Dreaming on Death Row

• by Alicia Eler on September 16, 2013

Great article from Hyperallergic.

Robin Paris and Tom Williams with writing by Gary Cone, Harold Wayne Nichols, Donald Middlebrooks, “Surrogate Project for Harold Wayne Nichols: The Night Sky Series” (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic unless otherwise noted)

NASHVILLE — Tennessee is the buckle of the Bible belt, situated below the state of Kentucky and just north of Alabama. The temptation of fried pies, which I was told grandma made (not my Jewish grandma, however), Elvis statues as tourist attractions, and as many churches as sex shops lined the horizon of my visit to this Southern state. The second night of my stay, I stopped by a show called Unit 2 (Part 1) at Coop Gallery in downtown Nashville. Organized by Watkins College of Art professors Robin Paris and Tom Williams, this exhibition is comprised of collaborations between students and 11 prisoners on death row in the Riverbend Maximum Security Institution, in northwest Nashville.
The project sought to form connections between people on the outside — outsiders, as the prisoners call them — and insiders, the men inside who are scheduled for execution. The work in this exhibition, which includes drawings, paintings, collages, and photographs, presents a heart-wrenchingly honest portrait of our prison system, the people who are in it, and the opportunity for human connection regardless of the grim reality. The idea for this show came from the prisoners.
Unit 2 (part 1) presents two types of artworks: the first is an “add on,” which almost reminded me of the Surrealist exquisite corpse game in which the previous drawing is covered up and the next person draws on, thus adding to the work without knowing what was made before. The “add on” of this exhibition felt more like a continued visual exchange, or an ongoing conversation through drawing and text. These works felt more like ongoing thought processes than finished projects, which added a rawness to the show overall that, as a viewer, was hard to handle at times. The conversation about the prison system in America is an ongoing one, and these visual collaborations are just the tip of the iceberg.

Upreyl Mitchell and Harold Wayne Nichols, “Untitled” (add-on artwork), acrylic and colored pencil on photograph, 13″ x 9″ in (photo courtesy Robin Paris)

“The system of legal defense for capital cases is shoddy and poorly funded at best; there are no rich people, to my knowledge, on death row,” says co-organizer Robin Paris. “We incarcerate more of our population than any other country. I could go on and on. It’s shameful. It’s not who we think we are as a country.”
The second type of artwork is called “surrogate” and cuts right to the heart of it all. A prisoner on the inside asks someone on the outside to do something on their behalf — something that they couldn’t do because they were in prison. One of the prisoners asked their “surrogate” to go out and gaze at the stars, to enjoy them — he, the prisoner, had not seen stars in 30 years. The outsider then photographed those stars, and the prisoner wrote his text request onto the photograph, which was displayed in the gallery space. Another inmate asked their surrogate to buy a homeless man some food and then let him know that everything was going to be okay. In another photograph, an inmate asked his “surrogate” to create a portrait of him with his family that, were he out of prison, he would have been able to take himself.

Robin Paris and Tom Williams with writing by Harold Wayne Nichols, “Surrogate Project for Harold Wayne Nichols: The Night Sky Series” (‘It has been 25 years since I have seen the stars in the open sky!’), photograph (photo courtesy Tom Williams)

“Getting to know these men who, although they may have done a terrible thing, are more than the sum of their worst day,” says co-organizer Robin Paris, “they have taught us so much about community and about the importance of many things we might take for granted. They are people who, through bad luck, poverty, poor schools, bad decisions, are in this place, and it’s not hard to imagine that many of us could be in the very same place, but for our economic privilege.”
According to statistics from the Department of Corrections, there are currently 79 inmates on death row, and all are in for either 1st degree murder or murder 1 charges. One of the men on death row, Donald Strouth, has been there since September 1978. This show was originally hatched earlier this year with an art exhibition called Voices from Solitary: Art from Tennessee’s Death Row, which was initiated by Vanderbilt University’s Lisa Guenther. This is only part 1 of a two-part exhibition, which made me wonder about the sustainability of such an intense collaboration.
“It will go on as long as we can sustain it,” says Williams. “The prisoners’ days are numbered, which is difficult to think about, but we’d like to work with them for a long time,” says Williams. “When you’re working with prisoners on death row, it’s often best to focus on the present.”

Mika Agari, Jessica Clay, Amy Clutter, Robert Grand, Kristi Hargrove, Robin Paris, Sharon Stewart, Tom Williams, Weng Tze Yang, and Barbara Yontz, “Surrogate Project for Harold Wayne Nichols: Breakfast for Dinner,” photograph

Nickolus Johnson and Zack Rafuls, “Untitled” (add-on drawing), mixed media on paper, 14 x 11 in

Sharon Stewart, “Surrogate Project for Kenneth Artez Henderson: Family Portrait,” photograph

Watkins students Jessica Clay and Robert Grand, who participated in Unit 2

Regarding (Most) Songs
Thomas Lux


            Whatever is too stupid to say
            can be sung.
            - Joseph Addison (1672-1719)

The human voice can sing a vowel to break your heart.
It trills a string of banal words,
but your blood jumps, regardless. You don’t care
about the words but only how they’re sung
and the music behind - the brass, the drums.
Oh the primal, necessary drums
behind the words so dumb!
That power, the bang and the boom and again the bang
we cannot, need not, live without,
nor without other means to make sweet noise,
the guitar or violin, the things that sing
the plaintive, joyful sounds.
Which is why I like songs best
when I can’t hear the words, or, better still,
when there are no words at all.

Smoke On The Water

Ritchie Blackmore, Ian Gillan, Roger Glover, Jon Lord, Ian Anderson Paice

We all came out to Montreux
On the Lake Geneva shoreline
To make records with a mobile
We didn't have much time
Frank Zappa and the Mothers
Were at the best place around
But some stupid with a flare gun
Burned the place to the ground

Smoke on the water
A fire in the sky
Smoke on the water

They burned down the gambling house
It died with an awful sound
Funky Claude was running in and out
Pulling kids out the ground
When it all was over
We had to find another place
Swiss time was running out
It seemed that we would lose the race

Smoke on the water
A fire in the sky
Smoke on the water

True story! 

The lyrics of the song tell a true story: on 4 December 1971 Deep Purple were in Montreux, Switzerland, where they had set up camp to record an album using a mobile recording studio (rented from the Rolling Stones and known as the Rolling Stones Mobile Studio—referred to as the "Rolling truck Stones thing" and "a mobile" in the song lyrics) at the entertainment complex that was part of the Montreux Casino (referred to as "the gambling house" in the song lyric). On the eve of the recording session, a Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention concert was held in the casino's theatre. This was to be the theatre's final concert before the casino complex closed down for its annual winter renovations, which would allow Deep Purple to record there. At the beginning of Don Preston's synthesizer solo on "King Kong", the place suddenly caught fire when somebody in the audience fired a flare gun toward the rattan covered ceiling, as mentioned in the "some stupid with a flare gun" line.[9][10] The resulting fire destroyed the entire casino complex, along with all the Mothers' equipment. The "smoke on the water" that became the title of the song (credited to bass guitarist Roger Glover, who related how the title occurred to him when he suddenly woke from a dream a few days later) referred to the smoke from the fire spreading over Lake Geneva from the burning casino as the members of Deep Purple watched the fire from their hotel. "It was probably the biggest fire I'd ever seen up to that point and probably ever seen in my life" said bass guitarist Roger Glover, "It was a huge building. I remember there was very little panic getting out, because it didn't seem like much of a fire at first. But, when it caught, it went up like a fireworks display". The "Funky Claude" running in and out is referring to Claude Nobs, the director of the Montreux Jazz Festival who helped some of the audience escape the fire.

Claude Nobs (2006), the "Funky Claude" mentioned in the song

Left with an expensive mobile recording unit and no place to record, the band was forced to scout the town for another place to set up. One promising venue (found by Nobs) was a local theatre called The Pavilion, but soon after the band had loaded in and started working/recording, the nearby neighbours took offence at the noise, and the band was only able to lay down backing tracks for one song (based on Blackmore's riff and temporarily named "Title No. 1"), before the local police shut them down.

Finally, after about a week of searching, the band rented the nearly-empty Montreux Grand Hotel and converted its hallways and stairwells into a makeshift recording studio, where they laid down most of the tracks for what would become their most commercially successful album, Machine Head (which is dedicated to Claude Nobs).

The only song from Machine Head not recorded entirely in the Grand Hotel was "Smoke on the Water" itself, which had been partly recorded during the abortive Pavilion session. The lyrics of "Smoke on the Water" were composed later, primarily by Gillan and based around Glover's title, and the vocals were recorded in the Grand Hotel.

Because of the incident and the exposure Montreux received when "Smoke on the Water" became an international hit, Deep Purple formed a lasting bond with the town. The song is honoured in Montreux by a sculpture along the lake shore (right next to the statue of Queen frontman Freddie Mercury) with the band's name, the song title, and the riff in musical notes.

On the Classic Albums series episode about Machine Head, Ritchie Blackmore claimed that friends of the band were not fans of the classic "Smoke on the Water" riff, because they thought it was too simplistic. Blackmore retaliated by making comparisons to the first movement of Beethoven's 5th Symphony, which revolves around a similar four note arrangement.

Give it a listen.

https://youtu.be/zUwEIt9ez7M

Need a updated version. Not much has changed unfortunately.


 “Eve Of Destruction”
Written By  Jim Beviglia

You’ve done a great job if you’ve written a song that still holds meaning and immediacy a half-century down the road. If you’ve managed that feat at the tender age of 19, you’re really ahead of the game.

That’s exactly what P.F. Sloan accomplished with “Eve Of Destruction.” Although The Byrds took a pass on the song and The Turtles, Jan and Dean, and The Grass Roots all released versions in the mid-60’s, it was the relatively unheralded Barry McGuire who took the song into the stratosphere in 1965. Sparked by the timeliness of its message and the urgency of the recording, McGuire’s take muscled all the way to #1 on the U.S. charts.

Sloan wrote on his website about the impetus for the song. “It released some major concerns for myself and maybe because it was coming from a genuine concern for the well-being of America and the world,” he recalled. “I remember in 1965 the civil rights movement had begun, Vietnam was in the background, the cold war had heated up so drastically that we’re just finding out today how close the world came to the brink of a nuclear war. This was in the air, fear and hypocrisy… the unthinkable could be happening.”

Topical songs always run the risk of becoming dated, and some of the specific references found on “Eve Of Destruction” have retreated somewhat from the world stage while other concerns have risen to the forefront. But Sloan’s lyrics overcome that thanks to the conviction behind them.

“Yeah, my bloods so mad feels like coagulatin,” the narrator moans, his angst vividly rendered. When he mentions the efforts for Civil Rights, his lines about legislative stagnation and rampant indecency cut through the nonsense and, sadly, sound like they could have been written last night: “Handful of senators don’t pass legislation/And marches alone can’t bring integration/When human respect is disintegratin.’”

Sloan extends the length of the final verse so that the full measure of his frustration and fury can be felt: “The pounding of the drums, the pride and disgrace/You can bury your dead but don’t leave a trace/Hate your next door neighbor but don’t forget to say grace.” Such a litany of negativity, however honest, might have been a bit too much medicine had not Sloan addressed and hooked the listeners with an unforgettable chorus: “And you tell me over and over and over again, my friend/Ah, you don’t believe/We’re on the eve of destruction.”

While Sloan may have had the vision, McGuire deserves a lot of credit for interpreting it in such striking fashion. With his quasi-Dylanesque growl, he sounds a bit like a madman raving on the street corner about the world’s impending doom. Yet as the song progresses and his indignant howls start to make more and more sense, he seems like the last sane man, spewing prophecies and warnings that the ignorance of mankind drowns out.

“Eve Of Destruction” was McGuire’s one solo hit. Meanwhile Sloan’s peripatetic career included his authorship of “Secret Agent Man,” another huge hit song (as recorded by Johnny Rivers) that couldn’t have been further removed from his first smash in style and temperament. He passed away on November 15 at the age of 70. Yet every time global problems seem to be on full tilt, when that “fear and hypocrisy” clouds the air like smog, Sloan’s words rise again and “Eve Of Destruction” delivers its truth from the edge of oblivion.

Eve Of Destruction

P.F.Sloan

The eastern world it is explodin', violence flarin', bullets loadin'

 You're old enough to kill but not for votin'

 You don't believe in war, what's that gun you're totin'

 And even the Jordan river has bodies floatin'

But you tell me over and over and over again my friend

 Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction

Don't you understand, what I'm trying to say?

 Can't you see the fear that I'm feeling today?

 If the button is pushed, there's no running away

 There'll be none to save with the world in a grave

 Take a look around you, boy, it's bound to scare you, boy

But you tell me over and over and over again my friend

 Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction

Yeah, my blood's so mad, feels like coagulatin'

 I'm sittin' here just contemplatin'

 I can't twist the truth, it knows no regulation

 Handful of Senators don't pass legislation

And marches alone can't bring integration

 When human respect is disintegratin'

 This whole crazy world is just too frustratin'

And you tell me over and over and over again my friend

 Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction

Think of all the hate there is in Red China

 Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama

 Ah, you may leave here for four days in space

 But when you return it's the same old place

The poundin' of the drums, the pride and disgrace

 You can bury your dead but don't leave a trace

 Hate your next door neighbor but don't forget to say grace

And you tell me over and over and over and over again my friend

 Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction

check it out

https://youtu.be/IFZUDQ85bFU

My friend Anna turned me on to The Sweet Remains.

Check them out.

http://www.thesweetremains.com/

Been Too Good

The Sweet Remains

We were walking down on Broadgate Hall

Yellow hat and your cashmere shawl

The broken skies turn gray

Bus stops squeals and telephone wires

Cafe lights on the Christ Church spires

Somewhere we lost our way

It’s time we turned this ship around

Ohhh, I know I know I know

It’s been too good for way too long to say goodbye

English rose, Scottish thistle

Words won’t change me but a goodbye kiss’ll

And that love light in your eyes

Cobblestone streets like a Hollywood set

A black & white movie that I can’t forget

Been too good to say goodbye

Looking back on a fading photograph

On a walk by the boats where I made you laugh

There in my mind, I go from time to time...

Ohhh, I know I know I know

It’s been too good for way too long to say goodbye

Heyyyy, I mean every word I say

It’s been too good for way too long to say goodbye

It’s been too good for way too long to say goodbye

Baby I want you say stay don’t say goodbye..

Heyyyy, I mean every word I say

It’s been too good for way too long to say goodbye

Give it a listen

https://youtu.be/m1kVuv9K_KM 

The Philosopher
James Laughlin


Well here’s a salute to
that clean old man who’s

out every day fishing up
coins with a string and

a bit of gum through the
subway gratings on Broad-
way he says that he aver-
ages five dollars a week

and he says that’s enough
for a man who don’t drink.

Jerry Springer Podcast!

Should be available in three or four weeks. I will post when ready.