To thine own self be true

(Buffy Sainte-Marie’s hot new album)

(left: signed1996 DVD, shown on CBC; right: signed 2008 CD with bonus DVD A Multimedia Life–about her early experiments with multi-media and new technology of the time)

(left: signed concert program from around 1968; signed illustrated 1971 songbook)

(signed 1967 Vanguard record album–when my interest in and respect for Sainte-Marie began)

My familiarity with First Nations persons whom I know of and have respect for is, admittedly, a short one: Lorne Cardinal (a very funny guy on Corner Gas), Kenojuak Ashevak (the most famous Inuit woman artist), Preston Singletary (an impressive contemporary American native-artist), Thomas King (one of Canada’s most satirical writers), and Drew Hayden Taylor (a similar witty writer).

But I’ve long had most respect for Buffy Sainte-Marie, a First Nations artist from Saskatchewan, since I bought her legendary Fire, Fleet, and Candlelight record back in 1967. Buffy is the most notable native case of “To thine own self be true” that I can think of. She has written many memorable songs (“Until It’s Time for You to Go”, “Up Where We Belong”) and been the longest-standing live concert native performer I can think of. She has always kept up with the changing times and technology and long been a significant political voice for her peoples.

I had the distinct privilege of meeting her after a wonderful concert at Sherwood Park’s Festival Place Sept. 18, 2009. What a beautiful, mighty, gracious spirit that belied her surprisingly diminutive height! (I had always imagined her to be taller than me at 5’7″.) She was dressed in white fringed ceremonial attire which was an absolute knockout appearance-wise. She was all graciousness deigning to sign a number of items I had brought along and soft-spoken. A true lady. Very impressive and in great vocal form that magical evening.

Well, Power in the Blood–what an awesome listen with a wide range of songs including one from her very first album back in 1964, “It’s My Way’–an incredible opening number for the album: (“I’ve got my own world. I’ve got my own life.”) The heavy Alabama 3 adaptation of “Power in the Blood’ (“I don’t mind dyin'”) introduces anyone who’s a novice to Buffy’s politics and social protest songs. “We Are Circling”, a sacred song, illustrates her deep sense of connectedness to Nature and humankind.

“Not the Lovin Kind”(“Love for you is a matter of no deposit and no return”) is an example of one of her typically honest love songs. “Love Charms”, which follows, is another of her ‘spinning circle’ songs about relationships. There are two delicate love songs on the album and “I Love You, Baby” is a lullaby to her people (“On some reservation your purification’s begun”). “Farm in the Middle of Nowhere” is a pleasant laid-back countrified tune–the type she has always written with a simple, but effective organ solo by Aaron Davis, one of several strong instrumental contributors to this, at times, percussion-heavy selection of songs.

“Generation” is another memorable oldie song from the ’80s with its super chorus: (“And they sing bye-bye scars of history, and bye-bye bankers trust/Aquarius is shining but the Sun is one of us./And me I don’t wanna go to the moon alone, I’m gonna leave that moon alone./I just want to dance with the Rosebud Sioux this summer.”) It features a very heavy guitar solo which speaks to Buffy’s long-abiding interest in rock sounds. “Sing Our own Song” is another adapted song, this time from UB40 (“We will slide your control from our lands.”), yet another eminder that Buffy has stayed true to her social protest roots.

“Orion” is the wispiest of all the CD’s numbers, supported and eloquently expressed by Buffy’s long-time collaborator Jack Nitzsche (“And of all my dreams come true the best is now.”) The next track, “The Uranium War”, shows Buffy’s humor at its best–a wickedly satirical piece (“Hey rip ’em up, strip ’em up, get ’em with a gun.”). The positive-toned and lyriced “Carry It On” closes the program and offers her best hopeful wishes for humankind, her peoples, and Nature.

I believe this is probably the best album Buffy has ever recorded. She is in great voice whether singing seriously, romantically, humorously, or protestingly. The overall sound of the album is extremely contemporary and well-produced by four people, including Sainte-Marie. As usual she includes native chants in the mix that add sincerity and authenticity, reflecting her heritage and intentions. Musically, I loved and appreciated all of her choices. She continues to be the top First Nations recording artist of all time and has deserved the many accolades that have been awarded to this successful return to the recording scene at the ripe young age of 73.

big blessing.

big blessing. (perspective)

(on an unexpectedly warm September afternoon, actualizing a glass of red on the Banff Springs patio overlooking the golf course)

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…without progress, growth, success, self-actualization, or steps forward. When that happens, we can stop to savour and appreciate process.

matters.

Was watching the Monuments program on the Frame channel in which young women primped themselves and posed provocatively (a la women’s mag front covers) in front of a bronze lion statue (some kind of symbolism there).

Reminded me of how our age is more concerned about exteriors and surfaces these daze, the so-called optics, rather than interiors and what’s within. Given the current mass dumbing-down, this all makes sense. The public is more into image rather than anything thoughtful or anything to do with values and character.

To wit, Justin, his selfies, his haircut, and photo-op in Vanity Fair. There isn’t much interest in substance, subject matter, and idea, only ‘sexy’ stories heavy on imagery. Our superficial, hollow times built mostly on advertising and agendas. “Me first”. “My agenda’s better, more right, and more important than yours.” “”Like my image, like me, my agenda.”

and I’m watching the Oilers with the mute on. Bob Cole is the worst broadcaster of all time. He’s the Don Cherry of play-by-play announcers. Danny Galllivan, where art thou?

(Books, reading, solitude, nonconformity, and ‘dropping out from the herd’–all highlighted in Bradbury’s famous book and Truffaut’s appealing movie–are all good, valid alternatives)

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…is mere babble often with no significant meaning or content. (This effect is often accentuated by such stimulants as coffee, alcohol, or drugs.) Some of the babble is strictly arising from others, even complete strangers, for instance, in a grocery store, stopping one to hold them captive so they can talk–Ancient Mariner-style–at someone, often just to hear their own voice or to control someone else.

One of the principal reasons why I ‘dropped out’ of society in 2002 and again in 2010 was to be free of this often-forced babble and having to be forced into being on the receiving end of a lot of babble that didn’t simply interest or concern me, and wasted huge amounts of my time and personal life. Often this babble was inconsequential, pointless chatter, agendaed prattle, or party-line gossip revealing the madness or palpable weaknesses of others more than anything.

Sometimes solitude or ‘leaving the herd’ is viewed as aberrant behavior or some kind of major defect and failure, but I’ve always found that it clears one’s mind and allows one to see things more clearly.

Incidentally, much of the new e-media or d-technologies reveal this human penchant for babble. A complete stranger will be standing beside one in an elevator shouting into a cellphone, inflicting their limited emptiness and ego onto others in a social situation. I don’t need this; no one else does. We are perfectly entitled to the sanctity of our own thoughts and preferences without having people who are clearly ‘not together’ foist their limited/limiting selves and worlds on others.

Increasingly, in this declining, purposelessly-deconstructed time, I find a great dumbing- down in many areas and a significant lack of positive, thoughtful, growth-oriented discourse, content, and subject matter. Much to do about nothing in particular. The true art of conversation requires more than a motor-mouth on automatic laying trips on others. Properly speaking, it is a thoughtful exchange seeking real connection and reveals an empathy that knows when to shut up and listen, not dominating and paralyzing. There are many more people on this planet than just one’s ‘untogether self’.

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“They almost hear a meaning in their noise.”–Thom Gunn, “On the Move”

(above: Lake Louise. Sometimes only photography offers the closest means and technology to ‘capture’ and express whatever Nature is experienced in person)

There are places and scenes which one cannot hope to do justice to in words. I know well the limitations of word when describing Nature. Earlier I did an entry (Oct. 2, 2013) comparing the natural sculptures of the Mingan Archipelago to those by Henry Moore. The similarities were, I thought, obvious and with minimal imagination I was able to render some interaction between the former and the latter. The poem was both possible and worked. Such a process and poem was only possible, though, because of my sensibility and imagination, the latter two preceding expression and poem.

But some scenes are just what they are and simply knock you out with their pristine or wild beauty. The only way to record these is to have an Olympus digital camera like the one Michaelhdavies used to record most of what’s on this particular Frame channel program. One views the unique splendors of this national park and just says “Wow!” The Frame channel can be that way sometimes, particularly the Canadian parks programs, and especially, the ones of northern parks.

Of course, you’re missing the 5 other senses which can only be experienced in person of sound, taste, smell, feel, and temperature. But as facsimiles go, yes, only good quality photography and nicely chosen pictures can do justice to these places. Words will never suffice or hope to replicate such wild glory.

That said, I remain impressed by what writers like Frost, Wordsworth, and Keats were able to accomplish in such poems as “After Apple Picking”, “Tintern Abbey,” and “Ode to Autumn”. Proving that, when a writer or poet has something to say that is inspired by Nature, great poems or writing are invoked and expressed. In passing, if you reread those three poems, you will experience all 6 senses (temperature being the 6th) which communicate the beauty of those inspired moments and writings.

(Union Station–built 1912,one of the few grand buildings left standing in Wpg.)

Like a pot of dry geraniums
in a North-End wartime window,
you cling to life though
your halcyon days are done.

Oh Winnipeg, your history is dead now.
Who remembers the Strike, the Blizzard, floods?
Who remembers your Indian Jack,
Gisele MacKenzie, Lenny Breau?

White with birdlime.
old banks and empty warehouses
stand silent in a row,
awaiting another fin de siècle boom.

Arcades and pawnshops
infect your once-proud avenues
where kings and queens passed flags
waved by caucasian throngs.

Like transit-riders stranded                                                                                                  at 3 am, Riel and Golden Boy                                                                                         ponder Assiniboine waters,                                                                                     wondering why Hull ever left.

Nothing else remains
but second-hand stores on William
selling spurs, quilts and memories
that no one really needs.

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Notes:

pot of geraniums–allusion to John Marlyn’s 1957 novel Under the Ribs of Death, about a Hungarian-Canadian’s struggle for survival in Winnipeg’s North-End during the Depression

Strike–the famous General labor strike in the summer of 1919

Blizzard–which paralyzed Wpg Mar. 4, 1966; nothing was running and the city shut down

floods–especially the 1950 Red River Flood which flooded parts of the city

Indian Jack–Indian Jack Jacobs, a popular quarterback-punter for the Wpg Blue Bombers, 1950-52

Gisele MacKenzie–popular Wpg. singer who had her own American tv shows in the ’50s and ’60s

Lenny Breau–legendary jazz guitarist, considered to be the all-time best by many fans; mysteriously killed in L.A. in 1984

Riel–Metis hero; a sculpture-monument facing the Assiniboine River near the legislature is dedicated to him

Golden Boy–famous statue on top of the legislature, signifying prosperity

Hull–aka the Golden Jet, first superstar of the Wpg Jets, who signed the 1st million dollar contract in professional hockey, playing from 1972-79

William–William Avenue, seedy once-popular street running to Main Street

(previously printed here Jan. 6, 2015)