Daily Bruin

Crosspulse’s percussion skills visit UCLA

By John Mangum

Not many people can go from banging on pots and pans on their
mom’s kitchen floor to being one of the world’s leading
percussionists. The thing is, Keith Terry brought the pots and pans
with him.

As an innovator in an innovative field, Terry combines numerous
instruments with dance and theatre to create a style which defies
categorization. He devotes his artistry to a number of diverse
projects including his most recent one, Crosspulse.

"It’s a quintet of drummers who move and vocalize," says Terry.
"We’re all percussionists."

For many, the idea of five percussionists playing together
sounds daunting, but when Terry describes the performance, he
stresses its variety.

"We do two 45 minute sets," says Terry. "Once a set begins, it’s
non-stop. We use a lot of different instruments from a variety of
cultures around the world."

This array of instruments includes children’s toys, hedge
clippers and plastic water bottles. "These are the kind of things
I’ve been using for 20 years," says Terry.

The percussionist directs his talent not just to inanimate
objects but to his own body as well. He defines this aspect of his
artistry by calling himself a "Body Musician."

"There are a lot of musical instruments around, including our
bodies," says Terry. "I play my body a lot."

He contextualizes this talent by describing the other members of
the group and their backgrounds. The members come together to
combine specializations in Middle Eastern, Senegalese, Afro-Cuban,
Indonesian and Japanese music.

"It’s such an unusual and interesting grouping of people," says
Terry. "Our musical backgrounds are varied."

Terry’s own musical experiences began, according to his mother,
at the age of three. Since before he can remember, Terry has been a
percussionist.

"I started kinda bangin’ on things when I was three," says the
percussionist. "I started studying in the school band when I was in
third grade and it just went from there."

Eventually Terry ended up where he stands today. His work as a
solo artist includes collaborations with Bobby McFerrin, the Turtle
Island String Quartet and Robin Williams. Additionally, Terry’s
group collaborations, including Crosspulse, continue to garner an
increasing amount of attention.

The talents of fellow percussionists Edgardo Cambon, Raymond
Graham, Susu Pampanin and Jackeline Rago round out the group.

Keith Terry and Crosspulse recently recorded an album
highlighting their talents for Redwood Records. These talents,
believes Terry, bring percussion groups like theirs to ever-growing
audiences.

"We’re in an era where people are more aware of the percussion
possibilities," says Terry. For him, people’s expanding cultural
awareness creates an atmosphere which supports groups like his
own.

The group also differs from other musical ensembles because of
the nature of the instruments they play. "In bands and orchestras,"
says Terry, "you have instruments from other musical families
­ winds, strings and brass. We’re just percussion."

The concept of five percussionists playing at the same time may
seem original, but for Terry the source of this originality lies
elsewhere.

"It’s the mix both of social and of musical cultures that are
coming together that makes this group unique."

CONCERT: Keith Terry and Crosspulse at Schoenberg Hall Oct. 28
and 29, 8 p.m. Tickets $25, $9. For more info, call 825-2101.

How to spell overrated: C-A-T-S

Webber’s musical disappoints, lacks cohesive qualities

By Denise Cruz

and Robert Stevens

Daily Bruin Senior Staff

Here’s a money saving tip.

The gimmick behind Andrew Lloyd Webber’s highly successful and
world renowned musical "Cats" is that … well, they’re cats.

This tremendously effective theatrical device ­ people
acting like cats ­ is entertaining for a good twenty minutes.
Perhaps coming into "Cats," the longest running musical on
Broadway, with the contextual knowledge that it’s more smoke and
mirrors than plot and storyline would enhance the play’s
enjoyability. However, looking for a point, a sense of cohesiveness
or complex character development is a waste of time.

"Cats" is a lot like a "Saturday Night Live" skit. Sure, the
original concept is interesting enough, but after endless
repetition of the same idea it just gets old. And imagine a
two-and-a-half hour SNL sketch.

Lifted from the lines of T.S. Eliot’s "Old Possum’s Book of
Practical Cats," the story behind "Cats" reflects the poetic nature
of the original. Eliot’s book compiled poems he wrote about cats
and their lives. The cats in Eliot’s poems had no clearly visible
lines connecting their stories. No matter how poignantly the
musical translates from poetry to lyric, "Cats" can’t create a
strict storyline Eliot’s poems.

The first act introduces the "jellicle cats," dancing beneath
the moon in a "Jellicle ball." As the wise old cat Deuteronomy
(John Tracy Egan) points out, every cat has his own individual
spirit. Each cat illustrates societal archetypes ­ the rocker,
the cat burglar , the magician, the leader, or the aging beauty.
Are these characters intertwined somehow?

Only if you count the fact that they all appear in the same act.
Each character has his or her own moment in the spotlight, the lead
role in a small sketch of the cat’s "personality."

The only attempt to tie together the loose ends of each
character’s part within a larger picture is the repetition of the
"Jellicle Ball" and "Memory" motifs. "Memory" introduces the theme
of the second act, as the cat characters Asparagus (Richard Poole),
Mr. Mistoffolees (Christopher Gatteli) and Grizabella (Jeri Sager)
deal with age and transformation.

Sort of.

But while the play’s lack of a true plot is something that can’t
be remedied by the company, the actual performance at the Shubert
Theatre, actually under the cast’s control, was excellently
done.

If humans acting like cats is one of the main reasons behind the
play’s success, the company’s actors were cats. With their backs
stretching and arching, their heads turning quickly from side to
side, and their eyes penetrating the darkness, the cats leapt and
purred, crawled and meowed across the stage.

Showing almost flawless mimicry of feline behavior, each actor
portrayed the perfect image of their cat character, from the fat
tabby to the exotic Siamese kitten.

The music accompanies each cat’s story with a different genre.
The cat burglars, Mungojerrie (Gavan Pamer) and Rumpleteazer (Maria
Jo Ralabate) playfully pounced into a slapstick number as they
boast their skill and cunning. Rum Tum Tugger (Ron Devito), the
resident leather-clad playboy, made female cats swoon as he gyrated
through his rock number. Sager’s Grizabella broke into the ballad
of regret with "Memory."

The company’s performances worked well with the set and lighting
to draw the audience into the cat’s realm. From dramatic shadow
effect and flashes of bright spotlights, to Christmas-like strings
of lights and the use of a simple flashlight, the light effects
brought to life the cats’ fantasy-like domain. The larger-than-life
bicycle wheels, shoes, rusty cans and flat tires in the set’s
backdrop shrunk the human "cats" down to true feline size.

The cats also attempted to project their reality off the stage,
parading down the aisles and staring into the audience members.
Each cat seemed to move spontaneously from the stage, whether it
was Sager making a dramatic yet dignified exit or DeVito picking a
woman and jumping into the audience to dance with her

Still, even a good performance could only go so far.

Besides, good performances are not too hard to find in Los
Angeles. And if you can find something with plot, driven ideas or
even long-standing interesting features, go there instead.

THEATER: "Cats" at the Schubert Theatre, ABC Entertainment
Center, 2020 Avenue of the Stars. Tickets $60, $50, $25. Running
until Nov. 6. For information call (800) 477-7400.

A cappella group finds key to future

Black Voices to unleash talent at Wadsworth

By Rodney Tanaka

Black Voices was an accident waiting to happen.

The all-female British group unleashes its a cappella harmonies
with an African-inspired flavor at the Veterans Wadsworth Theater
on Sunday. The group’s current popularity results from talent. Its
conception resulted from circumstance, a fortunate accident.

Founding member of the group, Carol Pemberton, often invited her
friends to her house in Birmingham to drink coffee, listen to music
and sing. Although they were background singers for other groups,
the women never thought of themselves as a group.

In 1988 they helped their friend and future manager Bob
Ramdhanie by performing at an awards ceremony for the Black Dance
Development Trust. They performed Labi Siffres’ "Something Inside
So Strong" with keyboard accompaniment, but ended the song with
some a cappella verses.

"During the a cappella stanzas the whole auditorium rose to its
feet and wouldn’t let us stop singing," Pemberton says. "So we
thought we had the makings of something."

The trio of friends were surprised when calls began to pour in,
requesting them to perform again. After performing again for a
documentary and a black arts festival they received more accolades.
They decided to form a group and keep the name Black Voices, given
to them by their manager in another odd moment of circumstance.

"To facilitate the Trust award show I said we needed a name for
the program and Bob Ramdhanie shouted from the toilet, ‘You’re
black and you’ve got voices; just say Black Voices.’ The name kind
of stuck," Pemberton says.

The group’s roster evolved to include Pemberton, Anne-Marie
Burnett, Rosielee Sinclair, Beverley Robinson and Sandra Francis.
Members joined not by auditions but by chance. Pemberton found new
members at her management studies course and her local video store.
"I think we really came together as friends rather than as a
group," Pemberton says.

Their togetherness results in music stripped to bare essentials.
Unable to hide behind electric guitars and drum kits, the group’s
talents rise to the foreground. "We see the tradition that we sing
in as coming out of the old traditions of Africa, and so it’s a
very natural way for the women to sing," Pemberton says. "In
singing a cappella you feel totally exposed; there’s nothing to
hide and it’s your voice and it blends with others to make
beautiful noise, we hope."

The group derives inspiration from the members’ heritage and
experiences on tour. "We’ve been to East and West Africa, so we
have songs in our repertoire that reflect those experiences, those
journeys," Pemberton says. "We have all the folk songs that our
parents have taught us from the Caribbean as well as a Black
British experience through which we have written our own songs and
are able to express our own experiences."

One special performing experience involves the Princess of
Wales. Shortly after the death of her father, Black Voices received
an invitation to perform a private concert for Princess Diana. "I
think the song that she most enjoyed was ‘Lean on Me’," Pemberton
says.

The group also met other members of the royal family, including
Her Majesty the Queen. Such company reflects the diversity of their
audiences. "One minute we’re singing for royalty, the next minute
we could be in a remote village in Africa working with children who
have no building they can call a school," Pemberton says.

Despite a probable lack of royalty at the Wadsworth Theater, the
Black Voices performance promises diversity and positive messages.
"We will try to do a broad range of songs," Pemberton says. "Our
strengths here will be reggae music and how we have tried to
successfully create in an a cappella form. There will also be show
songs, Simon and Garfunkel and Bob Marley."

The mix of popular and traditional songs possesses the common
bond of a positive attitude about living in harmony. "I think one
of the strongest messages we hope to convey is that we’re all
living in a world in which we all have a part to play," Pemberton
says. "If we can all do good at every opportunity and try (to) act
in love we can help make this world a better place to live in."

Intricate harmonies blended with messages of harmony result in
the continuing success of Black Voices. This group now leaves
nothing to circumstance.

MUSIC: Black Voices at the Veterans Wadsworth Theater on Sunday,
Oct. 30, at 7 p.m. TIX: $25, $22 and $9 for students. For more info
call (310) 825-2101.

Sappy rhetoric loses ‘Paradise’

Depression-era play depicts life during hardship

By Lawrence Sullivan

During the Great Depression my grandfather sold mustard door to
door in Chicago. When it comes down to pushing condiments to muster
up a living, Leo Gordon in Clifford Odets’ "Paradise Lost" seems
justified in saying "the world has a profound dislocation."

In this familiar take on moral economy, set in 1933, Odets
embraces an era that demanded retribution.

When things are going bad we say that they can only get better;
and sure enough they get worse. This is the scenario at the Gordon
home. With financial hardship at the devil of it all, one thing
leads to another, and a happy family, fathered by an angel of a
man, loses everything but hope for mankind.

One penniless son, Ben, marries on the naive notion that his
lovely wife, Libby, will automatically incur success. But Libby’s
fidelity proves even less reliable than his income. While Ben’s out
doing the screwy work of his cocky best friend Kewpie, Libby’s back
home screwing him.

On the other hand, Pearl, the pianist daughter, refuses to
accept her boyfriend’s proposals until they can marry responsibly.
Actress Kelly Johnston plays sympathetically the passionate, but
delicate, young girl who swallows her tears upon Felix’s farewell
and again when the family must sell the piano.

Chuck Rose gives an equally admirable performance as Julie, the
bright, mother’s pride and joy boy with a knack for finance, and
who is dying of sleeping sickness.

While all this makes up not even half of the hard luck story,
where is the retribution?

In response to his wife’s confusion as to what comes next, Ed
Trotta’s benevolent and beloved Leo Gordon says "we’ll go on
living." He confesses, "we’re left with the memory of life, not as
it was, but as it might have been." This use of what I’d call a
retrospective anterior tense ­ "might have been" ­
implies that if there is still hope, nothing is lost because hope
was all that there ever was.

However, Odets’ magniloquent rhetoric, embodied in Leo Gordon,
is often over-romantic in juxtaposition with the play’s predominant
realism. It’s a bit like selling mustard door to door when there’s
no food on the table.

THEATRE: "Paradise Lost." Written by Clifford Odets. Directed by
Kenneth Klimak. Starring Ed Trotta, Janet Lee Aspers and Harry
Herman. Running through Nov. 19. Playing Thursdays through
Saturdays at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 2 p.m. For info call:
(213)466-1767.

Philharmonic revives 1919 performance for 75th

By John Mangum

The Los Angeles Philharmonic celebrated its 75th birthday with a
six-foot tall cake. It didn’t need candles because the orchestra
was on fire.

Monday night’s program replicated the one played by the L. A.
Philharmonic at the first concert on Oct. 24, 1919.

Zubin Mehta, who directed the orchestra for 16 years, shared the
rostrum with current music director Esa-Pekka Salonen. Both
volunteered their services for an evening which benefited the
musician’s pension fund. The concert raised over $250,000.

Mehta directed the Philharmonic from 1962 to 1978. Known for his
political consciousness, the conductor once led the orchestra in a
legendary Vietnam War protest concert in front of Royce Hall
following the death of Kent State students.

Maestro Mehta steered the orchestra through Bohemian composer
Antonin Dvorák’s Ninth Symphony, nicknamed "From the New
World." Dvorák composed the symphony during his residence in
New York in 1893.

Well known for his use of Bohemian folk songs in his past work,
Dvorák believed that American composers needed to turn to
their own folk songs in order to create a national style of
composition. The composer believed that these "American" tunes lay
dormant in African-American folk songs, which he used for much of
his Ninth Symphony’s thematic material.

Unfortunately, the orchestra seemed under-rehearsed for
Dvorák’s symphony. In spite of the rough edges, Mehta guided
the Philharmonic in a powerful interpretation of the work.

He took the introduction to the first movement very slowly,
leading into an exciting rendition of the first movement. Marred
only by sporadic insecurities, the orchestra produced a full ­
bodied sound, grounded in the powerful tone of the lower strings.
The finale came off best, the brass blazing confidently through the
closing bars.

Salonen took over for the second half of the program. His strong
relationship with the musicians seemed obvious. They responded to
his every gesture and understood his glances and facial expressions
perfectly.

Actor Robert Stack, who hosted the evening, quoted Harold
Dicterow, the leader of the second violins, during the introduction
to the second half of the concert. "We play better for (Salonen)
than for anyone else," said Stack. After hearing the second half of
the program, nothing seemed more true.

Salonen led the orchestra through 19th century piano virtuoso
Franz Liszt’s symphonic poem "Les Préludes." Based on a poem,
the piece depicts the stages of human life, from birth to
death.

Salonen’s typically analytical conducting dissolved into a warm
glow for Liszt’s songful string writing. During the coda, the
bracing virtuosity of the orchestra joined the sheer volume to
produce an overwhelming effect.

Carl Maria von Weber’s popular overture to his opera "Oberon"
followed the Liszt. Weber composed the overture in England, where
the opera was to be produced in 1826. Salonen’s performance evoked
the enchantment and grandeur of Weber’s fantasy world
perfectly.

On the heels of "Oberon" came Emanuel Chabrier’s rhapsody
"España." Salonen and the orchestra played this virtuoso piece
for all it was worth. The fast and furious rhapsody contained solos
for almost every instrument, showcasing the talents of the
individual players.

It becomes more apparent with each Philharmonic concert that
these players provide Los Angeles with a world-class orchestra. The
relationship between Salonen and the musicians continues to produce
concerts of the highest quality, born from a 75-year Philharmonic
tradition.

Founded in 1919, the orchestra received support during its first
15 years from William Andrews Clark Jr., who donated over $3
million to the Philharmonic. He also brought English conductor
Walter Henry Rothwell to Los Angeles, and Rothwell’s reputation
managed to secure top flight players and soloists. Composer Ferde
Grofé played viola in the original Philharmonic, and Alfred
Wallenstein, his colleague in the cello section, went on to become
a conductor whose accomplishments included a tenure as music
director of the L.A. Philharmonic.

Two students of the legendary conductor and composer Gustav
Mahler, Otto Klemperer and Bruno Walter, worked with the
Philharmonic as well. Other conductors who appeared with the
orchestra include the underrated Dutchman Eduard van Beinum, the
flamboyant Leonard Bernstein, and André Previn. Contralto
Marian Anderson, pianist Artur Rubinstein, and violinist Jascha
Heifetz top the list of soloists who joined the orchestra to
further enrich its history.

Everyone celebrated this history Monday night. Bobby McFerrin
led the audience in singing "Happy Birthday" to the orchestra. The
Kodo Drummers, a Japanese percussion group, deafened concert-goers
during intermission. They provided welcome relief from another
infernally tedious, ever-so-proper 20-minute arrangement of
Boccherini’s "Minuet for String Quintet."

Monday night celebrated the achievement of an orchestra that has
joined the ranks to become world-class.

MUSIC: For L.A. Philharmonic info, call (213) 972-7300.

‘Mask’ screenwriter visits Melnitz

Film success story Mike Werb returns to his alma mater

By Michael Horowitz

Daily Bruin Senior Staff

"Every parking attendant in town is writing a screenplay,"
declares Mike Werb, who writes screenplays for a living and doesn’t
park any cars except his own.

"I’ve driven out of my dentist’s office, I’m handing over my
non-validated ticket, and I’ve got a screenplay on the passenger’s
seat," he starts. "This has happened three times at different
places over the past year. ‘Are you a screenwriter? Me too!’ and
then they start telling me their story and cars are honking in the
background."

Another day in the life of a screenwriter in Los Angeles. But
Werb is hardly your typical struggling screenwriter. It’s been
seven years since he finished UCLA’s Graduate Film program and he’s
now working on A-list scripts and turning away countless offers.
The difference ended up being an adaption he hammered out called
The Mask.

Tonight he returns to Melnitz to speak following a screening of
the hit summer comedy. Werb feels lucky to be appreciated for his
work, because after all, respect and admiration aren’t often
lavished upon screenwriters.

"If I meet people at a party," he says, "I’m still totally
reluctant to say I’m a screenwriter. If I say I’m a screenwriter,
there’s an immediate turnoff from the other person. ‘Well, nice to
meet you,’ and then they go off and do their thing."

"People in Hollywood respect ‘the grosses,’" he says without
undue weight on the word ‘grosses.’ "I have this six-month period
where people remember that the Mask made over 200 million worldwide
and that seems to be important to them, and I suppose at parties it
makes a difference if somehow it gets brought up that you wrote a
hit movie, but I still get embarrassed."

Werb plums the depths of his psyche to come up with the reason.
"Maybe it’s because my parents and people don’t really consider
writing to be a serious job, i.e. it’s not a real job, therefore
maybe I don’t take it as seriously either," he says. "Only lately,
the last two or three years, can I say, even to myself in the
mirror, ‘I’m a professional screenwriter.’ How did that happen?
That’s great!"

How it happened was a series of bad movies made with small
amounts of money, minor stars, and stories at least partially by
Mike Werb.

The first was a giant-rats-attacking-humans horror flick called
Food of the Gods, Part II. Werb wrote a script he liked and the
filmmakers argued it was much too funny. They wanted pure horror.
It was a conflict never to be resolved, and Werb reversed his name
on the credits to read "Ekim Brew."

His second writing assignment to hit the big screen was The
Secret of the Ice Cave, a feature so bad Werb didn’t even have a
chance to reverse his name on the credits. "It’s supposed to be a
teen-age Romancing the Stone," he laughs, "and it looks like I lit
it, it looks like I shot it also. You can’t even see some of the
scenes it’s so washed out. It shows on Showtime."

Werb went three for three with Human Shield, a Michael Dudikoff
action adventure about a boy framed for drug possession in
Malaysia. He actually liked his story this time, but when the
filmmakers moved the movie to Israel for tax reasons and decided to
incorporate the Persian Gulf War when the conflict broke out,
Werb’s work went down the toilet.

It’s not like Werb doesn’t have his problems with The Mask. The
director rewrote some of his dialogue for the antagonists. He was
never invited to the press junket. And now he’s hunted in Hollywood
to adapt other comic books. But compared to the B-movies Werb has
worked on in the past, this experience was nirvana.

For all of the hardships and obstacles it has created for Werb,
The Mask is his first true success. He hastens to add that he
doesn’t want it to be his legacy, but the film has served as a
career milestone. "I went on opening weekend," he says, "and every
time my credit came up, I had been waiting so long for that, I
glazed over."

He pays it a screenwriter’s biggest compliment: "It’s the first
movie that looks anything like what I wrote."

FILM: The Mask. Free screening at Melnitz Theater tonight. For
more information and free required passes, please call
825-2345.

Maniacal Natalie Merchant: ‘What is the matter here?’

By Michael Tatum

No music figure I revile intrigues me more than Natalie
Merchant, formerly of the pop group 10,000 Maniacs. As I mentioned
in a previous column, I find her impotent three-note range, her
inexplicable drawing out of vowels and her inability to sing
consonants at the end of words unendearing. And did I mention her
obnoxious habit of sliding notes at the ends of phrases?

Still, as much as I hate to admit it, the degree to which you’re
moved by someone’s voice depends, in the end, purely on
subjectivity. So for this week’s installment, I’m going to argue
something that can be proven empirically: Natalie Merchant has
serious failings as a songwriter.

Merchant had the audacity to tell reporters around the time of
Blind Man’s Zoo that the Maniacs’ politics prevented them from
breaking commercially (it couldn’t have been her phony and
insincere music, of course). In a typically condescending remark,
she sniffled, "I don’t know, maybe we’ll do a whole album of "My
Sister Rose" songs," referring to the innocuous wedding song on In
My Tribe.

In this context, the thinly veiled spite in the patronizing
"Candy Everybody Wants" becomes painfully obvious. "Who do you want
to blame?" she asks; clearly she blames the "soft and lazy"
audience, to whose level she feels she has to sink to score a
hit.

Oh I’m sure it was hard for Merchant to "give ’em what they
want" after years of such hard-nosed musical integrity. After all,
neither she nor the band made any audible complaint when Elektra
Records forced them to cover Cat Stevens’ dorky "Peace Train" to
get airplay. And they didn’t raise a ruckus when the label coerced
them into recording with slick, soulless producer Peter Asher, the
same guy who made hit-mice out of the always-dull James Taylor and
Linda Ronstadt. Naturally, she publicly disavowed both actions
after the fact. But hey, "If blood and love are the candy / we give
’em what they want," right Natalie?

But considering her dubious "political" lyrics, maybe we’re
better off with her compromises. Take "Eat For Two," which like
"Candy Everybody Wants," deflects blame to others instead of taking
or sharing responsibility. In this teen-age pregnancy song, she
claims that young girls who yield to the sexual desires of young
boys "risk the game by taking dares with ‘yes,’" and that, "Pride
is for men."

Haven’t you ever heard the expression "It takes two to tango,"
Natalie? I may be mistaken about this, but women have sexual
desires as well. Why didn’t the song’s protagonist invest in
contraceptives? Why, because that would have forced both parties to
share the blame, that’s why. Can’t have that, now can we?

Does Merchant actually think this song portrays sexuality to
impressionable young people in a positive way? At any rate, I can’t
listen to the overwrought, a capella closer, "Five months, how it
grows/ Five months I begin to show" without breaking into
hysterics.

Most of Merchant’s unbearably mediocre lyrics collapse under
similar scrutiny. How about her melodramatic anti-slavery song,
"Hateful Hate?" The stupid redundancies of that title aside, she
blames the evils of imperialist exploitation on curiosity ­
curiosity! ­ over and over again. What the hell kind of
conclusion is that? I guess words that would have made more sense,
like "greed" or "fear" or "superstition," didn’t fit the song’s
meter. Can’t sacrifice poetry for logic now, can you?

The bulk of Merchant’s so-called "political" songs follow this
trajectory: taking a well-meaning but non-controversial topic (what
normal person supports slavery?) from the realm of the banal to the
realm of the ludicrous via her clumsy writing. Take "What’s The
Matter Here." Once again, writing an anti-child abuse song isn’t
exactly what I call going out a limb ­ does anyone in
Merchant’s audience actually think beating kids is a good idea?
­ but despite the predictably touchy-feely lyrics, it deserves
to be heard with a least half an ear.

But she trips over any momentum she might have built up when she
reaches the end, when she scolds the insensitive parent, "All these
cold and rude things that you do because he belongs to you." Rude?
Rude? I’ve always believed child abuse to be evil, but never once
did I consider it to be bad manners as well.

Possibly no other song best proves my point than Merchant’s
abysmal song about American intervention in Central America,
"Please Forgive Us." Plenty of worthy songs have been sung about
this topic: R.E.M.’s "Welcome To The Occupation" and "The Flowers
Of Guatemala," as well as a whole truckload of Clash songs (the
conviction in the music of those respective artists helped).

But what’s her big statement on this, the most worthy topic she
ever tackled? "Please forgive us / we don’t know what was done in
our name." Please forgive us? That’s Merchant’s best response to
all the terrible oppression those people had to endure (and still
do) because of wrongheaded American foreign policy? If the country
of El Salvador had put out an answer song called "No Way," would
Merchant have written a sequel called "With Cream And Sugar On
Top?"

I’m amazed how apparently literate people can mistake Merchant’s
lyrics for poetry, let alone valuable insight. To put her
pedestrian truisms ("Until the lamb is king of the beasts/ we live
so one-sided") and mangled verse (she doesn’t listen to "common
sense firm arguments, which figures) on a level with Eliot, Keats,
or even Bob Dylan (not to mention Ogden Nash) borders on lunacy.
Does Merchant really think arranging her lyrics in prose form in
her CD booklets will fool consumers into mistaking her songs for
art? Considering how many do, apparently so.

Furthermore, I’m amused how the same people can naively think
10,000 Maniacs’ music ­ about as far removed from punk and
even rock as Tony Bennett ­ has something to do with
"alternative" music. And I’m dumbfounded at those who would suggest
that the views espoused in Merchant’s lyrics ­ which rarely
rise above goody-two-shoes, fuzzy-wuzzy, PC dogma ­ have
anything to do with "alternative" politics. If Merchant and her
middle-of-the-road fans don’t want to take any risks, fine, but why
do they have to lie to themselves about being on the cutting
edge?

Rock history will bear me out: as with literature and art, time
has a way of erasing the hacks and revealing the innovators. Twenty
years ago, people thought the self-pitying, solipsistic songs of
Janis Ian and Harry Chapin carried meaning too.

And if you can’t place those names, don’t feel dumb. In 2014,
when my daughter writes a column in these pages and she
off-handedly mentions Natalie Merchant, none of her peers will know
who she’s talking about either.

The proudly cocky Michael Tatum would like to give his sincere
thanks to Robert Christgau, for his input on the songs "Hateful
Hate" and "Headstrong," and to Penny Lane, for their invaluable
research assistance. His column appears every Wednesday.