Steven C. Day's "The Last Chance Democracy Cafe"
on BuzzFlash.com

by Steven C. Day

As I started out on my Wednesday evening rounds to pick up The Three Wise Men, "Nights in White Satin" came on the oldies station where I keep my radio tuned:

Breathe deep the gathering gloom,
Watch lights fade from every room.

And then it struck me. Or at least I thought it struck me. This song -- released almost 40 years ago -- could easily have been written about today’s America, under George W. Bush’s leadership. The "gathering gloom" of increasing inequality, reduced opportunity, environmental neglect, economic stagnation and unnecessary war. The fading light of lost liberty and excessive governmental secrecy.

* * *
Cold-hearted orb that rules the night
Removes the colours from our sight,
Red is grey and yellow white
But we decide which is right
And which is an illusion.

My mind raced on. It all fit so perfectly. The "cold-hearted orb" of a neglectful government run by ideologically driven Social Darwinists. The drab colorlessness of a black and white, "you’re either with us or against us," world. The "red is grey and yellow white" disingenuousness of a presidency that seems to have lost interest in even the pretense of straightforwardness. And then, even a small splash of hope at the end – a reminder that "we decide which is right and which is an illusion." That if only, somehow, we can find the guts and the drive to grab hold of it, we still have the means to cut through to the truth.
Was it possible, I found myself wondering, as I made the turn onto 7th Street, that Justin Hayward had acted as a sort of British musical Nostradamus during the 1960s and 70s, with the gift of premonition looking ahead to this very day. When I checked on the Internet later, I discovered that Hayward himself has placed a somewhat different spin on things. When asked by an interviewer what the song was about, he said, "Somebody had actually given me some white satin sheets! It was just a phrase . . . Dreadful things, satin sheets." So apparently "Nights in White Satin" is about bed sheets. Now, there’s a downer.

But that evening, blissfully ignorant, I decided to put my much grander theory to the test. Hurriedly, I groped through my disc collection: "The Beatles? No. Bruce Springsteen? No. It’s got to be here somewhere . . . Simon & Garfunkel? No. Shit, I almost hit that truck! Need to watch the road . . . Neil Diamond? No. Damn it, where is the son of . . . Meat Loaf? No . . . Got it!"

Moving quickly, I pulled the disc -- "Night Flight" by The Moody Blues -- out of its holder, and popped it into the van’s CD player.
What? I’m 49 years old. You were thinking I listen to Britney Spears?

Picking the song completely at random, I waited breathlessly to see what other astonishing predictions of today’s world might soon spring forth on the wing of a song:

Life is a struggle,
Baby, you got to choose
Hear the call of the wild wind,
What have you got to lose?
So take off that coat and those crazy shoes
I can see by your smile that you're ready,
Well, I'm ready too.

. . . Or maybe not.

I guess I got a little carried away. I do that sometimes.

The last time I really got carried away, in fact, I ended up opening a new business. It’s called The Last Chance Democracy Café.

* * *

Speaking of which, this was the first Wednesday following Winston’s release from probation. Originally, all three wise men had received identical sentences of 45 days probation (with no drinking allowed). The judge ended up, however, extending Winston’s for an additional 30 days.

Apparently, she thought he had a bad attitude.

Who’d of guessed?

I’m told that what happened was that on the day Horace, Tom and Winston were arrested, Winston talked one of the jailers he knew from his days as a judge into giving him a sheet of paper with the jail’s letterhead on it. He then used it to send a letter to the White House,

To: The Honorable George W. Bush, Occupant of the Big White House with all the Guards:

From: An Occupant of Another Big House With Lots of Guards:

Re: Hello! Wish You Were Here!

The Secret Service contacted the jail.

The jail contacted the judge.

The judge . . . well, you know the rest.

Happily, Winston managed to serve out the remainder of his extended probation without incident. And, thus, it was now time for our three conquering heroes, released from their court imposed sobriety, to be welcomed back into the fold.

Everything went pretty much per norm during the pickups. Horace was standing by the curb at the ready as I arrived. Tom was ready as well, but I had to honk to bring him out. Winston was asleep on the couch. "What, it’s Wednesday already?" he said after I had pounded on the door for three minutes.

Zach was at the front of the long line of well wishers as Horace, Tom and Winston sauntered triumphantly into the café. Horace gave him a bear hug. Tom shook his hand briskly with a broad smile. Winston handed him a condom and said earnestly, "In case you get lucky, tonight," then waited to be sure Zach’s face turned a suitable shade of red, before continuing down the receiving line.

It was official. The wise men were back.

Soon they were comfortably ensconced at the large round table, complementary drinks sitting before them, regaling us with stories of how they each spent their "summer vacation" away from the café.

Horace spent most of his ten weeks helping to paint his church -- inside and out.

Tom finished work on his new book, "Macroeconomic Forecasting in a Microeconomic World: A Love Story."

Don’t ask.

Winston apparently spent a good deal of his time visiting the discussion forums at the Democratic Underground web site. His user name was "da judge." He was eventually banned after running afoul of some rule against insulting other users.

Who’d of guessed?

* * *

Soon we got down to the evenings business, which, per the usual, involved a healthy dose of torturing Zach with questions.

Horace got things started, "Well, since we’re on the subject of dissent and protest . . ."

"And jailbirds," I added snickeringly.

Molly, who was serving another round of drinks, sang quietly,

Bad boys, bad boys
Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do
When they come for you.

" and jailbirds, too," smiled Horace, "let me ask you something, Zach . . ."
" Okay . . ." Zach’s voice was a touch reticent, though not nearly to the degree it would have been had Winston or Tom been asking the questions. Horace, you’ll recall, is the nice one.

" . . . and this is what I want to ask: Let’s pretend . . . just for the sake of discussion that you were to fall under the influence of three bona-fide-pure-breed-no-apologies-offered-bleeding-heart-liberals . . ."

Winston feigned shock, "Oh, come now. Nothing that hideous could possibly happen in today’s political environment."

Zach chuckled.

Horace pressed on: "Well, let’s just pretend . . . And while we’re at it, let’s also pretend that based upon this insidious influence, you are led to believe that George W. Bush has been the worst and most dangerous president since . . . well, since the Forefathers came up with the concept . . ."

"Oh, come on, now!" This time it was Tom feigning shock (he wasn’t nearly as good at it as Winston). "No sane person could ever reach that conclusion about His Greatness -- just ask Fox News!"

Zach chuckled again. I guess he was finding this more fun than most of the times when he’s subjected to the twenty question treatment by the wise men.

" . . . and, finally, let’s pretend," Horace, undeterred by the interruptions pushed on, "that based upon this corrupting influence you get it in your head that you want to communicate your objections to Bush and his policies with a large audience . . . You with me so far . . . ?"

"Sure . . ."

"So then, how would you go about doing that?"

"Complaining about Bush . . . ?"

"Complaining about Bush in a way that would be heard by many, many people."

Zach looked stumped. Or maybe he was just suspicious Horace was setting him up with a trick question -- again -- which, of course, to a certain degree he was.

Tom offered a thought. "You play the guitar, as I recall: Why not record a protest song?"

"You’ve heard me sing, remember?" smiled Zach. He was right. He’d joined in the singing of America the Beautiful at closing time a number of times. And, no, he wasn’t destined for stardom.

"Well, I wouldn’t worry about it," said Horace. "Because even if you had the most beautiful voice in America, your protest song wouldn’t get any air time."

"Clear Channel wouldn’t play it," added Tom. "End of story."

Horace and Tom were right, of course. Protest songs are the untouchables of today’s music scene. It wasn’t always so, of course. As Brent Staples pointed out in an insightful opinion piece for The New York Times last year, "Pop music played a crucial role in the national debate over the Vietnam War. By the late 1960s radio stations across the country were crackling with blatantly political songs that became mainstream hits."

One of the most powerful -- and successful -- of the Vietnam era protest songs, of course, was Crosby Stills & Nash’s recording about Kent State shootings, "Four Dead in Ohio":

Tin soldiers and Nixon's comin',
We're finally on our own,
This summer I hear the drummin'
Four dead in Ohio.

But that was then. Today, the independent stations, so willing to take chances with controversial recordings during the late 60s and early 70s, are largely gone -- replaced by corporate giants. The tipping point came with adoption of the Telecommunications Act of 1996. Billed as a "deregulation" statute, the Act quickly proved to actually be a media concentration statute. (Ah, deregulation, the sins committed in thy name!) Under previous law, no more than 36 radio stations could be held by one owner. This all changed under the Act, however, and within just a few years, Clear Channel Communications, by itself, owned more than 1,200.
The net result? Crap radio, from sea to shining sea. Local programing, local news and for that matter local staffs -- gone with the windbags, replaced, in the case of talk radio, by Limbaugh, Liddy and the rest. And it’s the same dreary story with music radio, with local song selection jettisoned in favor of the, oh so cost effective, oneness of corporate play lists. Listening to radio today is like going to McDonald’s: Wherever you are, you always know you’ll always get exactly the same thing.

This corporatization of the public airways has also, of course, had a profound political impact, strikingly apparent in the case of the Iraq War. There was never any doubt as to the company line on Iraq: Rah, rah, war, all the way. Clear Channel actually got into a little hot water over this -- emphasis on the little (remember their friends run the country) -- when it was disclosed some of its stations were actively organizing pro war rallies. And, of course, they were also a leading player in the attempted crucifixion of the Dixie Chicks for daring to stray from accepted dogma. Meanwhile, pro war songs by country music performers like Toby Keith, Darryl Worley and Charlie Daniels, benefitting from generous air time, became hits, while anti war songs by Merle Haggard and Nanci Griffith died on the vine from lack of play.

I guess Merle and Nanci never got the memo -- you know, THE COMPANY memo,

Mr. Twimble:
As a brash young man,
Well, I said to myself,
'Now, brash young man,
Don't get any ideas.'
Well, I stuck to that,
And I haven't had one in years.
* * *
Finch:
But what is your point of view?
Twimble:
I have no point of view.
Finch:
Supposing the company thinks . . .
Twimble:
I think so too.

("The Company Way," from "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying")

A lot of entertainers did get the memo, of course. Take Britney Spears -- Please! (Sorry Rodney.) Who could ever forget Britney’s powerhouse performance during her CNN interview by Tucker Carlson:
Tucker: "A lot of entertainers have come out against the war in Iraq. Have you?

Britney: "Honestly, I think we should just trust our president in every decision that he makes and we should just support that, you know, and be faithful in what happens."

Let’s see, prostrate with unquestioning obedience to our master. Yeah, that’s what being an American is supposed to mean, all right.

Back to the conversation at the café, Horace said, "But, hey, we’re only talking about songs here . . . right? A little tune and a few words. So what’s the big deal?"

"Music is important to people," said Zach in a strong voice. "It’s important to me."

"Damn straight," smiled Horace approvingly. Horace always smiles when Zach "gets it," which, by the way, is most of the time. "And music is particularly important in political dissent," Horace continued. "Protest songs have played a major role in every important social movement in American history . . ."

Tom agreed, "In fact, protest songs played a big role in rousing people to revolt against the British at the time of the American Revolution."

One of the songs Tom was referring to is "American Taxation," which, Irwin Silber, author of "Songs of Independence," regards as "the opening anthem of the revolution":

While I relate my story, Americans give ear;
Of Britain's fading glory, you presently shall hear.
I'll give a true relation, attend to what I say,
Concerning the taxation of North America.

The cruel lords of Britain, who glory in their shame,
The project they have hit on they joyfully proclaim;
'Twas what they're striving after our rights to take away,
And rob us of our charter in North America.

Kind of strong, huh? I guess it’s just as well Clear Channel Communications wasn’t around back then, or we might begin ball games today by singing "God Save the Queen."

" But, of course, the issue goes way beyond protest songs," said Horace sadly. "Concentrated corporate control of almost every major medium of mass communication in this country has had a devastating impact on the ability of dissenting voices to be heard in many other ways . . ."

Winston jumped in, "And when you combine that with Bush’s war against dissent . . . you know, things like caging protestors in so-called First Amendment zones, retaliating against anyone who speaks out against government policy . . ."

"Or having a presidential press secretary warn people to watch what they say," added Horace.

"It all starts to add up, doesn’t it?" mused Tom.

"Add up to something that doesn’t look much like America," agreed Winston.

Horace looked at Zach and said, "And we need to talk about all of it, you know?"

Tom added, "And we also need to talk about how all of this, all this . . . well, all this unholy crap, is helping to push this country in the direction of plutocracy and away from true liberal democracy."

"It sounds like we have a lot to talk about," smiled Zach.

"You’ve got that right," nodded Horace.

"Well, if you’re going to do that much jabbering, then first I’ll need a . . . "began Winston.

I cut him off in mid-grump, "Don’t worry, another round’s already on the way." Then I paused before adding, "On your tab."

To be continued . . .

* * *

"The Last Chance Democracy Cafe" runs every other week. You can read all the Episodes in the archives.