Archive for February, 2010

  • 20 Feb

    Posted by
    Christopher Meier


    Category

    All God’s children they all gotta die!

    0

    There is an interesting sub-genre of the traditional ballad known as Murder Ballads.  A murder ballad typically recounts the details of a fictional or true crime — who the victim is, why the murderer decides to kill him or her, how the victim is lured to the murder site and the act itself — followed by the escape and/or capture of the murderer. Often the ballad ends with the murderer in jail or on their way to the gallows, occasionally with a plea for the listener not to copy the evils committed by the singer. Some murder ballads tell the story from the point of view of the murderer, while others tell the tale of the crime from the point of view of the victim.

    In 1996 Nick Cave released an album, Murder Ballads, which combined both traditional murder ballads with original ballads, all with very macabre, but fascinating, stories to tell.

    My favourites, with a bit of an explanation of the song are:-

    1.   “Song of Joy” is a story of a man whose wife Joy and their three children, Hilda, Hattie and Holly, are murdered -

    Joy had been bound with electrical tape
    In her mouth a gag
    She’d been stabbed repeatedly
    And stuffed into a sleeping bag
    In their very cots my girls were robbed of their lives
    Method of murder much the same as my wife’s
    Method of murder much the same as my wife’s
    It was midnight when I arrived home
    Said to the police on the telephone
    Someone’s taken four innocent lives

    The Narrator portrays himself as the victim of the crime, but the song itself strongly suggests a connection between the killer’s continuing murder spree and the widower’s seemingly aimless wandering; either he is the killer and murdered his wife and 3 daughters, or at the very least their murders have turned him into a killer too -

    And so I’ve left my home
    I drift from land to land
    I am upon your step and you are a family man
    Outside the vultures wheel
    The wolves howl, the serpents hiss
    And to extend this small favour, friend
    Would be the sum of earthly bliss
    Do you reckon me a friend?
    * The sun to me is dark *
    * And silent as the moon *
    Do you, sir, have a room?
    Are you beckoning me in?

    2.   “Stagger Lee” is based on a traditional song about the African-American murderer of the same name. Cave’s version draws most of the lyrics from a 1967 transcription published in the 1976 book The Life: The lore and folk poetry of the black hustler.

    “SHOT IN CURTIS’S PLACE
    “William Lyons, 25, coloured, a levee hand, living at 1410 Morgan Street, was shot in the abdomen yesterday evening at 10 o’clock in the saloon of Bill Curtis, at Eleventh and Morgan streets, by Lee Sheldon, also coloured.
    “Both parties, it seems, had been drinking, and were feeling in exuberant spirits. Lyons and Sheldon were friends and were talking together. The discussion drifted to politics, and an argument was started, the conclusion of which was that Lyons snatched Sheldon’s hat from his head.
    “The latter indignantly demanded its return. Lyons refused, and Sheldon drew his revolver and shot Lyons in the abdomen [...] When his victim fell to the floor, Sheldon took his hat from the hand of the wounded man and coolly walked away.”
    - St Louis Globe-Democrat, December 26, 1895.

    Nick Cave’s version is quite graphic, and while portraying Stagger Lee as a truly nasty creature, doesn’t give too much of a back story -

    “I’ll stay here till Billy comes in, till time comes to pass
    And furthermore I’ll fuck Billy in his motherfucking ass”
    Said Stagger Lee

    “I’m a bad motherfucker, don’t you know
    And I’ll crawl over fifty good pussies just to get one fat boy’s asshole”
    Said Stagger Lee

    Just then Billy Dilly rolls in and he says, “You must be
    That bad motherfucker called Stagger Lee”
    Stagger Lee

    “Yeah, I’m Stagger Lee and you better get down on your knees
    And suck my dick, because If you don’t you’re gonna be dead”
    Said Stagger Lee

    Billy dropped down and slobbered on his head
    And Stag filled him full of lead

    3.   “The Curse of Millhaven” is a song of a mad girl, Lottie, whose “eyes are green” and “hair is yellow”. She describes the deaths of townsfolk, pointing out how “all God’s creatures, they’ve all got to die”. It is then revealed, in the failed stabbing of Mrs. Colgate, that Lottie is in fact the killer. She goes on to confess being responsible for quite a number of deaths, including many that were believed to be accidents.  She is quite proud of her deeds, and is happy to admit she’s a monster -

    Twenty cops burst through my door without even phoning
    La la la la La la la lie
    The young ones, the old ones, they all gotta die

    Yes, it is I, Lottie. The Curse Of Millhaven
    I’ve struck horror in the heart of this town
    Like my eyes ain’t green and my hair ain’t yellow
    It’s more like the other way around
    I gotta pretty little mouth underneath all the foaming
    La la la la La la la lie
    Sooner or later we all gotta die

    Since I was no bigger than a weavil they’ve been saying I was evil
    That if “bad” was a boot that I’d fit it
    That I’m a wicked young lady, but I’ve been trying hard lately
    O fuck it! I’m a monster! I admit it!
    It makes me so mad my blood really starts a-going
    La la la la La la la lie
    Mama always told me that we all gotta die

    4.   “Death Is Not the End” is the final song on the album and features several vocalists, such as Anita Lane, Kylie Minogue, PJ Harvey, and Shane McGowan, each singing a verse of this Bob Dylan cover.  It is also the only song that doesn’t feature a death or murder -

    And all your dreams have vanished
    And you don’t know what’s up the bend
    Just remember that death is not the end
    Not the end, not the end
    Just remember that death is not the end

    When the storm clouds gather round you
    And heavy rains descend
    Just remember that death is not the end

    And there’s no-one there to comfort you
    With a helping hand to lend
    Just remember that death is not the end
    Not the end, not the end
    Just remember that death is not the end

    This may appear to be a rather grim topic to write about, and the songs even darker to listen to, but it really isn’t, especially if you know what influenced each track and listen to each song as a story told in a lyrical manner.

  • 18 Feb

    Posted by
    Christopher Meier


    Category

    Would you like a side-order with that?

    0

    Lately I’ve started to think that receiving treatment for Bipolar Mood Disorder (BMD) is like going through a McDonalds Drive-Thru and being asked “Would you like a side-order of tardive dyskinesia with your crazies? Can we super size that for you?”.  When I started on my anti-psychotic (Seroquel) I was told there might be some weight gain. Some! Some weight gain is gaining 3kgs over two months, considerable weight gain is 26kgs in two months. And it’s the kind of weight gain that behaves like a friend who asks to crash on your sofa for a few weeks, and 3 years later he’s still there, now with his girlfriend.

    I try and out-stare it in the bathroom mirror, but I always lose, and then have to put up with its taunting afterwards. I end up feeling the same way Garry Kasparov would if he were to lose a game of chess to Julius Malema.

    Weight gain seems to be the common side-effect for all anti-psychotics, and because they don’t want more negative publicity, the pharmaceutical companies have teamed up with a local Health Club to offer a ‘lifestyle programme’.  As part of the programme I have to have my blood pressure measured once a month, along with waist measurement and weight.  No surprise there, my blood pressure is high, 157/93, so now I have to have it measured twice a week and then possibly see my GP for medication to reduce it.  Astra-Zeneca famously took out a magazine ad’ earlier this year that stretched over 7 pages – 1 page for the advertisement, and 6 to list all possible side-effects.  The message that came out following that was that in the treatment of BMD one has to measure the benefit against the risk, and right now Seroquel doesn’t seem to bad.

    Extended use of most anti-psychotics can lead to tardive dyskinesia - a lovely little condition characterized by repetitive, involuntary, purposeless movements. Features of the disorder may include grimacing, tongue protrusion, lip smacking, puckering and pursing of the lips, and rapid eye blinking. Rapid movements of the extremities may also occur. Impaired movements of the fingers may also appear.

    In comparison, Clozapine was voluntarily withdrawn by the manufacturer in 1975 after it was shown to cause a condition involving a dangerous decrease in the number of white blood cells, that led to death in some patients.  It was reintroduced in the late 80s, but Clozapine is usually used as a last resort in patients who have not responded to other anti-psychotic treatments due to its danger of causing agranulocytosis as well as the costs of having to have blood tests continually during treatment.

    Actually after reading up on some of the effects of the various drugs one can’t help thinking that just maybe ignorance is bliss, since to continue may just scare one stiff – literally

  • 13 Feb

    Posted by
    Christopher Meier


    Category

    Jockomo fe n’an n’ae

    0
    Mardi Gras Indian

    Mardi Gras Indian

    Jockomo

    There is a lovely old song that has been covered many times, and had its lyrics modified almost as many times, but my favourites are two of the original recordings, the first as written by James “Sugar Boy” Crawford in 1953, and the second by The Dixie Cups in 1965.  The lyrics at the end of this post are a combination of the two.

    As told by James Crawford, the lyrics are derived from Mardi Gras Indian chants and other popular catchphrases, though it should be noted that the words “Iko, Iko” are never mentioned in Crawfords version, making there appearance for the first time in The Dixie Cups recording.  None of the words are gibberish, as thought by some, but rather Kreyol Lwizian (Louisiana Creole) made difficult to understand when reproduced phonetically first by the Black Indians, and then Crawford recording what he thought the Indians were singing.

    Louisiana Creole is basically pidgin-French, with grammar that would make a Frenchman cringe. The words are foreshortened and spoken with flat accents in quick, rapid-fire delivery. It was short-form, truncated French – for instance an English equivalent would be “Me go bayo’” for “I am going to the bayou.”, but by the 1880s, the increasing number of English-speaking Americans in New Orleans and Louisiana caused the decline of Creole French. Today, it is still spoken in rural areas and parts of central Louisiana but it is not spoken in New Orleans any more. Only words and phrases remain.
    The Black Indian Tribes

    There are currently about 40 Indian tribes, but originally there were only four or five Black Indian tribes in New Orleans.

    The confrontations between the tribes at Mardi Gras in the streets of New Orleans is highly ritualised. The principal members of the tribe confront their counterparts in the opposing tribe – Spyboy versus Spyboy, then the Flagboys, 2nd, 3rd and 4th Chiefs, the Queens, and children. Finally, the Big Chiefs have their showdown, swaying and rotating and preening to show off their costumes. An acknowledgement of success is for the opponent to admit that the other’s costume is “pretty”.

    In the 1800’s and the early 1900’s the confrontations between rival tribes were often used to settle old scores, and tribes would occasionally stab and shoot each other’s members – the masking also serving to hide their faces and their identities from the Police. The former violence of the confrontations has transcended into the modern ‘music and dress’ face-off’s, though the New Orleans Police Department is still always much in evidence wherever a tribe marches and chants at Mardi Gras.

    The Lyrics

    The first two lines

    Hey now! Hey now!
    Iko, Iko an day

    were introduced by The Dixie Cups in 1962, while the next two lines

    Jocomo fee no wah nan day
    Jocomo fee na nay

    were initiated by Sugar Boy Crawford in 1953. They are genuine French Creole-origin sentences which were adapted in the Black Indian chant which paid scant respect to the rules of French grammar. In Creole they are:

    Ena! Ena!
    Akout, Akout an dèyè
    Jocomo fi nou wa nan dèyè
    Jockomo fi na né

    In English, this equates to:
    Hey now! Hey now!
    Listen, listen to the back
    Jocomo put our King at the back
    Jocomo made it happen.

    Ena! Ena!     -  is a coded ‘call’ – the chants were call and response songs – much as The Dixie Cups sang it. ‘E’ is ‘and’ (the French and Cajuns would have said ‘Et’, but Creole shortens everything), and ‘na’ is ‘to have’, ‘I have’, ‘So’, ‘Then’ etc. It would equate to something like “Now then!” But it’s a coded call – it could start anyway one wanted to get a chant going.

    Iko, Iko -  in Creole we find the closest and more plausible explanation for the word “Iko”. It is “Akout”, for the French “Ecoute!” or the English “Listen!” The fact that the French Creole “Akout!” (and sometimes just “koute”) was pronounced as “Iko!” was due to how the Black Indians deformed or adapted the Creole word to suit their timing, metre or accent, softening and shortening the initial “A” and typically leaving off the hard “t” at the end of the word, just as one would say ‘bayo’ instead of ‘bayou’. So it ended up being sung as “Akou!” which in a noisy Indian face-off in a New Orleans street at Mardi Gras would phonetically come across as “Iko”.

    An Day     – “An day” as recorded phonetically by Sugar Boy Crawford was in Creole “an dèyè”. The word “an” is like the French ‘en’ (in) but accented in the Creole accent. In Creole it has lots of meanings – ‘to’ ‘at’, ‘in’, and “dèyè” means ‘after’, ‘behind’ ‘rear’ ‘back’. The procession of an Indian tribe in the streets at Mardi Gras can be quite long extending over two or three city blocks. In front are the ceremonially dressed Indians (Spyboy, Flagboy, 2d, 3rd, 4th Chiefs, the Queen, the Wildmen and so on) and they’re followed by the rest of the tribe, who’re not as fantastically garbed as the front runners. That’s why the Big Chief has to be everywhere – he has to keep his entire Tribe in order and together.

    So “Akout, akout an dèyè” – Listen! Listen to the rear” is plausibly what the gang at the front leading the procession would be chanting to their followers behind them as the whole tribe marched down the street.

    Jocomo fee no wah nan day – Crawford’s “Jocomo fee no wah nan day” in true Creole is “Jocomo fi nou wa nan dèyè”. In English this means “Jocomo put our King (Big Chief) at the back” (literally), but figuratively it sounds more like a warning to the opposing tribe: “Watch out! Our Big Chief’s at the back!”

    The Belle Stars covered the song in 1982, though it was only released in the US in 1988.  Their version has been used in two films – Rain Man, and more recently The Hangover.  Cyndi Lauper covered the song on her 1986 album ‘True Colours.

    My grandma and your grandma
    Were sitting by the fire
    My granma told your grandma
    I’m gonna set your flag on fire

    Chorus
    Talkin’ ’bout
    Hey now, hey now
    Iko iko an de
    Jockomo fee-lo an da’n de
    Jockomo fe n’an n’ae

    Look at my king all dressed in red
    Iko iko an de
    I’ll bet you five dollars he’ll kill you dead
    Jockomo fe n’an n’ae

    [chorus]

    My flag boy and your flag boy
    Sitting by the fire
    My flag boy told your flag boy
    I’m gonna set your flag on fire

    [chorus]

    See that guy all dressed in green
    Iko iko an de
    He’s not a man, he’s a loving machine
    Jockomo fe n’an n’ae

    [chorus]
    [chorus]
    Jockomo fe n’an n’ae
    Jockomo fe n’an n’ae

  • 06 Feb

    Posted by
    Christopher Meier


    Category

    Not just white noise

    0

    Sometimes it isn’t fun having an unquiet mind, but what is an unquiet mind?

    For me it is like listening to 20 radio stations at the same time.  Imagine that for a moment, if you can, 20 individual radio’s, each programmed to a different station, all playing at the same volume.  You can pick out bits and pieces from each station, but you can only focus on one at a time, the word focus being used very loosely here.

    I have a constant flux (turmoil?) of ideas flooding through my head and every now and again I will be able to grab hold of one and build on it before it is shoved aside by another thought clamoring for a bit of attention.  Writing has, for me, become quite difficult over the past two years.  The first obstacle is selecting a topic – it’s akin to asking a group of children who would like an ice-cream.  If I am able to isolate a topic, the next challenge is to actually write more than 100 words before becoming side-tracked, which often results in my writing becoming very disjointed.

    My ability to design has been similarly affected, though I have started work on two pieces recently which I’m hoping to complete somewhere in the next 2-3 months. It is quite an achievement to actually have a piece that I can work on periodically since in most instances I delete my work before saving.

    The thoughts are silenced at night, when going to bed, by my medication, and on days when my mood drops to moderately to severely depressed.

    Something that has become more pronounced over the last few months is my obsession with certain sounds and styles of music.  Some time back it was instrumental music and certain classical pieces, but that has now given way to Cajun/Zydeco bands and Scottish Bagpipes and Drums.

    Odd, but then I never did normal very well.

  • 05 Feb

    Posted by
    Christopher Meier


    Category

    My thoughts in words

    1

    This post says everything I could have said regarding my own sites history.  Could have, but didn’t.  These are the words of Nick Wilgus, from his own blog.

    This blog has a long history. Venerable? I would go that far. But it’s been around the block a time or two. You can’t tell that right now, because there are only a few posts. That’s because I deleted this blog. Not once, but twice. Chucked the whole thing.

    Why would someone do that, you ask. Good question. The first time I chucked my blog was because I realized that it had became little more than self-pity-fest, and I was embarrassed by that realization, and in response to it I chucked the whole blog.

    Self-pity is something that anyone with a disability of whatever kind has to come to terms with. I’m bipolar and that means I suffer, in a certain way. But there are many bipolar people out there, many of them far worse off than I am. In addition, there are people who are blind, people who are deaf, people with cancer, people who suffer from all sorts of hardship because of poverty, illness, abuse, maltreatment.

    I wanted everyone to understand that I was bipolar, that it sucked, that it hurt, that it was a disadvantage, that I had to put up with more than the normal load of crap. And intertwined in all of that was my self-pity, my feeling sorry for myself.

    It’s normal to feel self-pity when land in a situation like mine. It’s normal — for a while. But there comes a time when you have to stop, and instead of wasting your time on self-pity and trying to get everyone to feel sorry for you, and to start thinking about strategies and methods you can employ to make your situation better.

    That was the reason, I guess, why I deleted the blog. Both times. I was afraid it was nothing more the endless whinings of self-pity. The purpose in starting the blog was to share my experiences as a bipolar person, to point out how some things are very difficult for me whereas they might be very easy for you. But I got sidetracked. And anyway, I had to ask myself, what does it matter if people understand me? What does it matter if they care? Is it going to take away the pain of bipolar? Is it going to make the pain stop? Of course not. So, yes, it’s nice when people care and lend you support during your rougher moments, but you can’t take advantage of that, and you shouldn’t take it for granted. No matter how much they might want to, they can’t help you. They can’t make the pain go away.

    I realize, from my experiences with this blog, that it’s not really important what people think of me, or whether they feel sorry for me or not. That doesn’t make any difference. That self-pity is just a waste of time. I don’t want to be a person that others feel sorry for. I want to be a person who takes a bad situation and makes the best of it. I want to spend my energy and time and coming up with methods to make myself feel better and cope better with this disorder. For example, it’s a silly thing, but the TV “Friends” really makes me laugh, and I have all 10 seasons on DVD, so when I’m feeling down in the mouth, I put on my “Friends” and have a laugh and it makes me feel better. It shows me that not everything in life is terrible and awful. There are also funny bits, and sweet bits, and nice bits, like playing with my dogs.

    Dr Elizabeth Kubler-Ross (sp?) defined the five stages of grieving. One of the first is denial; then anger; then bargaining; eventually comes acceptance. When you get a diagnosis of bipolar — or cancer, or any other disability — you go through those stages. At first there is anger and denial. It’s quite natural, as Dr Elizabeth documented. But eventually one must move on to the other stages and come to a point where one can accept reality as it is, no matter how much it sucks.

    I’m not there yet. I’m still prone to self-pity. I still keep wondering why, of all the billions of people in the world, I had to be stuck with this bipolar crap. But I try to call a spade a spade and if I think one of my blog posts is to self-pitying, I just delete it and write something else.

    I’ve realized, working on this blog, that it’s not really about bipolar. It’s about being given an added burden, however you might define that — an illness, a social situation, the woman who feels trapped in the body of a man, the gay person who can’t accept himself. Carrying this added burden, you’ve still got to make your way through life, and you have to do it for yourself, not for anyone else. Your disability might keep you back from a few things, but you can still grab a few bits of happiness here and there and make the best of your situation.

    I am a firm believer of many years’ standing that you create your own universe. Everything in your universe is there because you put it there or you allow it to be there. You can’t make excuses or waste time on blame game. It’s all on your shoulders. If you look around and you don’t like what you see, then it’s your responsibility to change it. If you’re not willing to make the sacrifices required, then you have no one to blame but yourself.

    I create my own universe. I didn’t ask for bipolar, but I can decide how I want to deal with it. I can make choices and decisions about it. And sure, I could spend lots of time in the self-pity phase, and many people do, but I want to get to the phase where I figure out how to cope better, how to do better, how to realize when I’m being bipolar and crabby and how to tell my loved ones about it and to ignore me and not take it seriously. I want to do better at taking care of myself, no matter how much I might resent having this disorder. I also get out of myself and focus more on other people and be part of the world.

    Do I suffer? Yes. But so does everyone else, even “normal” people. We all have our “crosses” to bear, and everyone has some secret suffering inside that we may not know about.

    So, am I going to delete this blog? I hope not. This particular version of it will be, I hope, a little more positive and a little happier than the old ones. I seem to be learning as I go. Anyway, thank you for taking time out of your day to read my scribblings. It’s much appreciated.

  • 05 Feb

    Posted by
    Christopher Meier


    Category

    Lies, Half-Truths & Politics

    1

    Two stories have featured heavily in the local media over the last week and a bit -  the arrest of Sheryl Cwele, and the news that Jacob Zuma has fathered another child.

    Sheryl Cwele’s story goes back two years, to the arrest of Tessa Beetge in South America with 9kg of cocaine in her luggage.  Allegations way back then already implicated Sheryl, with the mother of Tessa producing e-mail and text messages.  Following her arrest she has filed a bail application which is being opposed by the State who have rightly labeled her a flight risk – she claimed to only have a temporary passport, but a query to Home Affairs showed she has 4 identity documents, 3 passports and 1 temporary passport.  You have to love it when someone proclaims innocence, but is then caught out lying over something else, really speaks volumes about their integrity.

    Then you have the small bit about her husband being the State Security Minister and supposedly having no idea of his wife’s shady activities.  We are faced with two scenarios, and neither one is reassuring.  Either he is lying, or he really had no idea.  Whichever it is, one cannot help but ask should he remain in charge of State Security?

    Moving on to Zuma, South Africa’s own one-man baby factory.  It has only recently come to light that the 67-year old leader has fathered yet another child, his 20th.  First we are told it was born out of wedlock, then we are told that they are actually married under customary law.  The truth will out, as they say, but until then the story continues to generate heated debate.  On the one side you have political allies and sympathisers who call for everyone to respect his privacy, oblivious to the fact that since he is the President of South Africa, and supported by our taxes, we have a fairly legitimate right to know what he is doing. This is especially true when his behaviour is in stark contrast to what he encourages – i.e. be faithful to partners and to ‘condomise’.

    The ANCYL doesn’t seem to think his behaviour has compromised their safe-sex campaign, which beggars belief; but then they are the same group calling for the nationalisation of all mining operations and the Reserve Bank.

    Both of these stories will continue to be featured prominently in the local media until the next politician, or highly placed person, does something embarrassing.  This being South Africa that should be in the next week, two at the most.