Heather Ellis racially motivated over-prosecution in Dixie

http://www.theheatherelliscase.com/

Another year in America, and another slew of racially motivated, manipulated and biased application of the laws.Why am I not surprised that a small southern town in the South could over prosecute a crime that generally only garners a slap on the wrist, and a stern talking to.

Our ugly American tradition of prosecuting black people at a level that is akin to def-con 4, for minor offenses that statistically only net a very minor and negligible fine, has got to either stop, or be exposed to the world as a crime against humanity.

If it is proven to be the case in any prosecution, especially this one, then we as people should demand that it is stopped now.

If not now…when.

This latest case of unfair prosecution would be laughable if it were not actually happening.

The AP is reporting that nearly three years after Heather Ellis switched checkout lines at a southeast Missouri store and touched off what she calls a racially charged dispute with white customers and authorities, the young black schoolteacher faces a trial that could send her to prison for 15 years.

15 years for cutting in line is as ridiculous as it is over-reaching.This is what happens to black women and men in the south as a tradition.If you go there, all the southern states, state flags are just a slightly altered versions of the racist Confederate flag, because they still admire and aspire to be just like their Civil war ancestors.

The KKK has joined forces with the local police department in the small southern country town,Kennett,Missouri-which is about a two-hour drive from Memphis,Tennessee, by inserting racism  in to the story when Ellis was handed KKK cards from a Kennett police officer warning her about her actions.

 The cards from the kkkowardly kkkops stated, “You’ve just been paid a social visit by the Ku Klux Klan; the next visit will not be social.” The officer claims that he only showed the family the cards to make them aware of the situation.

Since that time, and after a dramatic plea for support, people have come to help Heather.

My question is…what is the situation that they are alluding too?…and what are the police doing promoting the Ku Klux Klan? This is a rhetorical question, as I know the answer, which is that southern cops, like a lot of police officers here in America, prefer to kill, destroy and abuse black people, since they no longer have the right to do so, ever since President Lincoln beat their weak Confederation of rebel states, and freed the slaves.

In the 60’s the government stepped in and ended the institutionalized segregation, that was much harsher than Apartheid, but similar, known as the Jim Crow laws, which was in fact, a de facto system of slavery and segregation that caused a lot of our black American citizens to be viciously murdered by mobs of white Klan members and their supporters down south, without the fear of legal retaliation, or prosecution of any kind.

The Jim Crow laws were enforced by the police departments, and the local fathers, in these small country towns, up until the time of John F. Kennedywrote the Civil Rights Bills, and signed by President Lyndon B. Johnson, who grew up in a small southern town in Texas, and was well versed on the murderous contempt that the local police always hold for black perpetrators who were always falsely accused of a crime they did not commit.

We all must remember that only a mere 35 years ago, a black man could be legally hanged from a tree until he/she was dead, for simply looking a white man or woman in the eyes. The law was called malicious eyeballing, and was the main reason why the white politicians from the southern states wanted to maintain states rights.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Crow_laws

Simply put, they did not want the federal government preventing them from killing and unfairly incarcerating our people with unreasonable jail sentences for minor offenses like what they are attempting to do in this case with Heather.

The Academy Award winning movie ”Sounder” was about such a case of over prosecution.

It follows the lives of an impoverished southern black family that made a living by sharecropping, which was just an extension of slavery,but was patterned after indentured servitude in the Jim Crow south.

The premise of the story shows what happens to a black family down south in Louisiana,when the father is imprisoned for stealing pig meat and chicken out of hunger and desperation, the boy still hungers for an education which was illegal to get if you happened to be black.

Any black man who let it be found out that he/she could read and write, were summarily executed by a white mob of killers.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sounder

It is still their main goal, but they are willing to infiltrate the police departments and the judicial system down south, as they have done there for centuries.

The facts in the case are in dispute.Prosecutors say Heather cut in line, and then when called out for it, she caused a major disturbance at the store.The police say that words were exchanged between Heather and the customer she allegedly cut in front of, and that groceries were pushed to the side.

No fighting occurred as reported, and Heather paid and proceeded to leave. In Los Angeles a similar exchange that did have a physical element to it led to the death of Latasha Harlins, before the officers arrived, so Ellis was wise to leave the store at this point.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latasha_Harlins

When the police showed up, they took only the words of the white patron and store employee, and started to question and detain Heather.

She was upset at this time, and answered the cops with a retort that they did not like, but they have not reported that she verbalized a terrorist threat at all. What I do know of cops, is that they like to put black people back in our places, as we all witnessed via the Rodney King beating video.

Basically, they did not like what she said or did, and given that their grandfathers would have just strung her up to a tree, they could not let it go with a simple disturbing the peace ticket.

Nathaniel Ellis, Heather’s father, says that’s not true, and that his daughter was the one called racial slurs by a store clerk and officers, which seems more believable than a black women down south, and from the south, would do, rather than risk getting murdered by a racist cop.

It is a good story, since most people down south that are not black, are predisposed to believe the most racist and vile stereotypes of our people that they have created without any basis in the truth.

“They just indict her and launch an all-out attack to destroy her character and assassinate her future” says Ellis. “This is her choice, not to admit fault in an area where she hasn’t done anything and so we’re standing by her.

Ellis maintains she was merely joining her cousin, whose checkout line was moving more quickly. She claimed in a written complaint to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People that she was then pushed by a white customer, hassled by store employees, called racial slurs and physically mistreated by Kennett police officers.

Police say in court documents that Ellis refused requests to calm down and leave the property, allegedly kicking one’s shin and splitting another’s lip. Her trial on charges of assaulting police officers, resisting arrest and disturbing the peace began today, Wednesday in Dunklin County Circuit Court.

Hundreds of protestors showed up and held a rally at the courthouse that was answered by a Klan rally.

“There’s nothing that I could imagine that could’ve happened in the walls of that Wal-Mart that justifies this young woman, this Pastor’s daughter with no criminal record and on her way to medical school, going to prison for 15 minutes, let alone 15 years” says Dr. Boyce Watkins, a Professor at Syracuse University in the North.

Ellis’ family says they have been threatened by the Ku Klux Klan since speaking publicly about Heather’s case. They’ve asked the U.S. Department of Justice to get involved.

Again, I am not surprised that a black woman down south is being subjected to this malicious prosecution, but is a good example of the level of hatred that many of our white citizens and leaders have for African-Americans.

In this case, the KKK along with the judicial system in that small Missouri town are once again using the criminal justice system as a way to rid themselves of what they perceive to be the continuing problem brought on by the freeing of the black slave system that they financially benefitted from for so many years.

Do not let them get away with it, and step up to free Heather and protect our beautiful African-American queens, or we should be ashamed to call ourselves men. To help her out,click the link… http://www.theheatherelliscase.com/

To read more on this case , click on the links below…

http://www.myeyewitnessnews.com/mostpopular/story/Memphians-Rally-for-Woman-Facing-Prison-Time-for-C/1E01qxzIJEK6NMaTMvqM1A.cspx

http://abcnews.go.com/WN/woman-cut-line-walmart-prison/story?id=9107365

The fourth tune tonight is Chris Barber with Ice Cream, this is a version from a few years ago, but Barber has been playing this since 1954. this rendition is in New Orleans parade band style, enjoy!

Strolling down Granville Street to Venue, I couldn’t help but notice the somewhat historic 50-foot “Plaza” sign still hanging outside the newly renovated room. That sign was a beacon of nostalgia, much like the veteran headlining act. I never thought I’d miss the Plaza so much; or my youth for that matter.  

Local openers, Party At the Moontower, a tribute to Dazed and Confused apparently, won me over with their brand of post hardcore, despite their affinity for melodic vocals, after I noticed that the lead singer/ guitarist was wearing an In Bear Country t-shirt. If that’s not legit, I don’t know what is. It’s highly recommended that you download the quartet’s five song EP, the O’Bannion EP for free at: http://www.myspace.com/patmmusic.

The Johnstones were a furry of energy, bouncing around the stage so fast that it was impossible to take any decent pictures. Judging from their appearance, it was hard to take the sextet seriously. The singer, with his curly blonde mane and what I hope are ironic tattoos, looked like an ‘80’s aerobics instructor leading the crowd through the motions sporting a neon green wife beater and matching absurdly tight pants. It was so nice to see a band not take themselves at all seriously, but genuinely be there to have a good time and entertain. Case in point: a rousing rendition of Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Great Balls of Fire.” That is what we like to call a choice cover kids. In fact, the sextet distracted so well from their music with their insanely vibrant antics, impossible facial expressions, sexual tension between each other and, well, capes, that I was truly shocked to find that the energy of their live show is not at all translated on record. But I suppose that ferocity is difficult to capture on record.

By the time the Mad Caddies hit the stage, I was amazed quite frankly that the Vancouver crowd, notorious for being too cool to dance, was still moving; skanking, swaying, slam dancing, stage diving and crowd surfing. It was an almost unheard of phenomena. For a band to crack a Vancouver crowd…well, they had to be doing something right. The band grooved through favourite after favourite, the trombonist in the throws of the crowd, foot barely still on the monitor. I found myself singing along to tracks I had long forgotten. The ska-punk with elements of reggae and Dixieland was an intoxicating mix as the band worked enthusiastically through tracks like “Drinking For Eleven,” “State Of Mind,” “Lay Your Head Down” and “Villains.” Polka numbers like “Monkeys” stirred the crowd into a frenzy, the band feeding off their energy and upping the anti. Everyone was genuinely having a great time, band, girl with “shirt” barely on dancing on stage, militant security unsure or whether to watch or kick her off, and audience alike. The band even debuted a brand new song, one of five recently recorded for their upcoming effort. All in all, I couldn’t ask for a better stroll down memory lane.  

-Kristina Mameli, The Other Press (BCIT Alumni)

Some history might be needed here.  ”A fig,” ”a Moldy Fig,” even “a Mouldy Figge,” is now-archaic language invented during the Forties, when jazz found itself divided into warring factions called Dixieland and Bebop.  This divisiveness may have splintered the music and its audiences irrevocably.  Much of the noisy conflict was fomented by journalists and publicists seeking to attract audiences through controversy.  At this distance, we know that GROOVIN’ HIGH is only WHISPERING with a new blouse, but people allowed themselves to ignore this.  I find the poet Philip Larkin very endearing in his art and his vinegary energies, but his jazz prose embodies this point of view, where the world had reached an artistic peak in 1932 with the Rhythmakers recordings and had gone steadily downhill.  I agree with the first part of this formulation but not the second. 

I began my devotional listening as a Fig, so it took a long gradual period of contemplative immersion before I could understand that, say, John Coltrane wasn’t The Enemy out to destroy the music I loved.  In truth, I was never an extremist but I had strong, narrow likes and dislikes.  I remember having a brief conversation with another student in a middle-school Music Appreciation class who was deeply immersed in the New Thing — this was forty-plus years ago and the new thing was Archie Shepp, and the conversation went like this:

“Alan,” which might not be his name, but is a good guess: “I hear you like jazz.”

Me (brightening at having found a fellow subversive): “Oh, yes, I do!”

“Alan”: “Do you listen to Archie Shepp?”

Me (horrified that he hadn’t mentioned Louis, and coming up with a wise-acre New Yorker rejoinder): “Archie Shepp?! I say it’s spinach, and I say to hell with it!”

“Alan”: ”Well, the hell with you!”

So goes critical discourse at its finest! 

I would like to boast that I’ve seen the light and the scales have dropped from my eyes, but if you told me I had to choose only one jazz recording to spend eternity with, it still might be AFTER YOU’VE GONE by the Blue Note Jazzmen, even though I can understand and appreciate music that would have perplexed and repelled me in my youth.  And the music was always there, I just didn’t get it. 

This self-scrutiny is provoked by a phone conversation I had yesterday with Bob Rusch (or RDR), editor and chief spiritual guide of the quarterly journal devoted to Creative Improvised Music, CADENCE.  Full disclosure requires me to say that I write reviews for CADENCE, and I continue to admire the journal’s honesty.  And working with Bob has always been a pleasurable lesson in Emersonian candor: when I have felt an inexplicable need to tactfully cloak the truth in polite words, he has always asked, “Why?” 

If you’ve never read CADENCE, you have been missing something special and rare.  See for yourself (www.cadencebuilding.com).

In the course of our conversation — we speak infrequently, but over the past five years it has always been both bracing and affectionate — Bob said gently that he thought I was “getting more figgish,” and I agreed.  But it made me think, and perhaps my experience will ring true with my readers. 

There used to be “the jazz record industry,” and I am not talking about sixty-five years ago, the Commodore Music Shop, and listening booths.  Ten years ago, perhaps, there were many more active companies producing compact discs.  (If you want to have a sobering experience, casually inspect the spines of any fifty CDs in your library and note how many of those labels no longer exist.)  This, of course, has to do with the economy, an aging audience, and more. 

It has had an double-edged result.  On one hand, no more new issues from Chiaroscuro, no more Pablo, fewer ways for musicians to be encouraged by a label.  But because labels no longer exist, many energetic musicians have gone into business for themselves and produce their own discs.  

This can be a boon: musicians can record what they want, have it sound the way they want, without the interference of recording engineers or the heads of record companies . . . and splendid personal statements emerge.  But this asks musicians to be both courageous and affluent (or at least credit-worthy): a self-produced CD might require a $10,000 investment that the artist might get back over ten years of selling the discs one at a time on the gig.  We should all live and be well! 

(Musician joke: “My latest CD is a million-seller.  I’ve got a million in my cellar.”)

Many players I know have made a virtue of necessity, but I think many of them look back nostalgically to the dear dead days when they got a call to go to a studio at noon to make a date, they played their hearts out, they got paid, and eight months later they knew that the disc they had appeared on was being sold all over the world.  Yes, their control over the music was compromised, their pay was a percentage of the profit, but someone else was handling all the annoying business.  

What this means for someone like myself, reviewing CDs, is that a good deal of what I am asked to listen to is by artists new to me (a good thing) who are offering their own music (potentially a good thing).  And occasionally it leads me to sit up in my chair and say, “By God, (s)he’s got it!”  Melissa Collard was new to me when I first heard her OLD-FASHIONED LOVE, and she is one of those singers whose work I most treasure.  Mark Shane, Kevin Dorn, Dawn Lambeth, Marc Caparone, Danny Tobias, Lyle Ritz, Andy Brown, Petra van Nuis, and more.  

But much of what I hear is both competent yet entirely forgettable.  I know that Lips Page said, ”The material is immaterial,” but hand me a CD full of original compositions by a player and I wonder, “Gee, you’ve already decided that there’s nothing new for you to say on the blues or on I’VE TOLD EV’RY LITTLE STAR?”  Funny, that hasn’t occurred to Sonny Rollins.

And it is sad to receive a CD by a singer or musician, male or female, where great effort has gone into burnishing the exterior at the expense of other things.  When the artist credits his or her hair stylist and wardrobe person first, I think, “Oh no.  Repertoire, not manicure.  No one listens to the cover.” 

So my “figgishness” or “figitude” (both my own coinings) is a way to get back to what music means to me — a spiritual / intellectual / experience that makes me want to grin foolishly and shout exultantly.  I would indeed rather hear a wonderful performance of an original composition by musicians I don’t know than a tired rendition of OUR BUNGALOW OF DREAMS, but I need to hear jazz that makes me remember why I began to listen to the music in the first place: joy, inventiveness, clear delight in being alive in the face of death.  If your listening is purely an intellectual exercise and you find that gratifying, fine, but mine is tied up with the emotions.  Is the music beautiful?  Does it make me feel some strong emotion, preferably happiness?  Can I admire the players?            

So I close this post with a new example of FINEST FIG JAM — pure, organic, and locally sourced.  It’s another YouTube clip from the lucky and generous SFRaeAnn of the Eldorado Serenaders, whose front line is Don Neely on reeds, Robert Young on reeds, trumpet, and vocal, Dave Frey, plectrum banjo, Jim Young, tenor banjo, Steven Rose, sousaphone, Stan Greenberg, percussion.  This performance of BALTIMORE (one of those delightful songs-about-a-new-dance-craze) honors Bix and Wingy and Red, and I think this band is terribly, admirably brave to be shouting it out in a bookstore.  “Fit audience, though few,” said Milton, but he never had to worry about the tip jar.  It was recorded on October 25, 2009 at North Light Books in Cotati, California.  

I found this version of Dixie while surfing the net. I must say that it sent chills down my spine, made my eyes mist up, a lump was in my throat, and my chest swelled with pride. It truly speaks/spoke to me what being a Southern is and why we had to defend ourselves. This is one the Best song’s we Southern’s own.

This version is attributed to General Albert Pike, CSA

Hello, Everyone.
Blackhumouristpress has just published our (my) third title, Look Away, Dixieland. It’s currently available now:

Keith Bardwell is a justice of peace for Tangipahoa Parish’s 8th Ward and has served in the position for 34 years. He is scheduled to hold the office until 2014.

 He vows not to ever marry inter-racial couples, and is committed to stay in office.

“Everybody hates me,” he tells reporters. “Really. I don’t know why. I treat people, I figure, equal. I have one problem with mixed marriages and that is the offspring.” ”The fact that they are born alive, bothers me immensly.”

“There is a problem with both groups accepting a child from such a marriage,” Bardwell said. “I think those children suffer, and I won’t help put them through it.”

After all, look at how President  Obama turned out.

 Hammond, La. residents Beth Humphrey, a White woman, and her fiancé Terence McKay, a Black man, were denied a marriage license by local justice of the peace Keith Bardwell in early October. Bardwell said his decision was based on concern for the welfare of children the couple may have.

 After all, he would like to kill them himself.

Asked if he is “racist,” Bardwell replies:  ”Absolutely not.”My definition of a racist is to hate black people, or treat black people different that anybody else,” he says.

My definition of a racist is Keith Bardwell, Glen Beck, and Rush Limbaugh. These people want to ”act” in racist ways, but not be labeled as a racist.

You can not have it both ways.

How many Attorneys-General of LA knew about Bardwell’s racist views and did nothing for decades?

When it was discovered that the  justice of the peace in Louisiana refused to issue a marriage license to an interracial couple,it prompted some top officials, including Gov. Bobby Jindal, to call for his dismissal, pitting Governor Jindal directly against the wishes of his political party, the Republicans, led by Michael Steele, but actually controlled by Rush Limbaugh and his assistant, Glen Beck.

Their goal is to create a race that is pure, and free from the mongrelization  of the white race. It is just the first step into their Republican vision for America, which justice Bardwell wholeheartedly supports.

“I’m not a racist. I just don’t believe in mixing the races that way,” Bardwell told AP. “I have piles and piles of black friends. They come to my home, I marry them, they use my bathroom. I treat them just like everyone else.”

He sounds like a good white man to me, doesn’t he. At least we can use his toilet, just like his white friends.

 Tangipahoa Parish President Gordon Burgess said in a statement that Bardwell’s views were not consistent with his or those of the local government. But as an elected official, Bardwell was not under the supervision of the parish government. “However, I am certainly very disappointed that anyone representing the people of Tangipahoa Parish, particularly an elected official, would take such a divisive stance”.

Although the couple is distraught by Bardwell’s decision, they said they realize that his views are not shared by most of the community. What they must realize is that Keith Bardwell is an elected official, and it would be a miracle if his views were not known, or supported by the majority of the citizens in Hammond, Louisiana.

He obviously reflects the will of the people who elected him into office, consistently for the past 34 years.

Wake up my people, we are behind enemy lines. We all need to see each other only as human beings.

http://edition.cnn.com/2009/US/10/16/louisiana.interracial.marriage/

Hoewel een banjo er op het eerste gezicht een beetje uitziet als een ietwat rare gitaar is het eigenlijk een heel ander soort instrument. In essentie is een banjo een drum: een drum met snaren. Daarom is de wijze van bespelen ook helemaal anders. Een gitarist tokkelt: hij plukt aan de snaren van beneden naar boven, terwijl een banjospeler “slaat” met de achterkant van de nagels, met een beweging richting de vloer.

Er zijn zelfs twee geheel verschillende speelwijzen voor de banjo.

Bij clawhammer of “oldtime” gebruikt de speler enkel de duim en de wijs- of middelvinger van zijn rechterhand.

de clawhammer techniek

Ofwel worden er plastic of metalen fingerpicks op de vingertoppen geplaatst. Bij deze techniek gebruikt de speler, behalve de duim, drie vingers. Dit levert een veel drukker geluid op, dat vooral bij bluegrass erg populair is.

de fingerpicks techniek

Herkomst

Midden 18^de eeuw was de banjo het instrument van de zwarte slaven. Het was terug te vinden op elke plantage in Maryland en Virginia. “Een uniek instrument is de banjar,” getuigt ene Thomas Jefferston, wanneer hij in 1781 het leven van de slaven op een plantage in Virginia beschrijft. “Die hebben ze mee overgebracht uit Afrika,” concludeert hij.

Verdere studie leert echter dat de eerste beschrijving van een banjo-achtig instrument helemaal niet uit het Appalachengebregte stamt, maar uit Martinique. Daar dook de banjo ruim een eeuw eerder op: in 1678. Later volgen nog getuigenissen uit Jamaica (1869) en Barbados (1708).

Vanaf het begin van de 17^de eeuw werden massaal mensen uit West-Afrika naar de Nieuwe Wereld  getransporteerd om er te werken als slaven op de plantages. Onder de harde omstandigheden was muziek een van de weinige dingen die hun troost kon bieden. In eerste instantie was dat zang, met begeleiding van percussie. De blanken ervoeren dat tromgeroffel achter als een bedreiging, omdat ze vreesden dat hiermee boodschappen werden doorgegeven. Mogelijk kon zo een opstand worden georganiseerd. Al snel volgde er een algemeen verbod op het gebruik van trommels. 

Daarom zochten de slaven naar andere instrumenten. Voor het bouwen daarvan baseerden ze zich op het voorbeeld van de vertrouwde instrumenten uit het thuisland. Ze maakten gebruik van goedkope materialen die in de nieuwe leefomgeving te vinden waren: kalebassen bijvoorbeeld. Dat zijn niet-eetbare pompoenen (in het Engels: gourd) met een harde schil. De vrucht werd uitgehold en met een dierenvel bespannen. Daarop werd dan een lange hals gemonteerd, waarop drie tot vier snaren werden aangebracht.

In verschillende studies wordt gewezen op de overeenkomsten tussen de banjo en de luitachtige instrumenten die door de griots werden bespeeld. De ngoni uit Mali wordt genoemd, de akonting uit Senegal en nog meer exotische namen als de busunde, de kasinta en de ngopata.

Omwille van de bamboestok die dikwijls oorspronkelijk als hals werd gebruikt, kreeg het nieuwe instrument namen als banjar, bangie, banjer, banza of banjo. Of naar de pompoen-klankkast: gourd-banjo.

Echter, naar het voorbeeld van de Spaanse en Portugese snaarinstrumenten, verschenen in de loop van de jaren Westerse vernieuwingen aan de hals: houten pinnen om de snaren aan te spannen en een kam.

Na verloop van tijd werd ook de pompoen vervangen. In de plaats kwam een tamboerijn-achtige romp: een ronde klankkast, met aan de voorzijde een strak gespannen vel. Doordat de kam rust op het gespannen vel kan de energie die bij het bespelen van de snaren wordt toegevoerd zeer snel weg. Dit levert een kort maar hard geluid op. Het beklemtoont het percussiekarakter waarnaar de muzikanten op zoek waren ter vervanging van de drums. Het beklemtonen van het ritme is immers essentieel als begeleiding van worksongs. 

Honderd jaar lang was de banjo het uitverkoren instrument van de zwarten. Niet alleen tijdens het werk maar ook ter begeleiding van zang en dans ter vermaak. Het cliché van een zwarte jongen of man met strohoedje en een banjo in de hand is in zowat elke Lucky Luke strip terug te vinden.

Minstrel shows

In de vroege jaren dertig van de negentiende eeuw ontstond de minstrel show of minstrelsy. Een troep rondtrekkende acteurs en muzikanten brachten vermaak met sketches, parodieën, slapstick, dans en muziek. Een onderdeel van hun show was de blackface act. Blanke mannen kleedden zich in lompen, maakten hun gezicht zwart en imiteerden zo de zwarten. De typische manier van spreken en bewegen, de muziek en de dans van de zwarten werden er uitvergroot tot vermaak van de blanken. Een van de veel voorkomende typetjes was de ex-slaaf die terug verlangde naar de plantage waarin hij was opgegroeid. De boodschap die de minstrels brachten was: ‘je hoeft je geen zorgen te maken om de slaven, die zijn best tevreden met hun lot’. En ook ‘Zwarten horen niet thuis in de noordelijke staten’.

Om de “negermuziek” authentiek te laten klinken begonnen ze typische “zwarte instrumenten” als de banjo en de tamboerijn te bespelen.

Een van die allereerste blanke banjospelers was Joel Walker Sweeney (1810 – 1860). Hij was, in zijn eentje, misschien wel verantwoordelijk voor de doorbraak van het instrument bij het blanke publiek. Daarvoor had hij wel een paar aanpassingen nodig, zoals een vijfde snaar!

Niet dat die extra snaar een uitvinding van hemzelf was. Er zijn oudere afbeeldingen bekend van vijfsnarige banjo’s. Maar tot dan toe werd die vijfde, veel kortere snaar tot klinken gebracht door de resonantie van het instrument zelf. De bespeler raakte de snaar zelf niet aan.

Sweeney ging de snaar bespelen met zijn duim. Sterker nog: hij ging precies die duimsnaar gebruiken om de melodie te spelen, terwijl hij op de andere vier snaren een begeleiding tokkelde met de vingers. Dit opende geheel nieuwe perspectieven.

Een niet onbelangrijk element in de groeiende populariteit van de banjo was het werk van Amerika’s eerste professionele songwriter: Stephen C. Foster (1826 -1864). Vele van de songs die hij schreef voor de minstrels groeiden uit tot klassiekers zoals ‘Oh Susanna’, ‘Swanee River’, ‘Hard Times’, ‘Beautiful Dreamer’ en ‘Camptown Races’.

Oh Susanna

Camptown Races

Een andere songwriter was Daniel D. Emmett (1815-1904). Hij begon als blackface fiddlespeler bij de Virginia Minstrels maar schakelde later over op de banjo. Voor dat instrument schreef hij tientallen songs waaronder ‘Dixie’s Land’. Als ‘Dixie’ groeide het tijdens de Burgeroorlog  (1861 – 1864) uit tot het lijflied van de Confederatie en later van de gehele South.

Na die Burgeroorlog bloeide de nieuwe five-string banjo op als het populairste instrument, zowel in de huiskamers van de hogere en middelklasse als op de concertpodia en de schamele huisjes in het Appalachengebergte.

Evolutie

Tot het einde van de 19de eeuw bleef de banjo een heel eenvoudig instrument, enkel geschikt om er een zeer eenvoudige melodie mee aan te geven. Het ontbreken van frets op de minstrelbanjo maakte het erg moeilijk om de juiste toon aan te houden. Hoewel Henry Dobson al in 1878 patent aanvroeg voor een commerciële banjo met frets, duurde het bijna drie decennia eer het concept aansloeg.

Dat gebeurde pas toen de stalen snaren hun intrede deden. Naar analogie van de mandolines waarbij een plectrum werd gebruikt, begonnen banjospeler toen ook te experimenteren. De plectrumbanjo was geboren en de vijfde snaar werd meteen weer overbodig.

In de eerste decennia van de twintigste eeuw leidden Europese elementen, onder meer de invloed van de gitaar, tot een meer klassieke speelstijl. Tegelijk ontstonden er allerlei hybride instrumenten waarbij de banjo werd  ‘gekruist’ met een ander snaarinstrument. Op de klankkast van een banjo (vaak met resonator) werd dan de hals van een ander instrument geplaatst. Bedoeling was om het bespelers van andere instrumenten mogelijk te maken gebruik te maken van het penetrante banjogeluid. Dat was vooral zeer gegeerd zolang er nog geen elektrische versterking beschikbaar was.

Nergens was zo belangrijk om luid te kunnen spelen als in het drukke nachtleven van New Orleans. De banjo was dan ook perfect om het ritme in de blaasbands te accentueren. Omstreeks 1920 ontstond zo een nieuw genre: Dixieland (ook gekend als New Orleans jazz of traditional jazz).

Maar dat was een laatste opflakkering, want eens de elektrische versterkers hun intrede deden waren de gouden jaren van de banjo voorbij. Enkel in het Appalachengebergte bleven five-string banjospelers populair bij de southern dance bands en andere hillbillymuziek. Het publiek genoot er van instrumentalisten als Uncle Dave Macon, Stringbean, Clarence Ashley en The Carter Family met June Carter.

Een van de grootste namen was Charlie Poole (1892-1931).

Als jongen had Charlie twee passies: spelen op zijn zelfgemaakte gourdbanjo en baseball. Bijna kwam aan allebei een eind toen hij eens een bal met de blote hand wou pakken, omwille van een weddenschap. Hij hield er een paar gebroken botten in zijn  rechterhand aan over met een permanente vervorming van enkele vingers als gevolg. Poole was echter een doorzetter. Hij bedacht een geheel nieuwe techniek om de banjo te bespelen: de “threefinger picking style”, waarbij hij melodie, arpeggio en ritme wist te combineren

Zijn eerste echte banjo kon hij pas kopen toen hij ging werken in een textielfabriek.

Poole zag in de banjo een uitweg om niet, net als zijn ouders, zijn hele leven te moeten zwoegen in die fabriek. Hij vulde het weinige geld dat hij kon sparen aan met de opbrengst van illegale alcoholstokerij, om zich zo een eersteklas banjo te kunnen veroorloven. Met die Gibson van $200 kon hij professioneel gaan spelen. In 1917 richtte hij, samen met zijn schoonbroer, de fiddelspeler Posey Rorrer, een eigen stringband op: de North Carolina Ramblers. Drie jaar later waren ze een veelgevraagde band op dansfeesten en partijen door het gehele zuidoosten.

Op 27 juli 1925 mochten ze in New York hun eerste plaatje gaan opnemen. Het was meteen raak. Meer dan honderdduizend exemplaren van ‘Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down Blues’ vlogen de deur uit. En dat in een tijd waarin slechts zeshonderdduizend mensen een grammofoon hadden. Charlie Poole werd de eerste countryster.

Hoewel hij zelf nauwelijks songs schreef groeiden vele van de zeventig nummers die hij in de volgende jaren opnam uit tot klassiekers in bluegrass en country: ‘Can I Sleep In Your Barn Tonight, Mister?’, ‘Old and Only In the Way’, ‘White House Blues’…

Toen de depressie de verkoop in elkaar deed stuiken, ging hij graag in op een aanbod van Hollywood om te gaan werken voor de filmindustrie. Hij zou echter nooit in Californië raken. Na dertien weken (!) van fuiven en drinken begaf zijn hart het. Poole werd slechts 39 jaar oud.

‘White House Blues’ – Charlie Poole, opgenomen op 20 september 1926 en voor de eeuwigheid bewaard op de Anthology of American Folk Music.

Revival

Pas in de tweede helft van de jaren veertig, werd de banjo, net als de mandoline, terug opgepikt door bluegrassspelers. Hoewel Bill Monroe zijn eerste Blue Grass Boys band oprichtte in 1939, was het pas zes jaar later dat het genre echt van de grond kwam. Dat was te danken aan de komst van een banjospeler uit North Carolina: Earl Scruggs. De jongeman liet het publiek helemaal uit de bol gaan door zijn razendsnelle solo’s, gespeeld met een geheel eigen drie-vingertechniek. Hiervoor maakte hij gebruik van fingerpicks: een soort plastic of stalen kunstnagels die op de duim en vingers worden geklemd.

Zijn vernieuwende “Scruggs style” banjospel sloeg zo aan dat hij wel gek zou zijn om niet voor zichzelf te beginnen. Samen met Lester Flatt richtte hij The Foggy Mountain Boys op. Hun grootste succesnummer was ongetwijfeld ‘Foggy Mountain Breakdown’, uit 1949. Twintig jaar later werd het instrumentale nummer wereldwijd populair door het gebruik in de film Bonnie & Clyde – over een gansterkoppel in de jaren twintig!

‘Foggy Mountain Breakdown’ – Earl Scruggs met Steve Martin

Bonnie & Clyde

Lester Flatt & Earl Scruggs in de Grand Ol’ Opry Show

Drie jaar later schoot, opnieuw dankzij een film, een ander instrumentaal banjonummer naar de top van de hitlijsten: ‘Duelling Banjos’. De oorspronkelijke versie heet ‘Feudin’ Banjos’ en werd in 1955 geschreven door Arthur Smith. Hij nam het zelf op, op een vier snarige plectrum banjo, met Don Reno op een vijfsnarige instrument.

In de thriller Deliverance zien we de acteurs Billy Redden (de hillbilly dorpsidioot op banjo) en Ronny Cox (de Yankee op gitaar). Maar we horen respectievelijk Eric Weissberg en Steve Mandell, in een productie van Joe Boyd.

‘Dueling Banjos” uit de thriller Deliverance (1971).

Maar ook buiten de countrywereld maakte de banjo een comeback vanaf de jaren veertig. Dat was voornamelijk te danken aan Pete Seeger. Hij keerde terug naar de traditionele muziek die nu folk werd genoemd. In 1948 publiceerde hij de eerste versie van zijn boekje, How To Play The 5-String Banjo,  dat groeide uit tot het handboek voor vele generaties banjospelers.

Dankzij de folkrevival kwamen de oorspronkelijke uitvoerders terug in de belangstelling. Velen van hen kregen de kans om hun oude opnamen nog eens over te doen, met veertig jaar ervaring en veel beter geluidskwaliteit als bonus.

Een van hen was Clarence ‘Tom’ Ashley. Op 23 oktober 1929 zette hij, in Johnson City, Tennessee, de oorspronkelijke versie neer van het aloude ‘The Coo Coo Bird’. Harry Smith had het plaatje in 1952 terug onder de aandacht gebracht op zijn Anthology of American Folk Music.

Maar in 1961 zette hij de definitieve versie neer, met de hulp van een blinde gitarist uit Deep Gab, North Carolina: Doc Watson.

Clarence ‘Tom’ Ashley – The Coo Coo Bird.

Tegen het einde van de jaren zestig ontstonden de eerste, voorzichtige toenaderingspogingen tussen twee geheel verschillende werelden: country en rock. Het waren de rockmuzikanten die, onder invloed van de muziek die ze in hun jeugd op de radio hadden gehoord, het initiatief namen: Gene Clark, Bob Dylan, Gene Parsons, Michael Nesmith, …. Voor het bespelen van specifieke instrumenten als steelgitaar, mandoline en banjo keken de rockers naar de beste bluegrassartiesten. Earl Scruggs beroerde de vijfsnarige banjo op Dylans ‘Nashville Skyline Rag’ en The Byrds vroegen Doug Dillard van The Dillards mee op tournee. Zijn banjospel moest hun geluid wat authentieker maken.

Na afloop van de Europese tour vroeg ex-Byrd Gene Clark hem om samen Dillard & Clark op te zetten. Zij omringden zich met fantastische countrymuzikanten waaronder Bernie Leadon, die later The Eagles zou helpen oprichten.

‘Train Leaves Here This Morning’ uit The Fantastic Expedition of Dillard & Clark.

De banjo in de Britse rock

De Britten beschouwden de banjo als een zeer primitief instrument. Volgens de overlevering zou de Britse muziekhistoricus Cecil Sharp, toen hij tijdens de Eerste Wereldoorlog door het Appalachengebergte trok op zoek naar songs, uitdrukkelijk hebben laten weten dat hij geen banjo’s of gitaren wou zien. Die interesseerden hem niet. Wat hij zocht waren oude Ierse en Schotse balladen of dansmuziek. Niet van die niewerwetse dingen.  

Vanaf het midden van de negentiende eeuw zochten banjobouwers naar manieren om meer mensen aan te spreken door de mogelijkheden uit te breiden.

De tenorbanjo had een kortere nek met 19 frets en wordt bespeeld met een plectrum. Het was een uitstekend begeleidingsinstrument voor de jazz- en dancebands in de jaren twintig en dertig van de vorige eeuw. Vooral omdat het te horen was boven de blazers en saxofoon uit. De komst van de elektrisch versterkte gitaar verdrong de tenorbanjo van het podium. Enkel in de meer traditionele Dixieland jazz bleef er een plaatsje voor over.

Een andere, voor de hand liggende oplossing om de mogelijkheden te verruimen, is het toevoegen van een zesde snaar. Vooral jazzmuzikanten, zoals Johnny St. Cyr en Django Reinhardt, experimenteerden met de guitanjo, zoals het instrument werd gedoopt. Maar ook een bluesman als Reverend Gary Davis had er een.

Helemaal er over is de zither-banjo: met zeven snaren is er wel erg ver afgeweken van het oorspronkelijke concept.

De stiefmoederlijke behandeling van het instrument in de Britse muziek is merkbaar in het feit dat de banjo slechts zelden wordt gebruikt in de pop- of rockmuziek. Enkele uitzonderingen zijn: ‘Stop Stop Stop’ van The Hollies, ‘Squeeze Box’ van The Who, ‘Gallows Pole’ van Led Zeppelin, Bright Side of the Road van Van Morrison, ‘Cowboy Dreams’ van Prefab Sprout of ‘Sing’ van Travis.

Veel meer kan ik er eigenlijk niet bedenken.

‘Cowboy Dreams’, uit The Gunman And Other Stories, met Eric Weissberg op de banjo.

En om af te sluiten nog eentje die helemaal buiten alle categoriën valt: de slaggitarist van de Amerikaanse garageband The Monks. Dave Day bespeelde een zessnarige banjo alsof het een elektrische gitaar was. Met behulp van een kleine ingebouwde microfoon verkreeg hij zo een speciale metaalachtige klank.

The Monks met hun enige pseudohit, ‘Cuckoo’, uit 1966.

This is a story that just keeps on giving.

The Hey Hey it’s Saturday story of a skit that curdled faster than milk in the devil’s armpit is included in the Crikey HOT TOPICS panel along with ‘BARACK OBAMA’, ‘OBAMA’S NOBEL PRIZE’, and  ’MALCOLM TURNBULL’ – 5 days after it occurred.

Harry Connick Jnr, an American dixieland musician rooted in the rhythm of America’s deep south, was engaged to judge a segment on a TV show  featuring a chorus line of comical sambos.

Reprised Australian variety show, Hey Hey it’s Saturday, screened out across the nation last Wednesday in appropriately emblematic confusion over what day it was. It used to be called Hey Hey its Saturday morning and be angled towards children, then it switched to night time to become more adult. Now it’s on Wednesdays with its humor gauge jammed in the s-bend.

Needless to say, Connick Jnr wasn’t impressed and made a bit of a fuss.

The media thrash over ‘blackface,’ as it has come to be known, has not only vaulted the question of racism into the public sphere, it has actually sought to discover what it means to be racist. It’s a unique, peculiarly Australian brand of self-loathing and flagellation.

‘Where are we at?’ the media asks us.

‘Not this again,’ many thought in response to it. ‘Didn’t we go through one of these mass nationwide self-examinations recently?’

The Herald-Sun’s infamous 69% poll suggests that most Australian’s think it acceptable to lampoon racial stereotypes. The demarcation lines are predictable. Commentators such as Andrew Bolt and Sam Newman line up for the defence, and Philip Adams for the prosecution. The Punch online journal editorialised against the airing of the skit, attracting 132 comments to a forum they set up to capture feedback. Reading through these, it seems it’s a topic that can allow people to form clear, unequivocal argument. There’s no grey areas in racism, because no-one (well most) don’t want to be accused of being rascist. 

Internationally, people like Bill O’Reilly and Margaret Hoover for Fox News lambasted Australia as being behind American progress on civil rights sensibilities.

Marina Hyde for The Guardian is similarly pat in her comment. Fair enough too.

I have to place my vote in support of Connick Jr. I can understand the claim that the outrage is all a bit histrionical but it’s a stance that he was forced into.

Foistering a sambo skit upon a man who credits his greatest influence as the music of persecuted slaves  is short-sighted.

Racism and xenophobia has seeped into our lives in a way which at best, is a nuisance. At worst you are blown to smithereens. 

Just try  loading a toiletries bag with nail-clippers and then boarding a Qantas city shuttle. You’ll likely be asked to take your shoes off and then to put them back on again, while in an inconvenient balancing act with various bags and documents. And perhaps, if really unlucky, get taken into a small, ominous looking room by someone wearing gloves.

Yes, a line of galavanting men with boot polish on their faces might be funny to some, and those people who chuckle might not be racist. But for many who have been unfortunate enough to be persecuted for the folly of being religiously or ethnically different, and that type of unfunny implication, it’s horrendously offensive. Racism? maybe not. A lack of empath? most definitely.

John Safran is about to launch a TV series where, in one episode, he disguises himself as a black man. There is a difference between disguising your appearance, and lampooning a racial stereotype like a golliwog or sambo. I can’t think of the white skinned equivalent. I don’t think Safran’s show will be about depicting black people as, in Connick jr’s words, ‘buffoons’.

The skit has attracted massive international coverage, with one reporter for sky news asking show host and executive producer Daryl Somers, ‘is bad publicity good publicity?’

It remains to be seen whether the show will survive the fall-out.

“Quando você abre um piano, você vê a liberdade. Ninguém pode tocar as teclas brancas sem tocar as teclas pretas. Você tem que misturar todas estas chaves para fazer a harmonia. E é disso que todo mundo precisa: Harmony”, falou o pianista Champion Jack Dupree, reconhecido pelo blues característico de Nova Orleans.

Champion Jack cantou a vida, as bebedeiras, o vício e representou o boogie

Dupree representou o boogie woogie e fez escola no piano. Influenciou – nada mais, nada menos que – Jerry Lee Lewis. Filho de um congoles e de uma índia Cherokee, o pianista cantou a vida, a bebedeira, o vício pelas drogas, a cadeia, o blues. Quando jovem, começou a viajar, viveu em Chicago, trabalhou em Indianapolis, Indiana, onde conheceu Scrapper Blackwell e Leroy Carr.

Na identidade: William Thomas Dupree, mas foi a nobre arte, o boxe, quem deu o apelido ‘Champion’ ao pianista. Além de tocar, ele trabalhou como cozinheiro em Detroit, lugar onde conheceu Joe Louis – que foi a pessoa que o encorajou a se tornar, também, um boxeador. Dupree lutou 107 vezes e chegou a ganhar Luvas de Ouro.

Nos anos 30, estava em Chicago quando se juntou a artistas lendários, como Big Bill Broonzy e Tampa Red. No entanto, a carreira Dupree foi interrompida pelo serviço militar devido a II Guerra Mundial.

Champion Jack mudou-se para Europa em 1960, morou na Suíça, Dinamarca, Inglaterra, Suécia e, finalmente, Alemanha, país em que o pianista morreu. Ele faleceu em 1992 de câncer, em Hanover. A data de nascimento do pianista é contestada até hoje, existem documentos com registros de 1908, 1909, ou 1910.

Assita ao vídeo com o melhor do boogie. Veja a interpretação de Champion Jack Dupree com a música Chicken Shack Blues.

Ich bin ein großer Freund der Musik. Umso mehr freut es mich, wenn lustige Typen mal was Neues probieren. Im folgenden Video sieht man einen Mix aus Dixieland und Jazzgitarre.

Herrliches Gedudel mit einem ungewöhnlichen Taktgeber. .)

I hope readers have not wearied of my chronicles of jazz-shopping . . . but another chapter took me and the Beloved to Troy, New York, for a multi-dealer antique store on River Street.  I spent a long time poring through albums of dull late-Forties 78s (who knew that there was such enthusiasm for the Harmonicats?) with little enthusiasm until I came to the last album, most of its pages empty, which clearly dated from another time.  First:

 More interesting than Tony Martin, but nothing to make the pulse race.  I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it was an early (acoustic) Brunswick.  However, I dimly remembered that the elusive Jack Purvis had made his first recordings with Arnold Johnson, circa 1928 (see the wonderfully-documented Jazz Oracle issue), so I turned the record over:

 Since I always associate CHINA BOY with hot music, I bought the record (without depriving us of groceries for even a moment).  Later on, I saw online that it was circa 1923, so I have no hopes of Purvis.  Has anyone heard this, and is it an iota more than a dance-band curio?  But that was only the jazz hors d’oeuvre as it were.  In the rear of the store I saw a metal stand with horizontal slots meant for Ludwig drum accessories.  The stand was empty, fairly characterless and, at $225, not essential.  Below the empty shelves were music instruction books — piano, show tunes, accordion, and the last one, face down:

 That looked promising, but I held myself back — too many ”Dixieland” records and music books have a very tenuous relationship to the real thing.  I turned it over:

 and opened it up . . . . to see a long written introduction and analysis of the style, as well as this glorious picture:

My thanks go out to the no doubt defunct W.F.L. drum company, to the noble shade of Ray Bauduc, and to the anonymous person who in 1937 gave up a hard-earned dollar to buy this book in hopes of sounding just like Mister Bauduc on those wonderful Bobcats Deccas.  Oh, how I hope he or she realized that objective!  This post, of course, is for Kevin Dorn, Mike Burgevin, Hal Smith, Arnie Kinsella, Jeff Hamilton, and the other players who keep the faith, who know what it is to beat out the time on the wooden rim of the snare drum.  I’ll be holding viewings in September . . . say the word.

8/4/09 - Moon over Owl's Head

Pick blueberries, big as grapes.

Eat blueberries (you know, not a lot, that would be rude. Just a couple to find out where the sweetest bushes are).

Take a break, enjoy a picnic in the setting sun with a backdrop of blueberry bush-covered hillsides and rolling green mountains.

Do a little dance to Dixieland favorites like All of Me, I Got A New Baby, and…wait a minute. Really?

Yep.

It’s the special summertime experience of the Owl’s Head Blueberry Farm in Richmond. Right around this time every year when the blueberries get as big and ripe as the August full moon, the bands come out to play and the hillsides fill with folks picking berries, having picnics on the grassy spaces between the bushes, and…dancing. Always dancing.

It’s between work and home, and not far from where I live. I try to get there at least once a summer.

Quarts of sweet blueberry goodness

Music figures into the experience every Tuesday and Thursday (weather dependent – everything is) from around the third week of July until the end of August.

Over the last few summers of visits I’ve heard guitarists, recorder ensembles, and, tonight – a Dixieland band – all playing to an audience of friends, families, and rows and rows of busting blueberry bushes.

Tonight’s haul: 8 quarts, one picnic, two ears full of cricket songs and sweet Dixieland clarinet, and, a moonlit ride home through the Valley.

A pretty good summer night overall.

New Orleans-based Luke Winslow-King released his latest recording effort Old New Baby in April. The Cadillac, Mich.  native says his new album is inspired by all that is the Big Easy. Winslow-King’s songwriting on Old New Baby  certainly captures the spirit and soul of city fulled myth and folklore while crafting a voice all his own.

Winslow-King stopped by the NCH in April on his way through the Midwest to chat about Old New Baby and perform live in-studio with his trio.

Romanticul român Grigore Alexandrescu îl imita probabil pe romanticul francez Victor Hugo, când compunea poezia “Anul 1840″, dar numai în titlu. În poemul “1840 “, publicat în “Revue des Deux-Mondes“, Victor Hugo constata deplasarea accentului de putere din Lumea Veche, în Lumea Nouă: “Et maintenant, Seigneur, expliquons-nous tous deux./L’Amérique surgit, et Rome meurt ! ta Rome !/Crains-tu pas d’effacer, Seigneur, notre chemin,/Et de dénaturer le fond même de l’homme [...]?” (“Şi acum, Doamne, explică-mi./ America se-nalţă, şi Roma moare! E Roma ta!/Nu te temi că ştergi, Doamne, urma drumului nostru,/Şi că denaturezi aşa  chiar omul?”).

În anul 1803, aria teritorială măsurată de United States practic se dubla cu achiziţionarea Louisianei, în cei mai legali termeni cu putinţă.  Limba europeană vorbită la acel moment acolo era franceza. Din cauza aceasta, noua bancnotă de 10 dolari purta şi inscripţia  DIX, de aici Dixieland. Începea politica “Go West!”, care în jurul lui 1845 căpăta forma ideologică numită  “Manifest Destiny“. Era convingerea “misiunii Americii” în lume pentru instaurarea libertăţii. Conotaţia superiorităţii rasei anglo -saxone era de asemenea implicată. Pământul era destinat să revină anglo –saxonilor. Pieile roşii  sunt exterminate sistematic, într -un genocid  despre care oficial se recunoaşte că a lichidat cinci milioane de indieni nord- americani. Biodiversitatea este de asemenea distrusă rapid pe continent prin această politică predatorială. 

Totuşi, vezi articolul de la adresa URL

http://www.romanialibera.ro/a155296/unul-din-patru-copii-americani-este-hispanic.html , mutaţii demografice uimitoare se constată acum în America. Spre deosebire de anglosaxonii WASP (White,  Anglo –Saxon,  Protestant),  colonizatorii spaniolii şi portughezi, care proveneau ei înşişi dintr -o populaţie ‘socii’- alizată  în peninsula iberică, vor proceda mai puţin dur cu amerindienii, ‘socii’- alizând  America Latină. Literatorul mexican Carlos Fuentes vede  Amurgul Occidentului  numai în faptul că limba engleză decade, transformându- se în idiom de aeroport internaţional, un Volapük incapabil să poarte valori.  Carlos Fuentes  adaugă o  granulă de speranţă în ideea lui Oswald Spengler:  o limbă romanică va lua locul limbii engleze  ca depozitar al Cunoaşterii. Există un continuum al limbajelor romanice, credeau Ioan Eliade Rădulescu  şi Ezra Pound. Limba Română are viitor mai promiţător decât limba engleză.

Titus Filipas