Robert Phoenix

Last night, which had to be the hottest night in the history of Berkeley, Thievery Corporation, Bebel Gilberto and Los Amigos Invisibles took over The Greek Theater. I went with some friends and through the divine grace of the concert muse, I wound up getting backstage passes from a another friend that I sold my extra ticket to.  So before I get into the strange attraction, let me break down the show.

Los Amigos Invisibles looked a little rough around the edges, but they blazed through a set of smoking Venezuelan  funk called, “Gozadera” which matched the ambient heat rising up from the stone steps of the sweltering Greek.

Bebel took the stage next and cooled things down a bit, offering up her breezy brand of downtempo samba as couples kissed and carressed under a carpet of stars (I bet there was at least one solstice conceived last night).

Thievery assumed control and pumped out an epic set that sampled tracks from their early works, up through the ambitious Cosmic Game. They trotted out at least half-a-dozen singers with a cameo by the ultra hip, Seu Jorge. Almost two hours after they had started, they left in a flash of rapid fire strobes, suspending moments in stop motion capture with synchronous beats moving in time.They were big time–I was thoroughly impressed. Read the rest of this entry »

I just saw Wattstax for the very first time the other night.  I was really struck by it’s honesty and grit, but what really stood out was some of the more vocal figures that share their commentary along the way.  I’ll get to them in a minute, but first the film itself.Wattstax for the uninitiated was a concert held at The LA Coliseum to commemorate the Watts riots, and to inject a sense of well being into the neighborhood.  This alone is remarkable given that we rarely if ever see a truly “black” experience of this scale for a purely “black” neighborhood. While falling short of being “The Black Woodstock” Wattstax nonetheless conveys a sense of community, togetherness and even possibility. The music is deeply soulful, ranging from the neo-gospel sounds of The Staple Singers, to the wild and witty funk of Rufus Thomas, working up the crowd with his classic, “Funky Chicken.”

Rufus Thomas

There’s a great scene where the crowd is threatening to pour onto the field during Thomases first number. This, in and of itself is a pretty interesting phenomenon.  If this even were to be held today, every square inch of the venue would be filled, from the field to the seats in the stands and yet there was quarter of a football field, that’s roughly 20,000 sq ft of available space!  Even more remarkable was how well the crowd behaved and remained mostly in the stands.  But when Thomas breaks into his funky chicken, with a fairly direct prompt, they pour onto the field, then Thomas remarkably is able to talk them back into the stands!   Read the rest of this entry »

This is a true story.

The other night I was at The A’s game with my four-year-old son.  They were playing The Yankees and we were sitting on the first base, visiting side.  The row in front of us was occupied with people wearing black, so it was a foregone conclusion in my mind that they were Yankee fans, which filled nearly half the stadium.My son and I had brought a bicycle horn with us which we used as a rally horn.  Well it was slightly obnoxious and it worked pretty well as The A’s scored six runs in the fourth inning.  As is my custom at games, I heckle the opposing team and the severity of it depends on who I am with and how much alcohol I’ve consumed.  That night I had had just one beer and was with my young son, so it was the Disney version of insults and yet, I must have been pretty effective, because aftter I had loudly proclaimed that “the pitcher needed to return to the minors,” the guy sitting in front of me, turns and barks, “Enough is enough.  That’s my boy out there and you’ve ridden him pretty hard since the game started.  Just leave it alone.”

I was shocked.

The pitcher was his son!

He then punctuated his loyalty by telling me that he had had a fair amount to drink and was in no mood for my heckling.

I reached around and patted him on the chest and told him that, “If I had known it was your son, I would not have been so hard on him” and that, “I wished his son nothing but the best.”  Mercifully, he took an early shower, thanks in part to a terrible play at first by Jason (pornstache) Giambi which ignited The A’s six-run-rally (lots of horn blasts!!).

When it became clear that this was The A’s night, we packed up and left a little early ourselves.

Much to my surprise, I met the pitchers father on the BART platform.  He told me that “God brought me back so that he could apologize” and that, “He felt like and ass.”  We talked about his son’s career and how he got to pitch for The Yankees.  Again, I wished him and his son well.

Being a father, albeit at the opposite end of the child rearing spectrum, I could relate to this man.  If that were my boy struggling in front of 30,000 people and if the guy behind me was even good naturedly ribbing him, I’d probably say something as well.  In fact, I’d probably think a little less of this dad if I had known that the pitcher was his son and he had said nothing at all, because even if his anger was a little over-the-top, it was a meter for how much he loved his kid. He was still the little boy that he played catch with and probably taught to throw a curve and rode to get good grades, stay clean and all of the other tough things a parent must do in order to not only promote success but ensure a safe arrival to adulthood.  His was a primal response to a member of his tribe, a close bond united by blood and nearly half a lifetime. I respected his fierceness in the face of even mild heckling.  While it might have made his kid cringe a little to know what had transpired, he no doubt would have also been thankful that the one guy who stuck up for him in his moment of defeat, was the same guy that had stuck up for him for all of his life–his dad.

As Fathers Day arrives, a fake, Hallmark holiday that I usually try avoid like Bird Flu, it will have a different meaning for me this year as I remember the semi-soaked, fraternal bond between two dads who had brought both of their kids to a basball game.

 “There will be no more delay! But in the days when the seventh angel is about to sound his trumpet, the mystery of God will be accomplished, just as he announced to his servants the prophets.”

 It’s been weighing on me for quite sometime, perhaps for most of my life and now, I must unburden the heavy weight that has been set upon me.  I am a member of the conspiracy.  Yes, it’s true.  But it might not be the type of conspiracy you might be thinking about.  I never worked for an Israeli moving company, nor was I raised in after school sessions of The De Molay Society, which would later lead me into the realm of secret handshakes and associations by decree and degree.  No, I have been secretly working my entire life, often even unknown to myself (that’s how secret it is) towards a free, open and loving society.  I know what you’re thinking–this conspiracy is just a social phantom, an idealisitc construct, a loose knit amalagmation of magic wishers and dreamers.  As such, you don’t believe in conspiracies, but I can assure you, this one exists as I am a full fledged member.

I’m not sure when I was initiated as a young child, whether it was the senseless violence I witnessed each night on TV, shot in the jungles of Vietnam, or when I nearly had a seizure the first time I set foot in a church, or when I stood up to a schoolyard bully in defense of what we would later call, a “nerd.”  But I can surely attest to the fact that most of my activities in my life have been in support of a free and open society.

Now, it is out in the open and I know that there are others out there, sleepers awakening to the potential of a world that has been living within us for most of our days, a world that chooses love over fear, transparency over secrecy, transformation over entropy, possibility over resignation and most importantly, freedom over the enslavement of sleep and compliance.

Now, that I have let the cat out of the bag, and you’re aware of my intentions, you’ll know me and others like me when we let you in our lane on the freeway, even when you don’t signal, open a door for you at the market, pay for your toll when you’re behind us at a bridge, refuse to buy any party line, even one that we thought that we were invited to, turn the news off when it comes on, begin to openly initiate community programs to draw people together, often with no politcal agenda, grow our own food, create our own media, forge our own technologies, dare to raise our children to think for themselves and focus on the type of world we want, not the one we’re being assigned.

We have found out, through intense introspection and contact with the inner planes that the reality which we inhabit exists because others dreamt harder, had a more focused will and intention than we who were living and playing as if our welfare were being safeguarded by those in whom we had placed our public and ultimately our personal trust, only to be rudely awakened at some point with the cold, hard, reality that this hasn’t been the case for centuries.

We are firmly aware of this disparity which is why I and others like myself at this time are coming forward, brazenly announcing for the rest of the world to hear and take notice that we are in your midst and if you are reading this, there’s a good chance that you are one of us as well, even if you don’t know it yet.

Don’t worry, it’s ok and you’ll feel better when you simply surrender to the fact that you have a purpose and your purpose is happening right now.

Don’t fret if you don’t know what to do right now.  One of us will no doubt contact you when you’re ready and you will know what action to take when your heart gently whispers to your mind, “yes, you can do it.”

You’ll soon find others like you, like me, like us and we will begin to openly practice love in action.

The result?  A slow and subtle turn of the tide, a shifting of reality reflected in the collective miasma through revelations and truth that feed the hungry soul of a malnourished family, helping us gain and gather strength for the days to come.

Be brave, be bold and be ready.

We’ll be in touch.  

I was up at Harmony Fest yesterday amidst the twirling dancers and swirling winds of skunky dank, checking in on old friends and renewing my hippy card for 2008/9 and while I mostly enjoyed the experience, a major happening for the Sonoma County region, I was really taken by one little band called “The Ginger Ninjas.”  They have a couple of cool things going for them.  One is that they travel to their gigs by bike and then use their bikes as generators, peddling to supply electricity to power their amps. They even rode their bikes from Grass Valley, deep into the heart of Mexico to perform all over the place. The second cool thing they have going for them is a ridiculously catchy tune about loving Dick Cheney, ostensibly a masters class in spiritual development and keeping the heart chakra open.Not only is the song really catchy, it’s witty and wrly insightful.

Based on it’s topicality, humor and just being a fun and jumpy little rock and roll number, this song should be a huge hit.  Well I’m doing my part to spread the love. Here are the amazing Ginger Ninjas performing “Dick Cheney (Needs More Love)”.

Just click on the download button below to open their great video version of the song. 

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