“Fernando” (ABBA)

The complications of multinational pop: This song first emerges as a Swedish-language solo recording by Frida. In this trax, she gives comfort to an old man whose sweetheart has passed away. Once it became clear the trax was going to be a big hit, the song fans out into both Spanish and English versions. The Spanish version, with lyrics by RCA-Argentina employee Mary McCluskey, is the weaker of the two: here, ABBA sings to a man who has seen war and has survived because of the “protection” of the stars. The English version, with lyrics by Björn, is far more intriguing and risky: now Fernando and the singer are veterans of a fight for “liberty” across the “Rio Grande” river. Björn eventually will claim that the song is about Zapata during the Mexican Revolution, but this makes no sense: Zapata’s forces never entered U.S. territory. On the other hand, Pancho Villa crossed the border several times, as did General Mariano Arista at the start of the War of North American Invasion (known to the north as the Mexican-American War). It’s finally possible to hear the track as a fantasy Reconquista, through immigration or at the point of gun barrel, with the stars aligned for the future downfall of the white interlopers. Thus, the Spanish version appears to be a sop to Latin American political and market forces. But this still fails to explain how the English language version turn into a Samuel P. Huntington fantasy.

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“Animal” (Ani DiFranco)

On the one hand: human beings have elevated themselves to a position outside of nature: “Their gods have made them special and above nature’s law.” On the other: DiFranco herself, in response, goes even higher to hang out with the “hawk”: “you just grow wings and rise above it all” to a “borderless” place of “mercy.” Staking out the higher moral ground is a commonplace tactic, but perhaps inappropriate for rethinking the anthropocene. For that, we’re going to have to get down in the dirt.

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“Liberty Calls!” (Mike Watt)

Liberty appears in so many ways that it’s easy to forget how self-contradictory it is. As a civil institution, liberty is an entitlement undergirded by the power to shape and condition (y)our community. It serves as a concept in thrall to oligarchic interests (e.g. the Tea Party movement) and as a foundation for various strains of Occupy movements and libertarian causes. In rare and outdated usage, it can also mean that which goes beyond propriety or, literally, a district beyond one’s border that is still within its jurisdiction. For B. Traven in The Death Ship, it means shore leave, forced servitude, and the “opportunity” to be stateless. And Watt’s sailor’s opera/concept album equates the concept with the same boiler men Traven focuses on. Liberty here is secular, unwed to state-based aspirations. The sailors enjoy shore leave since they can escape the “hell-ride” in order to “learn” and to “take on fuel and burn!” Expenditure redirected, they visit “other lands” with “our” liberty. Constantly shared and appearing intermittently, we catch a glimpse of what liberty could mean: a “need[ful]” thing consisting of “histories” and “mysteries” that we simultaneously “figure” and, more positively, “trip” out over.

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“Home Security” (Trans Am)

Though the perimeter can be secured safe enough, it’s on the edge/fringe where intrusions happen regardless of the setup/theorization. Synth-bass double-time sections intensify, with shifting snare timbre emphasizing more maniacal attempts at a total lockdown of the home. Half-time outro (with whole note bass accompanying riffing, drums at home in the security state) never repulses the synth hum: the outside lives with/in the borders and the nation.

 

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“Strange Things Happening Every Day” (Sister Rosetta Tharpe)

True! First, this electric guitar blues and its solo qualify as strange for 1944 (and prescient in rock’n’roll retrospection). On another level, “strange things,” closely read in Sister Tharpe’s lyrics, are ongoing conversions to “Jesus” from the realm of liardom. But “strange things” refers to the Bible, too, where, “Thine eyes shall behold strange things, And thy heart shall utter perverse things” under the influence of wine (Proverbs 23:33; ASV [1901]). And what strange things are these? The King James Version narrows matters to “strange women”: foreign concubines, prostitutes, adulterers. Perhaps Tharpe takes wine and women and song to heart at the seeming border between the secular and the sacred. Indeed, the border itself is at stake in the very idea of the “strange” more broadly considered as the foreign, alien, different, external, extreme, exceptional, queer, rare, uncommon, singular, and surprising. Advocating a posture of lubricated wonder and welcoming toward the other.

 

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“East-West” (The Butterfield Blues Band)

From the liner notes: “‘We’re gonna get together and hate the notes.'” Difficult to know which ones. Attempted hybridization of musical “worlds” results in slurring, sitar-like guitar and feedback, while drums anticipate growth of Fusion. But droning bass ostinatos allow Bloomfield to glide on the foundation for the middle seven minutes, sliding evenly between multiple nodes. Still, the problem lies in hemispheric penetration and the production of worldliness. Kind assimilation, but (buried) glimpses of borderlessness.

 

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