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| November 21, 2006 Red Alert by Soren Wuerth Pickin’ Politics
“They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.” — Ben Franklin, 1759
“’Peace is Our Only Security.’ I like it,” she said. “Can’t get enough,” I replied before following my wife into the noisy high school auditorium. It was a Friday night, and there was a good crowd. We found our seats just four rows from the stage. I reached across a few seats to shake hands with the kayak company owners, waved at a fellow writing teacher, and then flipped open a black and white program for a quick glance at tonight’s guest. But before I could read her bio, Adrienne Young skipped onto the stage in calf-length suede boots and a calico dress, lifted her banjo, swung her long, blond hair from her young, fresh face and began to swing. Four men comprising “Little Sadie” (her band’s name) joined her: a tall fiddler, a percussionist with wavy blond hair, a somber bass player with a trim beard, and a shorter guitarist who played as if in pain. Adrienne Young, alternating between banjo and guitar, and Little Sadie played an assortment of old-time songs, bluegrass, folk and country-infused rock. The group played a set, and, before going to intermission, Young suggested folks, “stand up and dance if you want to.” No one did. After intermission the band played one more song. Then Young put down her banjo and took the microphone. She said something like: “You know it’s really great to be here, especially after the election, and I don’t know how you all feel about it, but, like Nancy says, it’s time for the healing to begin.” The audience was silent. “I remember that feeling of dread on Election Day two years ago, but now I just feel there is so much positive change, you know, now that we have the Dems back in charge.” Scattered applause echoed in the hall. Young turned to her guitar player, who fiddled with his frets. “Ed?” He moved to microphone, smiling. “You mean Nancy Pepsi?” “Pelosi. Pelosi,” Young said, laughing. She played another song about immigration, dedicated to her sister’s Hispanic boyfriend, something about building walls. She told us the farm she grew up in the Sunshine State, how yoga helps her keep focused on her association with the earth. “How many of you ever put your forehead to the earth? Well, maybe not in the snow and rain, but on the floor. It’s amazing how grounded you feel.” Her independent label, Addiebelle Records, packs wildflower seeds inside her CDs. She told us she basis much of her philosophy on principles of Ben Franklin, whose thirteen “virtues” espouse habits, like frugality, moderation and humility, that should each be mastered over the course of one’s life. Franklin’s order inspired the name of Young’s recent CD “The Art of Virtue.” “Ben Franklin wasn’t focused on labels and divisiveness,” she said. “ ... He was sick of fighting over whose religion is right.” As she tuned her guitar, she told us about a federal fish and wildlife initiative she supported, that Alaska doesn’t have to worry too much about losing its wild animals, forests and plants. “Do you?” Again there was silence. She put a hand above her eyes to look out into the audience. “It’ll take too long,” I woman said. Young laughed. “Well, let’s turn up the lights and have a forum.” Then came what I had been expecting from a crowd constipated from years of suppressed public discourse: “It’s POLITICAL!” “Everything’s political,” Young snapped back. For the Ketchikan audience, Young had crossed some vague, ambiguous line. After the performance, I walked over to the fiddler to shake his hand. He seemed upset, and talked about going to a bar. I wondered later if he was angry that his lead singer brought up these issues. The Seattle violinist didn’t support her on stage; instead he drew back toward the fold of the curtain. As an artist and performer, it takes courage to bring up politics, though ... courage and laughter. A few of us, excited by Young’s brave “politicizing” in community of hushed voices, stood quickly for Young’s ovation. I suppose we understood that, as Franklin put it, “when the well’s dry, we know the worth of water.” Soren Wuerth is perhaps Alaska's best known community activist, and is the winner of the Alaska Press Club's 2006 'Best Columnist' award. He resides in an undisclosed location in rural Alaska and can be reached at soren@insurgent49.com. 'Red Alert' appears on insurgent49.com every Wednesday. |
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