“I’ll miss you when you’re gone away forever.”
The Pre-Posthumous Recordings of The Artist
I’ll be the millionth writer to note that 2016 has been absolute murder on legendary musicians so far. And now Prince is gone.
I don’t have a full obit, a critical reappraisal or anything terribly profound to add; just a few musings on record shopping that are too long for a Facebook status update.
Many artists of Prince’s stature and longevity usually leave behind a trove of posthumous recordings, so that they remain platinum-selling artists years after their death. And, of course, now their holograms can go on tour in support of those new records (the future is a strange place). But Prince was a legendarily prodigious recording artist. It’s not an unusual year that sees Prince out out two or three new records! (or, rather, saw; the past tense doesn’t feel right yet). And, so, Prince is the rare artist who has dozens of pre-posthumous recordings ready for purchase. So, before you bemoan the fact that you will never hear a new Prince song ever again, there are hundreds – perhaps thousands – of hours of Prince music that is new to you, waiting to be picked up and taken for a spin.
When I got married, I heard my record collection through new ear’s: my wife’s. Kate sort of played DJ with my records when we first moved in together, and put in heavy rotation some discs that I might have only spun once every other year previously. Prince was one of those. Embarrassingly, I only had The Very Best of Prince, when everyone knows that greatest hits are for housewives and little girls. So, out of a renewed appreciation, and a desire for a little more variety, I started picking up more Prince CD’s every time I visited a used record store.
I never really bought new Prince records. His stuff was much more of a used record store hunt for me. And there’s a ton of them in every used record store. Music going digital caused a lot of fans to tell their copies of Purple Rain and 1999 (of which there are millions!) to make some room and a buck. But I was also able to score the one-and-done discards of fans who actually bought the new records to sort through whether it was a good one, a great one or a mediocre one. Emancipation, Musicology, 3121 – that whole blur of records that he put out after regaining his name and artistic freedom just in time to watch the music industry basically collapse.
And so, the only profundity that I will leave you with is this: go out and buy 3121. It’s the best recent Prince record that I’ve heard and you probably have not. It feels classic and new and like listening to an old friend all at once. Plus, he interrupts one slow jam with a falsetto command to “Turn off your cellphone,” which, if nothing else, would make a great ringtone.
The Terrifying Prospect of Trump vs. Clinton
There is no prospective match-up for the November presidential election that is more terrifying than Donald Trump vs. Hillary Clinton. The violence and “Heil Hitler” salutes practiced by his supporters make any semantic debate about whether his politics can be defined as “fascist” kinda moot. Ask yourself why he even bothered to schedule a campaign rally in Chicago when the likelihood of protestors outnumbering Trump supporters was all but certain? How long until the open carry gun activists make common cause with his campaign and make good on his threat to turn out Trump supporters to Bernie Sanders rallies? The man is dangerous and unpredictable.
Also unpredictable is what suicidally stupid thing Hillary Clinton is going to say on the campaign trail today. In just the last couple of days we’ve heard her praise the Reagans for starting a “national conversation” about AIDS (by notoriously refusing to utter the word for over half a decade), repeating the easily – and snarkily – refuted lie that Bernie Sanders hasn’t done much to advance the cause of universal healthcare, and issuing a pathetic word salad about Chicago’s anti-Trump protest the tl;dr version of which is apparently that Dylann Roof started a national conversation about the Confederate battle flag.
These were not gaffes or gotchas. These were unforced errors. These were planned, practiced and vetted campaign strategies. Put aside any consideration of Clinton as a public official. She sucks as a campaigner. As Erik Loomis recently put it, “Hillary Clinton is a Martha Coakley-level campaigner with a once-brilliant campaigner for a husband.” As people are slowly realizing that Hillary has based her path to the Democratic nomination on winning southern states that she doesn’t even plan to campaign in for the general election, she struggles to beat a cranky old socialist in states that will be essential in November (and where Trump is doing disturbingly well in his primaries). I’ve noticed a new line of defense popping up in the blogosphere, “reminding” people that HRC won “statewide election in a deep blue state by 12 and 36 points.”
One would need to be a child or an amnesiac, but certainly not a New Yorker, to believe that crap. The Republican party in New York state is an empty vessel. It’s available for rent for the occasional billionaire to run a vanity campaign, but otherwise puts up school board level candidates for high office. Hillary ran against, and handily defeated, nobody of substance in her two Senate campaigns. She didn’t even face a serious opponent in the Democratic primary, which is where elections are actually decided in New York. Her 2000 and 2006 Senate campaigns were coronations, much like her 2008 and 2016 presidential campaigns were supposed to be.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I think too much is made of Trump’s appeal to white working class voters. Two cycles of Obama elections (which were supposed to be close, but were won by millions of votes) have demonstrated that the racist white working class can be outvoted. But what is essential is inspiring and mobilizing the base. Hillary’s campaign of no se puede is actively demoralizing to the voters she needs to energize. And her propensity to make terrible campaign decisions will create opportunities for her opponent.
The people who are already calling for voters to fall in line behind HRC to prevent a Trump presidency would do well to wake up to the notion that Trump’s only possible path to the White House may well be in a head-to-head match-up with Hillary Clinton.
Why “Comrade?”
A friend and, dare I say, comrade wrote me and asked why I use the word “comrade” so freely, instead of the more accepted “brother” and “sister.” Won’t people associate you with James Bond villains and bomb-throwing radicals when you use that word? And it’s true. I do throw it around a good deal, both as a warm expression of solidarity and friendship and, a little bit, to make people a bit uncomfortable in otherwise stodgy rooms.
Fuck it; I’ve already been blown up by Fox News for being dangerously un-American, so why pretend to be a safer person than I am? Besides, saying “brother” or “sister” instead of comrade is one of those bits of American exceptionalism, like not celebrating Labor Day on May 1 or calling football “soccer,” that really ought to be resisted as a matter of global solidarity. Comrade is the preferred salutation of the labor movement in most countries. Perhaps it gets lost in translation? The British default to comrade, but, being British, they pronounce it funny (“comb-rayd”).
I was a teenage socialist. I joined the Socialist Party when I was 17 years old. Although I’ve since quit the party, I remain a socialist. In socialist politics, we say comrade. We even abbreviate it as “Cde.” in the minutes (“Cde. Richman seconded the motion”). It was when I first started saying the word and where I first gained an appreciation for its meaning.
Firstly, the word conveys a sense of equality that brother and sister don’t quite get across. As I said, I was a teenage socialist. But I was a comrade, on equal footing and with equal title as people who had been in the movement for decades; people who had been trained by Bayard Rustin, A.J. Muste, Michael Harrington. I was their comrade.
When I organized a teach-in against one of those many little Clinton wars at Queens College with one of my professors, he called me comrade. Of course, he’s British; it comes easier to him. But it was a tremendous equalizer. I still see him at rallies or union meetings and he still greets me with a warm, “Hello, comrade. How are you?”
I first started using the word in a union context as a dare. A bunch of my co-workers marched together under no banner in the first huge march against the proposed invasion of Iraq. It was an unseasonably warm early spring day. There were a million of us. It felt like a celebration (and then the war started).
At some point during the march, my friend Alan and I found ourselves separated from our group. “It appears we have misplaced our comrades,” I said. Alan paused, laughed and challenged me, “How amazing would it be if you and I called each other comrade at the office on Monday?” And so we did, and so we have ever since.
It’s significant to this story that one of our friends at the union was trans, but not yet out. Hell, he wasn’t even out to me but it just felt wrong to call him sister. Comrade, as a gender-neutral salutation, just made practical sense. This old word has some relevance to the 21st century yet!
Finally, comrade is used in the military. The salutation is standard at VFW halls. (What could be more American than that?) To me, comrade implies that we’ve been through some shit together; a tough campaign, a boss fight, some controversy. And there’s a greater loyalty that comes out of having been through some shit together. Calling someone a comrade, for me, is about trying to always keep that first and foremost. It’s too easy to get into an argument of some immediate political issue or campaign decision and just go to war or give someone up as dead to you. But you don’t do that with a comrade. You’ve been through some shit.
You could argue that brother and sister do all of this equally well (well, not the whole gender neutral thing). But I would say that those salutations in labor have become a bit too pro forma. They are said to fill the air, with not much deep thought behind them. Saying comrade, in America, in the year 2015, requires more of a thought process. And I’m generally in favor of people doing more thinking.