Mark My Words

Not that it matters, but let’s say I once went down to the Stovall Plantation, where, you blues fans may remember, Muddy Waters was running a still and playing in the plantation band before he went north to fame and fortune.  And let’s say that, while I was there, I went into the plantation store and there, on the counter, in English and in Spanish were a pile of rules for how to order your food and how to treat the women behind the counter.

I may have written about this, that realization that the same systems are in place; we’re just in the process (in some places more complete than others) of swapping out the folks doing it.

And I had a work-related epiphany, there looking over the cotton fields of Mississippi–out there in those fields somewhere is the next great American art form.  And we won’t recognize it now, but fifty years from now, our kids and grandkids will be swapping old mp3s of those dudes doing whatever it is they’re out there doing right now as if, even in its antiquity, it’s more fresh and real than whatever corporate bullshit they’re being fed.

I still think I’m right, even though I’ve been pooh-poohed.

Today, I wandered over to Pandagon only to find that Chris Clarke had posted this video:

Clearly, I don’t know if this is it.  I’d hate to think that folks who listened to Cannibal Corpse were onto something in terms of how the future of music might sound, but I tell you what, I have half a mind to put on the good bra and practice drinking beers like the chick in this video:

Edited to add:  Of course there’s a million things wrong with this post, not the least of which is “who is this we?” and who’s to say that Brujeria is only worth looking at now because I, white girl, have turned my gaze towards them.  Those might be interesting things to discuss while I practice drinking my beer without using my hands.