BOOK
Brian Copeland: Not a Genuine Black Man
(Hyperion)
Anyone who failed to catch Brian Copeland’s marvelous one-man show, Not a Genuine Black Man, during the two-odd years he performed it at the Marsh before closing in April should immediately buy a round-trip ticket to see him in New York before the show closes July 30. If you can’t make it to Manhattan, you can read the book version, a heartbreaking but very funny account of growing up black in racist 1970s San Leandro. Some of the spark has been lost in the sometimes verbatim move to print, and the conversational tone suffers a bit without Copeland’s expert performance to drive the story forward, especially when it comes to some of his best riffs on what makes a man black (“I married a white woman, that’s black!” “I listen to Rick Springfield, that’s not black.”). Still, his bewitching persona and earned righteousness will have you applauding by the time you reach the book’s moving conclusion. B
SHEERLY AVNI
CD
Ramblin’ Jack Elliott: I Stand Alone
(Anti-)
Ramblin’ Jack Elliott has been making records since 1957, and he sounds pretty much the same now as he did back then. Starting out as a singing cowboy inspired by Woody Guthrie, Elliott, who lives in Marin County now, quickly embraced the persona of a dust-ridden outlaw beatnik, which he’s maintained ever since. On his first release in seven years, he’s backed by a collection of punks (X drummer DJ Bonebrake, Sleater-Kinney singer Corin Tucker), alt-rockers (Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea, guitarist Nels Cline), and roots musicians (Los Lobos accordionist David Hidalgo, singer Lucinda Williams), all of whom know enough to stay out of Elliott’s way, providing just the bare essential acoustic backing. Unleashing his distinctive road-worn voice on homespun traditionals, protest blues tunes, and one original—“Woody’s Last Ride,” about his last cross-country trip with Guthrie—Elliott conjures images of an America full of wide-open spaces, aging movie stars, and lonesome train engineers. On tracks like “Leaving Cheyenne” and “Mr. Garfield,” Elliott, who turns 75 next month, summons up a marvelous view of the past, one that may be as much myth as historical fact. A-
DAN STRACHOTA
BOOK
George Lakoff: Whose Freedom?
(Farrar, Straus and Giroux)
Freedom isn’t a simple concept. As UC Berkeley linguist and Howard Dean darling George Lakoff (Don’t Think of an Elephant!) explains in his eighth book, gay couples seeking the “freedom” to marry impinge on the “freedom” a conservative Christian seeks to raise his child in a society that condemns homosexuality. But the ideal of freedom that President Bush and Co. promote—a free-market society unfettered by government regulation—is an affront to the traditional progressive vision championed by FDR. By failing to contest this conservative-Christian, free-market framing of “freedom,” Lakoff argues in this polished, surprisingly readable polemic, we risk losing cherished liberties secured through the labor and civil rights movements, not to mention the sexual revolution. Calling on his fellow progressives to flock to the linguistic barricades and proudly defend their definition of the nation’s most important noun, Lakoff declares, “They have not won, not yet!” B+
TIM DICKINSON
CD
Jolie Holland: Springtime Can Kill You
(Anti-)
Skipping from bluesy ballads to Irish jigs to folkie story-songs, Jolie Holland’s first two albums sounded as if they’d come from some forgotten jukebox in the South. While those earlier tracks showcased her vivid use of genre, her new CD is far more personal, with the San Francisco resident seemingly more comfortable just being herself. For the first time, she’s written and recorded with one group of musicians—guitarist Brian Miller, drummer Dave Mihaly, and bassist Keith Cary, plus a few others—and it shows in the album’s cohesiveness. Dispensing with choruses and hooks, the musicians concoct a flowing, improvisatory kind of sound, one that’s full of eerie slide guitar, somber piano runs, and spooky percussion. But as always, the main draw is Holland’s mellifluous voice, which moves from twangy strut (“Stubborn Beast”) to operatic melancholia (“Ghostly Girl”) to jazzy swing (the title track), raising goose bumps all the while. Overall, this is the kind of record you can sink into like a mud bath, content to let its dreamy, soothing qualities wash over your weary bones. A-
DAN STRACHOTA
BLOG
iranian.com
“Writing a letter of such length to President Bush, who is known for his extreme distaste for reading, was the most provocative act Mr. Ahmadinejad could have possibly committed,” says a recent fake, comical news bulletin on Iranian.com. Prompted by the 18-page note Iran’s president sent to George Bush in the spring, the satiric post sits among contributions ranging from essays on Iranian democracy to photographs from a Persian expat party in San Francisco. According to publisher Jahanshah Javid, who once wrote most of the posts, this 11-year-old Albany-based site explores issues that cannot be discussed in Iran because they are “sacred, because Islam says so, or because ayatollah so-and-so says so.” With its poetry, photo journals, explorations of sex life, serious reflection, and toilet humor, the site can seem a little random. It is incredibly interesting and often moving, though, to read contributors’ comments on the state of affairs in their homeland, such as when writer Hossein Bagher Zadeh notes, “No matter what the Security Council does, it seems that the Iranian people are going to pay a high price for the folly of their leaders’ policies.” A-
BYRON PERRY