I read a story yesterday that encapsulated a lot of what I despise about gun culture in modern America.

Jim Zumbo, a famous outdoorsman/hunter/gun advocate, has been vilified and basically sent into hiding after daring to suggest, in a blog post while on a hunt in Wyoming, that assault rifles have no place in the hunting community:

"Excuse me, maybe I'm a traditionalist, but I see no place for these weapons among our hunting fraternity," Zumbo wrote in his blog on the Outdoor Life Web site. "As hunters, we don't need to be lumped into the group of people who terrorize the world with them ... I'll go so far as to call them 'terrorist' rifles."

As a result of expressing his personal opinions, this man has now lost his position with Outdoor Life magazine, the Outdoor Channel, and his corporate sponsorships. He's been publicly berated by the NRA and thousands of assault-rifle owners.

Zumbo is a 40-year member of the NRA, and has long been a public advocate for the organization and the gun-ownership rights it champions. It's obvious to anyone with a shred of intelligence that all he's saying is that these weapons made for war are grotesquely out of place in what should be a pursuit that's based on respect, dignity, and tradition. Further, he seems to be cautioning that gun owners as a group risk being lumped in with terrorists if they use the same weapons that terrorists use.

It's a pretty simple and obviously valid point. An example he singled out was the use of assault rifles when hunting prairie dogs. Doing that is comparable to a teenager playing a gory first-person video game, except unlike those video games which are so widely pilloried in society, this is actual violence committed against helpless creatures for sport and perverted amusement.

Zumbo was trying to draw the line between this unsportsmanlike behavior and the nobler hunting tradition in which hunters observe restraint and respect for their environment and their quarry. He was pointing out how the presence of weapons created to kill humans in the desperate setting of war--and indeed, these very same rifles are being used to kill our soldiers in Iraq as we speak--is not appropriate in a hunting setting.

And for this, his livelihood has been decimated, his character destroyed by his supposed friends and supporters. The NRA has gone a step further by turning his character assassination into something comparable to a mob hit, 'sending a message' over his figurative corpse:

The NRA--a well-financed gun lobby that for decades has fought attempts to regulate assault weapons--noted that the new Congress should pay careful attention to the outdoors writer's fate.

"Our folks fully understand that their rights are at stake," the NRA statement said. It warned that the "grassroots" passion that brought down Zumbo shows that millions of people would "resist with an immense singular political will any attempts to create a new ban on semi-automatic firearms."

All very noble-sounding, but Jim Zumbo isn't a politician. He's a gun advocate who dared to speak a warning to his friends, who dared have an opinion about the proper, dignified use of guns. And for this, all that he's worked for has been stripped from him.

And so it becomes clear, once again, that guns don't make us free. We see from this case, as with so many others, that the only real power of guns is fear. The same power that creates fear in anyone a gun is directed at also poisons the gun owner with fear, paranoia, and eroding character.

Like any other power, it can be used responsibly. My father is a member of possibly the last generation of dignified hunters in this country--he owns several hunting rifles, used to be an avid hunter, and is a lifelong conservationist. That's the type of gun ownership that I respect--one based in moderation, dignity, and a tradition informed with humility. What the NRA has sown in modern America, however, is nothing short of fanaticism, a distorted intolerance and hatred that is based in an irrational fear.

By continuing along this fanatical path, groups like the NRA are starting to undermine their own cause. They're showing that all our other freedoms are meaningless and can be extinguished at will in the pursuit of being able to own and use any type of weapon in any context, no questions asked. But without the context of our other freedoms and a higher, noble purpose, gun ownership becomes a perverse, thuggish, slavish addiction to power and unquestioned behavior. And as any theologian or psychologist will tell you, that will produce monsters.

In fact, I don't think it's a stretch to say that the type of behavior demonstrated by Zumbo's attackers is representative of a larger sickening of the American character that is responsible for the disgust and fear with which our country is widely viewed around the world. Increasingly, as a culture we seem to want to be able to do whatever we want, so matter how destructive or consumptive, and not be questioned or resisted in any way. It's like a reversion to a childish state, in which we have transcended any notion of not being able to have everything what we want, however grotesque.

No matter how much the NRA and its more fanatical members want to believe it, there's no such thing as freedom without limits. The limits to our freedom, especially those which we impose on ourselves, are the source of our nobility and higher purpose as a country and as individuals. Freedom without any limits is, by definition, anarchy, and a perversion of the ideals of this country.

Labels: Culture

In an effort to console myself about the ongoing idiocy, shallowness, and short-sightedness of our current president's policies, I sometimes think, "no matter who it is, Republican or Democrat, our next president will be better." Admittedly it sounds like a jinx, but after six years of Bush failure, it seems inevitable.

And yet, it's only February of 2007 and I'm already ashamed and appalled with the gaggle of two-faced, pandering fools who are clustering hungrily around the beginnings of the 2008 presidential race.

First of all, the mass media deserves a rebuke for so intensely focusing on this race which isn't even a race yet. Day in and day out, there's coverage that amounts to gossip-column, he-said-she-said reporting of every comment and incident involving every candidate or potential candidate. Barack Obama or Mitt Romney announcing they're running for president is news. Every single thing they say or do on every day since then is not news. Not yet.

But the ridiculous amount of coverage has had one benefit: it's revealed almost all the current crop of contenders to be shallow, insincere panderers who are leaving all dignity and genuineness behind in a grab for power.

It's a syndrome that crosses party lines and falls into all-too-familiar cliches. On the Republican side, we have a group of men so lustful for power that they're reinventing themselves, hurriedly papering over their previous lives and beliefs in a frenzied effort to seem the most God-fearing, socially conservative candidate. Of course, it's painfully transparent that this is insincere and only designed to woo the religious-right base, but the last couple elections shows that this works--millions of conservative Christians fell into a rapturously hypnotic state over Bush's Bible-talk, and are still buying it years later.

Thus, previously moderate John McCain, current moderate Rudy Giuliani, and former liberal Mitt Romney are stumbling over each other in an effort to seem like a cross between Jesus and Ronald Reagan, for the support of a powerful crowd who don't seem to be able to distinguish the two. This week John McCain went so far as to say, literally, "what's wrong with sucking up to everybody?" While one could give him the credit to think he was making an oblique point about a politician deferring to the needs of his constituents, in light of his recent actions, it's a painfully telling, ironic statement.

On the Democratic side, there's a similar pursuit of practicality over ideals. The party is still being chastised for a "slick Willie" pursuit of image over character, but again, Democrats see that it worked--Clinton, like Bush, was a two-term president. (Though I have to assert that, while a philanderer in his personal life, Clinton was a vastly superior politician and thinker.) So we have a race to the middle, a bland, position-free collection of sound-bites that resists real bravery or strength. The black candidate, the woman candidate, the Southern candidate--their names aren't important, as they're little more than a collection of carefully-sculpted poll-friendly message points and soft-focus images--don't get too close, or examine who we really are! You'll find there's sadly little there. The three groups listed above, and all of us, deserve better.

And these are the current front-runners to lead the most powerful nation in the world. (Hold your horses, China, you'll be there soon.)

Just as with most elections, the smaller-time, lesser-known candidates will likely be more sincere and stronger advocates of actual positions. I already have more respect for Huckabee and Richardson and Vilsack than the panderers in the media spotlight. That very spotlight will once again be resistant to anyone who doesn't look the part, anyone without that star quality.

We've seen what years of politics-as-usual has done to our country. The last congressional election has given us a chance to start turning it around. But so far, the presidential race is looking depressingly cynical and familiar. Is there any hope left that there's something more important in this country than gargantuan amounts of money, shallow feel-good platitudes, and a TV-ready smile?

We'll find out in 21 months.

Labels: Politics

It's a rare rock reunion that catches my attention, let alone interests me. But I was genuinely excited when I heard that The Police are reuniting for a tour, and even more excited when I watched their mini-set/press conference. They sounded terrific--like they'd never left.

The Police are a band who've been woven through the fabric of much of my life. I can still remember being a kid and seeing the huge Zenyatta Mondatta poster on the wall of my best friend's older brother's room. I remember wearing out my Ghost In The Machine cassette, almost as fascinated by the design of its package as the music itself (though I admit I didn't realize for a while that the symbols on the front were the band members). And I vividly remember the palpable, electric excitement that was in the air when the band's final album, Synchronicity, was close to release. To this day it's still the most excited I can remember, well, seemingly the whole world being about a new album--television, magazines, newspapers, all abuzz about this coming event. And later in life, after I'd left them behind to an extent, I found them all over again due to my dear friend Tris cluing me in to parts of their catalog I'd overlooked.

While I've rarely thought about them when I consider my greatest influences or "favorite bands ever", this reunion has helped crystallize the impact they've had on me for over 25 years. My well-worn Message In A Box box set has been getting a workout, and its unearthed memories, associations, and admiration for their work has woken me up to the strength of their influence on me.

Looking back at them after all these years, I'm almost baffled by how iconoclastic they were. Incredibly tight and accomplished as musicians, with a sound that was extraordinarily dark and brooding for a popular act and lyrics that ranged from offbeat to outlandish, they forged a unique sound. Like the best artists known for synthesizing existing genres into something new--from Elvis to Led Zeppelin--The Police made their punk & reggae starting point a launch pad into territory that only they could explore.

In light of all that, I thought I'd share my favorite Police tracks. For those who know them well, it's a comparison of sorts, and for those who may only know the most familiar singles, maybe a chance to find something new.

By album, chronologically (with iTunes song links and Wikipedia album links):

Outlandos d'Amour (1978). This album is a fun, tight, punk-influenced rock album, though very raw and unformed compared to what lay ahead. Big hit 'Roxanne' was here, though my faves are the straight-ahead rock of 'Truth Hits Everybody' (probably the hardest they rocked until the much later 'Synchronicity II'), the suicidally desperate 'Can't Stand Losing You', and 'Be My Girl-Sally', worthwhile for its great chorus, which alternates with a truly cracked ode by Andy Summers to his, er, inflatable girlfriend.

Regatta de Blanc (1979). Here's where the real sound of the band emerges. 'Message In A Bottle' is probably their second-most-iconic song and is still brilliant. Along with the edgily yearning 'The Bed's Too Big Without You', it features the sort of hypnotic, off-kilter, almost backwards-sounding bass guitar riff that Sting was such a genius at. This distinctive technique of his has been a huge influence on my approach to bass playing and has informed some of the most successful bass parts I've written over the years.

Zenyatta Mondatta (1980). To me, this is the first classic Police album. Their sound became smoother, more expansive, and more graceful, and a sort of unsettling quality crept in between the seams. My favorite song on this album, 'When The World Is Running Down, You Make The Best Of What's Still Around', exemplifies this with a spare, hypnotic rhythm, rich guitar echoes from Andy Summers, and bleak post-modern/apolocalyptic lyrics from Sting. 'Canary In A Coalmine' and 'Man In A Suitcase' are also expertly crafted pop songs that contrast a sort of bleak despair in the lyrics with a bright, engaging melodic sound.

Ghost In The Machine (1981). Here is what I consider the Police's masterpiece. It's a departure from their first three records, and the wiry, raw strength of the individual band members starts to get sublimated to the song. But there's an absolutely unique sound and feel to this album that the trio plus producer Hugh Padgham created which has never been seen again. A rich, dark, smooth texture pervades this record, a sound at once futuristic, alien, and dreamlike, yet which can still engage at a grooving, visceral level. It starts off with the remarkable 'Spirits In The Material World'--one of the most subtly unusual pop songs ever, again with that trademark backwards/descending/off-beat bass line of Sting's. 'Hungry For You (J'Aurais Toujours Faim De Toi)' is a gripping, lustful song, and 'Too Much Information' is a cycling, hypnotizing, irresistible beat, one of my faves to simply listen to and dig. The album gets a bit more strange and almost sci-fi toward the end, where two of my favorites, the propulsive rush of 'Omegaman' and the dark dream of 'Secret Journey', send it off in style.

Synchronicity (1983). Seemingly seen by many as the band's peak, to me this is an album of contradictions. It's a mix of absolute brilliance and simple filler, alternating breathtakingly accomplished songwriting with flimsy, thin throwaway numbers. This probably represents the increasingly un-democratic dynamic within the band at this time, but ironically enough, the album's signature tune (and probably that of the band as a whole), 'Every Breath You Take', is the most evenly-balanced song on the album, relying only on simple, restrained, and equal contributions from each band member for its effect. It's almost hard to listen to this massively iconic tune now with any objectivity, but when I do, I marvel at its understated magnificence. What restraint, what economy--not a note or moment wasted, not anything added needlessly, just the soft, urgent proddings of all three musicians that perfectly captures a mood of love, loneliness, loss, and menace all at once. After making a song like this, any band could reasonably decide that there was nowhere else for them to go. But other excellent songs accompany it here. 'Synchronicity II' is surely one of the most bizarre songs ever to be a big hit, with its doomy grandiosity and lyrics that connect rush-hour stress to a sort of Loch Ness monster, and the heartbreaking 'King Of Pain' packs an intensely sad, emotional lyric into an edgy, unsettled rock song. I can't think of a more dark and bleak album that's found such mainstream success.

So here's to The Police--a band that carved a path all their own, who created genuine excitement and power through raw musical and lyrical accomplishment, and who should rightly go down as one of the best rock bands of all time. I really dig 'em.

Labels: Culture, Music