cold concrete mortar. The day is gone, just a memory of bangin` git-fiddles, sweaty blue spiked hair, runs to Swedish Hill, or taping flyers on dragstrip lightposts, keg parties and all-nighters. Get over it!

*Thanks Ellen Gibbs for the Punk Albums photo and the Sluggo Glass Case snap! You`re a better photographer than me, Ellen!

THESE ARE THE DAYS

I went to Matt Stokes` art show These Are the Days yesterday for about an hour, and was getting into it, but felt twitchy like I was getting outta a Time Machine. Many old flyers (some yellowing and fragile) were displayed from the PUNK DAYS, as well as Fanzines, such as Sluggo and Contempo Culture. I saw fragments of an old guitar...don`t know what that was? Some of the 45 rpm singles that came out from that time were displayed also.

My favorite aspect was the television sets that were set up to show, I believe, 8 millimeter films of some of the local punks just fooling around, simply dittling around in Austin somewhere (maybe by the University or on Guadalupe...don`t know). I recognized some of the faces, but couldn`t really put together who they were? This may be a good thing. This isn`t odd though, because I was living in Dallas in 1978, and managed a Baskin Robbins Ice Cream Store at Preston/Royal. I actually wrote parts of Magnum Lust (the Norvells` song) back in the stock room where we kept malt cups, straws, sundae dishes, and cake boxes also. Oh, the film of the Re*Cords was an eyeopener! Bert Cruz had on shades and played the accordian and had on that striped shirt I remember just like Mr. Peppermint. Doug and Tom and Lynn waxed electric too.

I didn`t take everything in, but felt like I was taking a step back in time...not that I really wanted to go there? I felt nervous as if I was at Roswell or Area 54...can`t say why really? The new punk film was a little loud and I felt like I was watching a parody of the old punk bands. Maybe a sort of Spinal Tap one off to punk? I don`t think the simulation really reflected back on the period, in a way that I remember it. That may bot be saying much? I could have used some historical context too. Things like the Son of Sam shootings, Jimmy Carter`s haircut, the Iranian Hostages, Billy Beer, and the gas crisis would put this period in a national context. This could have been a little corner with newspaper clippings, where people could go hah hah...that`s what was going on nationally at the time...1978 or 1979. But that`s my own little brainstorm, folks.

I`ll try to go back and take a camera (my Polaroid One600/Ultra fur sure)...I`m certain my perspective will change...it was very cool...good job Matt...I just feel lucky to still be alive in 2009! The punk movement was just a fad, but it still holds some importance...what that importance is is what I`m still trying to determine? Maybe it was just an adolescent initiation rite, nothin` more.

It`s too early (6:34 AM-1/26/`09) to dig into my boxes for flyers (I actually have a few myself somewhere?), so I`ll just put my Gut Shot piece up...it`s as punk as anything else I have!

CHE GUEVARA AS POP ART-THE PURPLE EDITION

CHE GUEVARA AS POP ART by John G.Kays

I am looking forward to the movie Che by Steven Soderbergh, but I know it will take its time in coming to Austin. In the mean time I have been studying up on Che Guevara and am noticing a curious thing about how he is portrayed in Pop Art. Most of the interpretations of him, by way of graphic art, come from one photograph taken by Alberto Korda on March 5th, 1960. Different versions of this same image abound, with the colors, texture, or lay-out only varying slightly from one item of art or another . This Korda photograph is essentially Che Guevara as Pop Art proliferated throughout many different mediums. Why? Probably because people prefer its simplicity and the easy access of identification that can be obtained with the Communist Revolutionary/Saint that we call Che, so much revered by so many. This is my theory anyway.

The iconic photo was taken at a memorial service for the La Coubre ship explosion in the harbor of Havana. Alberto Korda went back to his darkroom and developed it and knew immediately that it was the ultimate Che image, and he was certainly correct. An Italian publisher, Giangiacomo Feltrinelli got the rights to the photo in 1967, on a hunch that Guevara would die soon, and then produced a poster that sold 2,000,000 copies in a half year. I have seen news footage of the students holding the posters up high during the Paris Protests of May 1968. You can see them clearly carrying these posters along with ones of Ho Chi Minh in El Che: Investigating a Legend. Korda just wanted to remain true to the anti-capitalist spirit of Ernesto Guevara, remain true to Che`s sincerity, his heartfelt commitment to Socialism; for had Korda retained the rights to his photo he would have been wealthy beyond belief!

When I look at the Korda image of Che I think of the graphic artist Shepard Fairey`s image of Barack Obama which is everywhere I look. I have seen it used on political placards, stickers, and even on the cover of Time Magazine. His previous stickers of Andre the Giant (Obey) are all over town, on street signs, light posts, and on the walls of buildings. I LOVE to see Andre`s mug and also it might not hurt that I once saw The Giant wrestling live at The Sportatorium in Dallas many, many years ago. How do you account for the popularity of Fairey`s clever little graphics? The simplicity and humor may be the reason. Similarly, Che has the beret and shaggy hair-he seems to personify revolutionary virility and defiance.I try to project myself into the frame, even though I`m just a wimpy little nobody with husky dreams. What do you think?

What is stunning to me is the fact that many people in Latin American countries have this image preciously mounted on their walls, simulating a religious icon, say a Christ icon or possibly it is a mirror of Milagros that could bring a body good luck. In my Che Handbook I have seen this image as a mural on a brickwall in Belfast, and I`ve seen it printed on a wine bottle, a cigarette pack, and even on a carrying bag. There`s a striking statue by Delarra in the Che Guevarra Revolution Square in Santa Clara, Cuba. Luis Martínez Pedro`s “Che America” is Warholesque with multiple single-colored prints of the Korda photo juxtaposed on one poster. There are scads of other examples as well.

I was curious about this proliferation of Che paraphernalia, so yesterday (January 17th) I visited a local retail import shop myself, Tesoros Trading Company on South Congress Avenue, here in Austin. They have souvenirs and novelties from around the world, but they specialize in items from Latin American countries. I marveled at two kinds of Tee-shirts, Che postcards, gigantic mousepads, refrigerator magnets, and pricey original posters from Cuba, commemorating the Revolution. Only Frida Kahlo merchandise was more ubiquitous. This stuff sells like hotcakes! Believe it or not, exclusively, all of the Che ephemera in the shop used the famous Alberto Korda photograph, no exceptions.

This may seem somewhat childish, but I tried my own hand at some Che pop art. First I printed out a Photostat of the Korda photo on Kodak photo paper, then I painted it with acrylics such as yellow ochre, antique brown, cadmium yellow, raw sienna, and lots of burnt umber. Oh, I used some orange, tan, and red also. I let it dry, sprayed it with Krylon Crystal Clear, scanned it, and then tweaked it slightly on Adobe Photoshop Elements 2.0, then saved it on My Documents, and now here it is! Bingo, I`m a fantastic Che artist myself now, or amateur artist anyway. Whoop-di-do right? The idea behind this was Instant Karma, immediate gratification, FRIENDO! Who knows, maybe thousands will see my Che art on NEWSBLAZE?

Still with the demise of the Soviet Union in 1989 and the present near collapse of Communist Cuba (don`t forget Castro`s close demise) the question remains: why do so many people persevere in worshiping this simple graphic? Does it provide hope for poor people? Yes. Do people still idealize this earlier Communist era, though it is now in shambles? Yes. Maybe people just like the simplicity of it. Maybe people like to worship political martyrs too, like JFK, MLK, and CHE. I know I do. I have a portrait of JFK on my wall and pray daily to the American Saint. I do not know why really. People watch The Motorcycle Diaries over and over again. I have seen it five times and have loved it every time. The Korda shot is a NOSTALGIC TALISMAN that people grab on to, like the ‘Hope’ poster of Obama by Shepard Fairey. The cult of Che will never die out! I`m not a Communist people, but I can not stop staring at this Che icon!

CHE GUEVARA AS POP ART

CHE GUEVARA AS POP ART by John G.Kays

I am looking forward to the movie Che by Steven Soderbergh, but I know it will take its time in coming to Austin. In the mean time I have been studying up on Che Guevara and am noticing a curious thing about how he is portrayed in pop art. Most of the interpretations of him, by way of graphic art, come from one photograph taken by Alberto Korda on March 5th, 1960. Different versions of this same image abound, with the colors, texture, or lay out only varying slightly. This Korda photograph is essentially Che Guevara as pop art proliferated in many mediums. Why? Probably because people prefer its simplicity and the easy access of identification that can be obtained with the Communist Revolutionary/Saint that is called Che, so much revered by so many. This is my theory anyway.

The iconic photo was taken at a memorial service for the La Coubre ship explosion in the harbor of Havana. Alberto Korda went back to his darkroom and developed it and knew immediately that it was the ultimate Che image, and he was certainly correct. An Italian publisher, Giangiacomo Feltrinelli got the rights to the photo in 1967, on a hunch that Guevara would die soon, and then produced a poster that sold 2,000,000 copies in a half year. I have seen news footage of the students holding the posters up high during the Paris Protests of May 1968. You can see them clearly carrying these posters along with ones of Ho Chi Minh in El Che: Investigating a Legend. Korda just wanted to remain true to the anti-capitalist spirit of Ernesto Guevara, or the sincerity of his commitment to socialism; for had Korda retained the rights to his photo he would have been wealthy beyond belief!

When I look at the Korda image of Che I think of the graphic artist Shepard Fairey`s image of Barack Obama is everywhere. I have seen it on political placards, stickers, and even on the cover of Time Magazine. His previous stickers of Andre the Giant (Obey) are all over town, on street signs, light posts, and on the walls of buildings. I LOVE to see Andre and also it might not hurt that I once saw The Giant wrestling live at The Sportatorium in Dallas many years ago. How do you account for the popularity of Fairey`s cute little graphics? The simplicity and humor may be the reason. Similarly, Che has the beret and shaggy hair-he seems to personify revolutionary virility and defiance.I try to project myself into the frame, even though I`m just a wimpy little nobody with husky dreams. What do you think?

What is stunning is the fact that many people in Latin American countries have this image preciously mounted on their walls, simulating a religious icon, or possibly mirrors of Milagros that could bring a body good luck. In my Che Handbook I have seen this image as a mural on a brickwall in Belfast, and I`ve seen it printed on a wine bottle, a cigarette pack, and even on a carrying bag. There`s a striking statue by Delarra in the Che Guevarra Revolution Square in Santa Clara, Cuba. Luis Martínez Pedro`s “Che America” is Warholesque with multiple single-colored prints of the Korda photo juxtaposed on one poster. There are countless other examples as well.

I was curious about this proliferation of Che paraphernalia, so yesterday (January 17th) I visited a local retail import shop myself, Tesoros Trading Company on South Congress Avenue, here in Austin. They have souvenirs and novelties from around the world, but they specialize in items from Latin American countries. I saw two kinds of Tee-shirts, Che postcards, gigantic mousepads, refrigerator magnets, and pricey original posters from Cuba. Only Frida Kaylo merchandise was more ubiquitous. This stuff sells like hotcakes! Believe it or not, exclusively, all of the ephemera in the shop used the famous Alberto Korda photograph, no exceptions.

This may seem somewhat childish, but I tried my own hand at some Che pop art. First I printed out a Photostat of the Korda photo on Kodak photo paper, then I painted it with acrylics such as yellow ochre, antique brown, cadmium yellow, raw sienna, and lots of burnt umber. Oh, I used some orange, tan, and red also. I let it dry, scanned it, and then tweaked it slightly on Adobe Photoshop Elements 2.0, then saved it on My Documents, and now here it is! Bingo, I`m a fantastic Che artist myself now, or amateur artist anyway. Whoop-di-do right? The idea behind this was Instant Karma, immediate gratification, FRIENDO! Who knows, maybe thousands will see my Che art on NEWSBLAZE?

Still with the demise of the Soviet Union in 1989 the question remains: why do so many people worship this simple graphic? Does it provide hope for poor people? Yes. Do people still idealize this earlier Communist era, though it is now in shambles? Yes. Maybe people just like the simplicity of it. Maybe people like to worship political martyrs too, like JFK, MLK, and CHE. I know I do. I have a portrait of JFK on my wall and at times, practically worship it. I do not know why really. People watch The Motorcycle Diaries over and over again. I have seen it five times and have loved it every time. The Korda shot is a NOSTALGIC TALISMAN that people grab on to, like the ‘Hope’ poster of Obama by Shepard Fairey. The cult of Che will never die out! I`m not Communist people, but I can not stop staring at this Che icon!

MY YUCATAN VACATION

MY TRIP TO THE YUCATÁN: MÉRIDA, CHICHÉN ITZÁ, AND ISLA MUJERES by John G. Kays

Pressed Rat and Warthog have closed down their shop.
They didn`t want to; twas all they got.
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And Pressed Rat`s collection of dog legs and feet.

Sadly they left, telling no one goodbye.
Pressed Rat wore red jodhpurs, Warthog a striped tie.
Between them, they carried a three-legged sack,
Went straight round the corner and never came back.
*(Ginger Baker-Cream-Wheels of Fire)

There is more forgotten than remembered when you confabulate the record of my fabulous vacation to the Yucatán. I do know that it was in 1975, but exactly which month or day I can not be too certain. Let the commencements begin, the tracings of that journey, the jotting down of memories in a marble memopad. Some of the proceedings were recollected, but some have been forfeited at the blood-soaked altar of Quetzalcóatl. It`s through these feeble Don Quixote eyes that I now bring back those days of this godsend of a holiday. Herein is the testimony of a reconstituted conquistador who heard and saw unspeakable marvels of the New World, and will spin you a tale that will make your eyeballs pop out! Let`s see here…where`s my marble memopad?

We flew into Mérida that clear day, so many years ago, found the historic El Gran Hotel, and ventured out to a local mercado for ropas of a casual nature. I was traveling with Bill and Dennis, two cosmic cronies game for an adventure or two, and knew how to enjoy life. We picked up straw sombreros, huarache sandals, tiki shirts, and postcards to send to friends. Don`t forget the Foster Grants de rigueur to shade our dainty gringo eyes. I am sorry I can`t retrieve a leftover Polaroid of us, but you can picture The Trio if you put your mind to it. In the evening we took in a cantina or two with zesty Mexican jukeboxes and dancing dervishes; don`t leave out the sizzling peanuts or the shots of tequila. We planned our trip meticulously. It looked like a fun one was in store for us.

In the morning we sipped coffee and read the Spanish newspapers. The pace was slow. We ate pastelería. My friends smoked cigarillos, curling smoke drifts to the ceiling. We were doing nothin`, just as planned. We seemed to swat a lot of flies. Then the three of us took in a Mexican cine, then more cafes, picked up some tasty snacks, and yet more drifting on calles, soakin` in the indigents. We kept gliding by the Cathedral on the Plaza Mayor; it was a magnet for all, peasants were couched against the walls hoping for a miracle. It never came.


A few words about what we ate. We ate lots of hand foods from cheerful street vendors. Simple hand foods are hot and tasty, muy barato también. A good many tacos pescados and maybe some papadzules. We devoured scads of grilled fish and shellfish on the island. The Trio was always on the fly. Found friendly lancherías. Loafed in the open-aired patios and walkways. Washed the cottonmouth down with aguas frescas. Napped on hammocks. Heard the ocean breath. Gulped Mexican cerveza (Montejo). Lots of it. The pain went away. Yes, simple hand foods got us by, doused with ample chile sauce. Yea, buckets of El Yucateco.

The very next day, bright and early, we departed by bus for the ruins of Chichén Itzá. The seventy-five mile ride was rickety but interesting. I saw Mayan people tending corn or grilling meats on sticks in open pits. They wore beautiful clothing. When we finally arrived my stomach was queasy, hair disheveled, and my frame rearranged. You might infer, we exited the bus a little unsteady. As we entered the ruins a vibe glowed both inside and outside of us. Looking out, cactus plants and jungle growth painted a desert scene. Clean green iguanas dashed out of nowhere and grazed our feet. I thought I heard the lament of Mayan ancestors. A sadness came over me. I stepped out for more. There was no turning back.

El Castillo is an awesome sight to behold as the trio took the 79 foot trek up to the top; it is 91 excruciating steps up to the platform apex. It was the cruel Bishop Landa that named it; he is the Spanish priest who tortured the Mayans as heretics and burned a good many of their coveted codices. The pyramid is dedicated to Kukulcán, a feather serpent. This is the same god worshipped by Moctezuma, but the Aztecs called him Quetzalcóatl. I was tuckered out after I climbed up all those steps. Scary serpent heads are on cornices and on the sides of the inner temple. A cool red jaguar was up there too, but I have no lucidity in that regard. The Chac Mool image near these words came from this inner room atop El Castillo, but currently resides in the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City.

It is said that at the spring and fall equinoxes a shadow of the snake god crawls down the side the pyramid sanctifying the earth. Chichén Itzá was populated with spiritual adventurers during the “Harmonic Convergence” of August 1987. I attended a party/ceremony myself in Dallas during these ‘final days’, and felt the coming together, the big breath of humanity exhaling. Dr. Arguelles, a New Age visionary, designed this scheme to counter catastrophic apocalyptic outcomes inherent in the Mayan calendar. In his own words, the goal was: “to bless and heal Planet Earth, to unite with all of life, and to raise the human spirit through a single collective human experience.” Okay, I felt something!

Yes, you do feel a presence, a vibe, as you stagger about these ruins of mystery. Did a UFO come from outer space and take the Mayans away? ‘A UFO went whirling through my mind.’ Or have I read too many Weekly World News articles? That`s a possibility! But I love the Chac Mool, even if the Mayan high priests did place the yet still beating human hearts of sacrificial victims on his limestone pot-belly. And it poner los pelos del punta when I stared at the skulls engraved on the walls of Tzompantli. The heads of sacrificed captors were actually displayed on these walls. Okay, maybe Mel Gibson did get it right in the heart extraction and head chopping scenes of Apocalypto!

I pondered the “Cenote Sagrado” for many moments. A sinkhole that honored the Maya rain god Chaac, it was a vital conduit to the gods. Mayans had flocked to it as a shrine. Water was a rarity for the Mayans. This water was emerald green. I trembled as I imagined what had transpired there. The bottom held gold, jade, and even human skeletons. I wondered where the exact spot was from hence the sacrifice suppliants had leapt? The Caracol is an astrological observatory; The Trinity strolls around, and Bill said: “Weren`t there a few Star Trek episodes shot here?” “Sure,” Dennis retorted, “And George and Jane Jetson (Astro too) came here with Fred and Wilma Flintstone for a ménage à trois (quartet rather) weekend fling.” It wasn`t all business as usual.

The excursion continued. “Hey look,” I said, “there`s the incredible Las Monjas (The Nunnery),” named as such by the Spanish, with ornate lattice work and scary masks, very baroque, yet purely pagan. Let me take a moment to link you to this perfect site for photos of Chichén Itzá (hit tour). It is done by Jorge Pérez de Lara and will place you directly on this enchanting archaeological site. Don`t forget to take a stroll down Juego de Pelota, the largest ball court in Mesoamerica, and check out the acoustics. “I`m pooped out,” whined Bill, “let`s high tale it back to the El Gran Hotel!” Thus spoke Zarathustra.

When we arose in the morning light we took a bus north to Progreso in order to catch a boat to Isla Mujeres or “island of women.” We traveled east on the Golfo de México to the northeastern most tip of the Yucatán peninsula. Isla is just north of the Riviera Maya (Cozumel) in the Caribbean Sea. Isla Mujeres is extremely laid back and we had some gentle idle hours in her care. A mermaid spirit still haunts the coves and beaches. ‘Catacombs, nursery bones, winter women throwing stones, carrying babies to the river.’ *(Soft Parade-Jim Morrison)

What did we do there? Next to nothing. WE did manage to rent some mopads for an entire day, then rode across the island several times over. Oh I just remembered! We met a couple from California; we hung out with them and marveled at this simple set up. Obviously, this stood out in stark relief to our tethered lives in the states. Lots of naps were had. Hit the hammocks, watched the waves, ate pescado delicioso, and counted the grains of sand in the hourglass that marked our passing. Then The Trio had to go.

There is a devotion present on the isle towards Ixchel, the Mayan goddess of rainbows, the moon, and the sea. ‘On a lyre gentle tones she plays.’ Furthermore, it is known that pirates, such as Sir Henry Morgan and Jean Lafitte used it as a launching pad for their campaigns of robbery on the neighboring high seas. Thus, they would leave their ladies behind to secure and nurture their sandy makeshift homes. These lady legends are a canopy of zippity-do-da for this peaceful paradise.

Our trip was nearing its end. A numbness came over us and we splashed agua frio in our faces, then crawled on the boat back to Progreso. Then the bumpy bus ride back to Mérida, our faces green and stomachs turned upside down from the gyrations, the bobbing and weaving, or the hairpin turns around molehills and bends. Hey, people were throwing up. That`s not pretty, but the bus was old and decrepit, so I remember it being like Hunter S. Thompson in Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas. It`s not going to matter all that much if it wasn`t really like that.

Okay, then the plane flight back to Houston. I was exhausted, but now another bus trip back to Austin. I was broke so I bummed a little dough from Bill, who always seemed to have lots of it. Bill was somewhat peeved with me over this. “Stage Door Johnny, you`re going to pay me back, aren`t ya?”, Bill sternly clamored. After this famous trip dudes would go to Bill to borrow money, since he was a good business man, and always had wheel barrels of cash that he carted around. Okay, I bid farewell to my buddies and ambled back to my crash pad for some R & R.

The next day I reluctantly had to beg for my old job back at the Garden Café, the one and only organic restaurant in Austin at that time (1975). “Rick, no one chops carrots or pilots the Autochlor Automatic Dishwasher as good as me,” I blurted. I was a kitchen worker and yes, Rick let me have my old job back. I dreamed of sunny beaches and Mayan festivals as I scrubbed one more mammoth cooking pot.

I bet you are puzzled by the inclusion of the lyrics by Cream at the beginning of my piece and at the end. The book ending of two verses sung by the drummer Ginger Baker are provided as architectonic seals. You may be asking what`s their connection to the Mayans and how does this tie in with my antique vacation? Needless to say, every time I hear this song I experience different glimmers of meaning, shifting prisms of self-realization. Pressed Rat and Warthog could be spitting images of my two old friends. This is not a put down. Obviously, I`m the bad Captain Madman, because I used that moniker freely back in the day when I was a working musician.

“Went straight round the corner and never came back.” What this says to me is that it has been many years since I have seen these departed compadres. They vanished into thin air. Disappeared into the night. Don`t know if they`re wearing concrete army boots at the bottom of some lake? Could be…hum…No, halos `round their heads, I`m certain of it. On the other hand, this simple rhyme could just as easily be a vision for the distant Mayans. They evaporated more than a thousand years ago. Where did they go? Were the Mayans aliens who returned to their planet in a distant galaxy? So what that I used an easy hand in my interpretations!

What can be gleaned from this morass? A lifelong love of Mayan studies? Yes (see Yes Man for how to do this). Theories of the Mayan collapse? Yes. Read David Webster. Internecine warfare, drought, corn crops gone? Yes. Ecological imbalances? Yes. A peasant rebellion against the Royal elites? Yes. Excessive sacrifices at the altar of Chaac? Yes. Parallels with Al Gore`s global warming? Yes. Interplanetary travel in UFOs? Likely. Finally, yes to Frederick Catherwood for the essential lithographs that are oh so romantic and real! Yes, for keeping me in the driver`s seat of Mayan studies. Yes, cornball head, and I`m out to lunch!

A real lesson learned: All I was doing on this trip was just being happy. Communing with nature. Just existing. Having friends too. Channeling Mayan rubble. Getting nowhere. Creo que deberé refrescar la memoria a Juan. Yea, there is much that I no longer remember about that Yucatán vacation. But I came away believing that one should just live their life, not think about it. No interpretation really matters. I`m SKULL-FUCKED, my fair weathered friends! HAPPY NEW YEARS! Beware of MAYA (George Harrison).

*I must give credits to Wikipedia, Fodor`s 2009 guide to the Yucatán, scads of web sites, a Spanish idiom book, countless other books on the Mayans, The New York Times archives, my vacant parking lot of a memory, and The Dynamic Duo, wherever they might be? “You can not petition The Lord with prayer!” Jim M. Let it wail, Doors! And now two more verses of Cream:

Pressed Rat and Warthog have closed down their shop.
The bad Captain Madman had told them to stop
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And Pressed Rat`s collection of dog legs and feet.

The bad Captain Madman had ordered their fate.
He laughed and stomped off with a nautical gate.
The gate turned into a deroga tree
And his pegleg got woodworm and broke into three.

THE BEATLES` REAL LOVE

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5D3FMioSoc

*(THIS IS THE OFFICIAL REAL LOVE VIDEO FROM THE ANTHOLOGY)

REAL LOVE

ALL MY LITTLE PLANS AND SCHEMES,
LOST LIKE SOME FORGOTTEN DREAMS.
SEEMS THAT ALL I REALLY WAS DOING
WAS WAITIN` FOR YOU.

JUST LIKE LITTLE GIRLS AND BOYS,
PLAYING WITH THEIR LITTLE TOYS,
SEEMS LIKE ALL WE REALLY WERE DOING
WAS WAITIN` FOR LOVE.

LONELY TO BE ALONE,
NO NEED TO BE ALONE.

IT`S REAL LOVE, IT`S REALLY REAL,
YES IT`S REAL LOVE, YES IT`S REALLY REAL.

FROM THIS MOMENT ON I KNOW,
EXACTLY WHERE MY LIFE WILL GO.
SEEMS THAT ALL I REALLY WAS DOING
WAS WAITIN` FOR LOVE.

NO NEED TO BE AFRAID,
NO NEED TO BE AFRAID.

*(CHORUS)

THOUGHT I`D BEEN IN LOVE BEFORE,
BUT IN MY HEART I WANTED MORE.
SEEMS LIKE ALL I REALLY WAS DOING
WAS WAITIN` FOR YOU.

LONELY TO BE ALONE,
NO NEED TO BE ALONE.

YES IT`S REALLY LOVE,
YES IT`S REALLY REAL
(REPEAT & FADE)

THE BEATLES` WHITE ALBUM FORTY YEARS LATER

THE BEATLES` WHITE ALBUM: LOOKING THROUGH THE BENT BACK TULIPS FORTY YEARS LATER! By John G. Kays

1968 was a year of dramatic change. A few of those pivotal events were: the Tet Offensive, the Paris war protests in May, the killing of both Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert F. Kennedy, as well as a blossoming partnership between John Lennon and Yoko Ono. I will link a helpful timeline of 1968 for you, so that you can gain a working knowledge of events for that turbulent year. The Beatles` White Album, which turned forty a few weeks ago, was a quintessential reflection of that era; I still remember that day (11/25/`68) clearly as if it was yesterday. This double album contains, by way of kinetic expression in pop song, much of the energy of 1968.

Now rewind the fragile reel tape back to the day. Just a week before a comment from a colleague at Jesuit Prep piqued my interest, “Did you hear John, that a new Beatles` album is set release next week?” I got in gear and did some yard work to earn ‘record money’ and also rolled some quarters, dimes, and Nichols in anticipation of B-Day. I was fidgety for several days, and invented ways in my mind that the new songs might possibly sound. I reviewed all of the older records so that I would be well oiled to make accurate assessments for the new release. This was a Standard Operating Procedure of that day.

On November 25th, 1968 I waited in line agog with hope until the doors opened at the Melody Shop record store in North Dallas. When the doors finally opened, I swiftly entered the store, and could see the stacks of unopened LP boxes on the floor near the cashiers` station. The record clerk pulled the Lillie-white product from one of the boxes and politely handed me my very own personal platter. “The sun is up, the sky is blue, it`s beautiful, and so are you.” I paid the cashier with a combination of rolled coinage and paper currency and shot out of the store. I made the short walk back to my house with promises in hand.

I got home in a flash, pulled the unblighted white record out of the plain brown paper sack, and ripped off the cellophane wrapping. I impatiently yanked out disc one from its paper sleeve. I marveled at the pretty green apple logo inset of the disc; made haste to my parents` bedroom, then proceeded to pop disc one on the family Zenith stereo console within. As I listened to Back in the USSR attentively, I studied the inserted fold-out lyric sheet with groovy pik-collages on the other side. Then I discovered the four separate photo prints of The Beatles inside; a few days later these were tacked up on the wall. The ritual of listening to the records, studying the lyrics and artwork, and applying meaning to the blank white cover by Richard Hamilton, continued for weeks on end.

For example: Did Mother Superior Jumped the Gun mean that Christianity was outdated? Was the white cover symbolical for the purity of God? Or was it atheistic? Sexy Sadie is a put down of the Maharisha as a guru with a big ego who lusted after ladies. Guru worship, by the Fab Four, vanished away after that. I was at a Catholic prep school, so I tried to see if The Beatles` had views about religion in the lyrics. I took a closer look at John`s comments about Christianity in 1966, said just as a lark. This was taken out of context by the Fundamentalist Christians and then the burning began. I will reference the quote for you here.

“Christianity will go. It will vanish and shrink. I needn`t argue that; I`m right and I will be proved right. We`re more popular than Jesus now; I don`t know which will go first-rock `n` roll or Christianity. Jesus was all right but his disciples were thick and ordinary. It`s them twisting it that ruins it for me.” This is a quote from John Lennon from an article written by Maureen Cleave that appeared in the London Evening Standard on March 4, 1966. Please read it here in its full context. It`s just John jesting and trying to impress the reporter, or trying to explain Beatlemania.

John`s early death, in light of his comments, renews our sense that these were perilous times, radicals would not be tolerated. Lennon lived on the edge all of his life, and said shocking things as a defense mechanism against a hostile culture that may have been incapable of grasping his take on the world. The recent tardy pardon of the Vatican backs the notion that they took a good while (forty years) in sorting through Mister Lennon`s mocking words towards Christianity. The White Album is filled with snipes, jabs, and put downs of ‘polite society’. Look for yourself at the lyric sheet for little bursts of exasperation!

As a backdrop to my comments on several of my favorite songs, I will qualify the creation of this historic double record. Brian Epstein, The Beatles` manager, had died from a drug overdose in August of 1967. Brian had kept them fastidious and focused, but now that he was dead they did what they fancy well wanted to do. As a way of creating a tax dodge, they started their own label, Apple Records. I recall John and Paul appearing on The Tonight Show and making public this move. Hey Jude/Revolution was the first Apple single, and was successful beyond belief!

In February of 1968 The Beatles flew to Rishikish, India for a transcendental meditation session with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. In India they wrote forty songs on acoustic guitar and many of these ended up on The White Album. As they ventured through these grueling recordings in the summer of 1968, they knew they were at the peak of their popularity, and that their every word and note would be siphoned in the silly sandbox of the youth movement. I love every song on The White Album, even Don`t Pass Me By, but for the sake of space, let me dissect a chosen few.

The sonic curiosities, its interplay of lyric and circular four chord progression, makes Dear Prudence a fascinating one for me. The song was written about Mia Farrow`s sister, Prudence, who wouldn`t come out of her bungalow from meditating (in India), so John and George were recruited to coax her out of her turtle shell. The lyrics are presented in a nursery rhyme format and the acoustic guitar is finger-picked in a droning, repeating evolvement, with the bass thumping merrily on the bottom end. “The clouds will be a daisy chain, so let me see you smile again.” George`s guitar, with tints of flange, cascades gaily up the scale on the final verse, while Paul`s piano twinkles briskly as the chaps try to cheer up the sequestered, sad-eyed Prudence.

Glass Onion is just John fencing with fans (his crackerjack wordplay ya know), who try to spin Beatle lyrics into outer space or construct a sandcastle mirage of the cosmos out of syllables. For if these Freaks could decode such messages hidden in Beatle verse, they could discover the key to the universe. John delivers his lines with ample ebullience, enough mojo in its elocution, that you buy into the likelihood that you are receiving signals, even revelations about ‘the big picture.’ The glass onion itself is slang for a monocle; this is a seeing glass with extraordinary magical powers. Indeed, things got a little dodgy in 1968.

Glass Onion is in the key of A minor and in a blues tradition is more spoken than sang. A nice touch is the flourish of bowed strings on the third line, “well here`s another place you can go…” The chording is dense and this mirrors the rich metaphors within the lyrics. The bridge is a chromatic pony ride that mounts suspense. An eight measure outtro has a surprise ending, with pastoral orchestral strings descending the scale, then back up…repeat…remember the ending to Blow Up? This short song packs a punch and you know you are on long, strange riverboat ride of the imagination on this album.

Happiness Is A Warm Gun is the most Beatle-ish song on the White Album and shows close collaboration between the four moptops. It is mainly a jab at those who worship guns but verily so much more. I am hearing five distinct sections woven together, each with a different time signature and a unique emotive expression. John characterized it as a history of rock and I see it as a capsulated journey through rock too.

First there is the folksy arpeggio guitar passage, then the hackneyed poetry portion, and next the bluesy heavy guitar (‘I need a fix’) fissure. The Mother Superior Jumped the Gun bit acts as a coda to John`s comments about Christianity. The sister resists sex and violence, but maybe religion too. The fifth section is a 50s doo-wop rant that is celebratory and simultaneously sarcastic. Reflective listening reveals it as an aural cubist painting assault leaving you out to dry on a clothes line with a smoking pistol in your pantaloons!

All of George Harrison`s songs on The White Album are Arabian baubles, nonetheless Long, Long, Long is the most piquant paean to his new found spirituality. It whispers forth and basks in the glory of karmic renewal: “Now I`m so happy I found you. How I love you.” George`s acoustic guitar resonates easterly, duplicating his raga-rock touch that first surfaced on Rubber Soul. The fourteen bars of the middle section has an accented, recrudescing upright piano phrase by Chris Thomas, as George laments his wasted time away from the restful bliss of grace. You can share with George, finding peace of mind and God also, when you listen. “Now I can see you, be you.” Finality… aye, a spiritual catharsis is achieved in the closing crescendo, where Paul`s organ part rattles, George wails like a anchorite, and a splash of strings from his Gibson J200 echoes with a G minor eleventh chord, conjuring supernal glee!

Paul McCartney`s jaunty Twenties` ditty, Honey Pie, is his most versatile contribution of the lot; `tis a vaudeville number with a rollicking rhythm, a 1920s flapper show tune that conjures visuals of moonbeam liaisons. Paul is vicariously worshipping some silver-screen idol, a mythical moll of the ‘Roaring Twenties,’ me thinks. He may have been alluding to Clara Bow, that`s just a guess, but it could just as easily have been Louise Brooks or May McAvoy. The introduction has Paul mimicking Al Jolson`s lispy banter out the-side-of `is mouth (“now she`s hit the big time”); you could swear up and down you were hearing a scratchy old 78 rpm record. The saxophone and clarinet arrangements by George Martin, peppered throughout, jazzes it up and John ekes out an inspirational Django Reinhardt guitar phrase that saves the day. The line “I`m in love but I`m lazy” has stuck to me like a flea on a sheep dog all of the last forty years!

Cry Baby Cry has always been a curious one for me, with its thespian lyrics and trotting 4/4 rhythm; it`s presented in a simple verse/chorus structure, yet a clever little story is sketched about some mischievous children of a fictitiously daft king and queen. `Tis a fairy tale of sorts, a limerick along the lines of ‘sing a song of sixpence.’ John`s resounding two-handed piano chords, along with a colorful harmonium part by George Martin, makes it a sing along in la-la-land; there`s a diversionary bluesy accent of Bb7 at the end of each verse line, such as ‘hol-i-day.’ A demo exists from late 1967, so it was mostly written before the excursions to India.

Much of this is hocus pocus, but it seems to be a dreary dream from Lennon`s childhood, a dark little nursery rhyme about an isolated world of kings and queens and their children, who at times play pranks. As the skit unfolds the lesson of the fable is “she`s old enough to know better.” “Can you take me back where I came from” as the outtro by Paul shrouds the meaning even more, but casts it as reverie or idle fantasy, an Alice In Wonderland gobbledygook word puzzle of say Lewis Carroll. A little charade transpires (the ‘séance in the dark verse’), but who knows exactly what happens? It hints at a trifle of a royal scandal at some lofty European court, from the pages of medieval lore!

Revolution 9 is a sound collage (musique concrète) that tips its hat off to experimental composers such as Pierre Schaeffer, Karlheinz Stockhausen, John Cage, and Yoko Ono of course. This eight minute aural potpourri by John Lennon is the most widely listened to avant-garde composition ever! John has characterized it as a painting in sound. It is a way of putting texture and color to ineffable undercurrents and random thought, then freely sharing these with millions. John just collected junk, scraps of forgotten recordings from around the studio, and creatively piecemealed them together. This pastiche should be listened to on a quality stereo and with headphones too!


“As time went by they`d get a little bit older, and a little bit slower.” One titillating line from Revolution 9. Revolution Number 9 has a lifetime of sonic data, layers of backwards tapes, opera arias, bits of Beethoven, melotron, fragments of forgotten Abbey Road sessions, football recitations (“hold that line”), and fake Shakespeare lines uttered by John. “Take this brother may it serve you well.” Just let your mind wander while you listen. Herein is a subconscious meditation of the sound atmosphere, a sonic boom. Just free up your mind, let go of Ionian or Mixolydian modes, and you will find a deeper meaning. It has no specific focus, taps into reservoirs of lost tradition, then squeezes out western toxins deeply seeded in your central nervous system. This deconstruction allows you to breathe in new musical paradigms. Hope is awakened!

The Beatles` White Album is in fact a ‘youth movement symphonic codex’ that acts as a catch-all fanfare, both bequeathing and in deference to the turbulence, harmony, and violence of those times, or otherwise pertinacious ‘change factor’ omnipresent, likewise inducing rapid modulations in the social psychology of the late 1960s. These types of cerebral acrobatics are most apropos in this case, although ironically its real effect is both illusive and transparent. I digress, yes and no, but the young people in 1968 took this so seriously, were so devout in their consecrations, that Beatles` music became a surrogate for religion and scripture. This may shock you, but that is just what happened. Therefore, since the young people were so fervent in their Beatle worship, its historical impact, both on events and on the psychology of those young people, was most consummate. This is not so easy to prove, so why don`t we (do it in the road) just intuit it!

The White Album is the greatest rock record ever made! Okay, I said it. I don`t believe that young people today can in any way fathom just how big a stars The Beatles truly were in 1968. I had full realization of that in 1968.When I was young I never understood the star power of Elvis. Society and culture became bifurcated. There was straight society and there was the counterculture. The Beatles protected the young people from the cruelties of authority. When this new album came out youngsters flocked to the record shops in search of clues of how to survive in an insane world filled with war, bigotry, and chaos. The music itself provided answers.

The White Album is a continuous program with brilliant sequencing, that bookends many different styles of songs. Its eclecticism is what makes it so good. Good Night is a lullaby, Bungalow Bill is anti-gun song, Julia an oedipal confession, Piggies is social satire, Blackbird is Bach`s Bouree, Helter Skelter is the first metal tune. There`s experimental, folk, art-songs, blues, rockers, and even a jazz flapper! The holes that fill the Albert Hall are filled in here.

‘Turn me on dead man, turn me on dead man’… Supposedly one could hear those words by spinning the platter backwards `gainst the stylus. Take a gander at Eric Van der Wyk`s web page for an exciting breakthrough! You can hear the entire song backwards using Cool Edit Pro. *Let me provide a few credits: Revolution in the Head by Ian MacDonald is a valuable resource. Also, check out the writings of Alan W. Pollack for over-the-top musicological analysis (way out there) and Wilfred Mellers` Twilight of the Gods (its out of print now and I couldn`t quite get my hands on it, but read bits of it from other articles). Lastly, thanks to French for the image.

PROLOGUE On December 8th, 1980 John Lennon was shot outside of The Dakota. Twenty-eight years ago today (Monday). The spirit of 1968 died that day. In December of 2005 I visited the Dakota and Strawberry Fields Park. Took some nice photos. And then another sad fact, George Harrison left us November 29th, 2001. The Beatles are half gone. “Now it`s time to say good night, Good night Sleep tight, Now the sun turns out his light…” The music lives eternally. “Is this really love, is this really real? Is this really love, is this really real?” The White Album is the Rubik`s Cube for the baby boomers.* Please listen to the record non-stop while you read my piece! It makes sense then.

JFK ASSASSINATION: THE CASE FOR CONSPIRACY IS STILL ALIVE!

JFK ASSASSINATION: THE CASE FOR CONSPIRACY IS STILL ALIVE! By John G. Kays

I still remember that hot Dallas day in August of 1965 when my family drove north on the Stemmons Freeway past the Texas School Book Depository Building. I was startled by its dark red, earthen tone. My family had only seen it on a black and white television in Houston, Texas during those dark days. “There it is, Dad,” I exclaimed with some trepidation in my voice. At that moment I felt equal measures of thrill and repulsion as I glared in awe at the ruddy colored building.

My enthusiasm for President Kennedy, his optimism, courage, and charisma all propelled me forward, and filled me with his hope, when I was very young. Yet the explanation for his death, by way of the Warren Report, left many unanswered questions. How could a lone assassin have committed such a sophisticated crime such as killing a president? What really happened in Dallas on November 22, 1963? Today marks the forty-fifth anniversary of the Kennedy Assassination, and yet many doubts still linger today.

Throughout these forty-five years the American people have been bombarded with images, books, newspapers, magazines, films, and countless theories about the assassination, that have left them jaded beyond belief. Over the past few years a new cover-up has taken place, modeled after the same old withered, ‘single-bullet theory’ that has been clouding the light of truth from us all of these years. This is a mystery to me as to why this is still happening after so many intelligent, virtuous researchers have definitively countered the assertions of Oswald as ‘The Lone Nut.’ Just a few examples of the new cover-up would be a 2003 Peter Jennings production or the way in which The History Channel has pulled from rotation the superb seven part series The Men Who Killed Kennedy by Nigel Turner.

These specials have to leave out more than they leave in in order to make this ‘lone assassin construction’ seem feasible. For me, it is still simple things that I`m troubled by. It is little things that don`t fit. One example of this is, you will remember, that the Dallas police officer, Marion Baker, saw Oswald in the TSBD lunch room only 90 seconds after the shots stopped. The odd thing is, Marian Baker said that Oswald was calm, and not out of breath. This would mean that Lee Harvey would have to flee from the snipers perch, run through the myriad of stacked boxes to the other side of the building, hide the rifle, race down four flights of stairs, and then calmly enter the second floor coffee room, all in just a minute and a half! An impossible feat!

A litany of brave researchers have saved us from the permanent peril of obscurity in this important case. Therefore, I must sing praises here for the likes of Penn Jones, Jr., Gary Mack, Robert Groden, Harold Weisberg, Mark Lane, Josiah Thompson, and most of all, Gary Shaw. Gary Shaw`s book Cover-up was my bible in the late 1970s. These brave individuals kept the spirit alive for dissent against the dark forces who didn`t want us to know who or why JFK was killed. Now days the internet protects us from these facts and clues from being lost to time. Moreover, information has been preserved by museums, libraries, and specialized archives. I have actually done a good job myself in preserving valuable records that shed light on this case. Last night I viewed a VHS tape, Fake, that has been buried in an archive box for more than ten years; I know of nowhere you can currently find this rare artifact.

And yet the truth about this case lies burrowed, aye, perched in a ‘snipers nest’ of data; the false facts must be carefully culled away from the uncut gems of truth that are hidden from view. The rubble of debris, the corpus of ephemera, that is the artist palette for conspiratoricians must contain the best evidence, the reasons for this deed, how they actually pulled it off, and the manner of its blasphemous cover-up. The reality of what happened forty-five years ago today in Dallas is just as clear as spring mountain water, if we could drink from its fount, but we can`t taste of its sweet water today. Storm clouds shroud our view and a newly forged cover-up persists.

*(This is a scan of drawing that I got when I went to see President Kennedy at Rice Stadium in Houston, Texas in 1962. I was nine years old at the time. Forgive me, but the scan is incomplete.)

This is a very interesting photo gallery of people and events associated with the JFK Assassination.

FORTY-FIVE YEARS LATER-THE JFK ENIGMA IS STILL ALIVE!

I have been feeling as if over the past few years a new cover-up has been put in place, certainly by the media. Today marks the forty-fifth anniversary of the Kennedy Assassination, and there seems to be a shortage of new specials about the topic, especially those that are critical of ‘The Lone Nut’ theory. Back in 1988, at the twenty-fifth anniversary, there was no shortage of good new books, video, and photographic analysis. Why this is, I can`t say exactly; maybe interest in the case has dwindled? More sinister however, is the idea that those in authority want to re-spin this case in a simple manner; that is, they want to reassert the Warren Commission`s ‘single bullet theory’ construct that has been shown time and time again to be completely fallacious.

I must praise the internet at this juncture! Also, I have preserved many of my documents, such as books, Xeroxes, and VHS tapes. Memory can play tricks on you, but after reviewing some of my materials, some of which it`s been as much as ten years since viewing, much of this period (1988-1992) rushes back to my feeble brain. Keeping good records is a virtue that can`t be underestimated. Otherwise, the truth of what transpired in history will be lost to man. I was absolutely thrilled to find an old interview with Gary Shaw, author of the rare and out-of-print book Cover-Up, and I will link it for you here, it is called Alternative Views. Please be sure to view this important interview in July of 1988.

Last night I viewed a rare video, I guess I taped it many years ago, that is a photographic analysis of the infamous backyard photos of Oswald. I`m not even sure of the title, but I call it ‘Fake’, since it nearly proves that these photos were altered in order for Oswald to take the fall. It is the work of Jack White, and uses much technical analysis to show just how this was pulled off. Oswald`s head has been grafted onto the body of another individual. I doubt you will be able to find this video anywhere, so I feel like I have possession of a very rare piece of video. Oswald himself said the incriminating photo was a fake when he was showed it by a Dallas detective at the police station. The chin is wrong and Oswald never had a watch, nor the type of shirt worn by the man holding the rifle, pistol, and Communist literature. You must experience the work of Jack White, in this regard, it is quite good and you will be convinced that the photos were faked!

With the internet`s presence, and the solid gatherings of information by dedicated researchers (I will humbly include myself) who seek the truth, no one, no entity, nor any iniquitous renegade coterie will ever be able to bury the vast body of dissenting artifacts that point to a conspiracy to eliminate the 35th president. In spite of recent efforts by non-dissenting writers and film-makers to spin these traumatic events in the most conventional ‘lone assassin’ framework, those you are weathered in these matters can still glean fragments of the truth. While J.Edgar Hoover and the FBI tried to cover-up the conspiracy at the time of the crime, enough hard evidence has remained to weave a vastly different story. Every American, if they want to truly know what happened, should review this evidence, and all the contradicting strains that make a clear picture of what happened impossible.

If they want to, they can assume that the Warren Report is right! Then let them try to plug all the facts of the case into the model and see what they come up with. It doesn`t fit, too many of the facts point to a widely different scenario!