Punk Rock Art Photos: "Dead Malls Don't Talk Back (Take II)"

<Take I The Squawker>

"Once more, with feeling..." Depending on your age, you'll either associate this lyrical sentiment with Buffy The Vampire Slayer ("But I can't find my sweet release/Let me rest in peace") or Kris Kristofferson ("Let's try it once more with feeling, and we'll call it a day"). But either way, it seemed like an appropriate backdrop for our return to the dead mall that The Squawker and I last visited in September.

The resulting photo essay sparked one of our best-received posts, so here we are again, this time, starting with the fading JC Penney sign on the right side. Basically, this is the rear view, as you're driving around the property. Its closing last summer left this area without a JC Penney for the first time in nearly a century, locals told us.

<Take II: The Squawker>

As we continue our drive around the property, we stopped behind this rear entrance. Note the overgrown grass now sprouting through the cracks in the parking lot. Apparently, regular maintenance is no longer a consistent feature, or else, it's been scaled back -- either for budgetary reasons, or there aren't people to do it regularly.

<Take III: The Squawker>

Here's a closeup view of that rear entrance, as The Squawker shot it. We briefly debated going inside, and nosing around, but decided against it, because our afternoon to-do list still beckoned. As you see, though, the grass is growing thickest and longest near the entrance, but doesn't show any distinct signs of regular maintenance.

<Take IV: The Squawker>

Here's a longer view of the rear parking lot, so you can get a sense of how far the grass has grown, and how empty it looks. On this particular day, on this side of the mall, we didn't see a single car parked here. As we drove back towards the main road circling the mall, we counted roughly two to three dozen cars, most of them belonging to the people still working here. How long that will last, who knows?

<Take V: The Squawker>

Swinging back around the left side, we came across this bygone anchor store, Carson's, that shut down in spring 2018, according to the locals. Our camera lens was giving us fits -- hence, the black shapes in the corner -- but I liked the effect, so I didn't crop them out. But you can see plainly enough that the C in the store's name is gone, now long reclaimed by the elements.

<Take VI: The Squawker>

Here's the defunct entrance for the defunct Carson's. The name itself is the newer version of Carson, Pirie, Scott & Company, whose ads I remember well as a child growing up. They always closed with the original name, ooh--oohed and ahhed over a light jazz background ("Carson, Pirie, Scott..."), followed by the tagline, spoken largely by itself ("AND Com-pany!"). That was in the '70s, of course, long before the American Dream withered off the vine for most people.

<Take VII: The Squawker>

Here's the parking lot in front of the dead Carson's store, as overgrown as the rest of the property. As you see, there's plenty of cracks in the surface, and -- though not apparent in this shot -- there's lots of potholes, too. So many, in fact, you'll feel like you're driving over a lunar landscape. Needless to say, it pays to go slow here.

<Take VIII: The Squawker>

And so, we end as began our original photo essay, with the shuttered Sears, and the truck standing in front of the now-defunct loading dock, its battered door still dangling open, waiting in vain for someone to finally shut it, and send it on its way.

The dishwasher that stood nearby, forgotten and forlorn, is finally gone, its place now taken by a yawning pile of dead brush. When will anybody clear it? Who knows? All that's left, it seems, is the tumbleweed rolling down the street, while the wind whistles in the distance. This is the sound of America today, the opposite face of the recovery that's being touted in established news outlets. 

Yes, the economy is working, but for what, and for whom? That is the question that looms large over landscapes like this one. When this mall finally closes, they'll blame specters ranging from the e-commerce boom, to the toughest retail climate seen  in 30 years, or a withering local economy. 

The subtleties will undoubtedly feel lost on those having to find new jobs or locations for their businesses, as these words from Kris Kristofferson ringing in their ears: "'Cause somehow, darlin', something good/Got lost along the way/And our song ain't nothing/Special anymore."  The Reckoner

Life's Little Injustices (Take XVI): Do You Get Fries With That? Hell, No!

<https://consciouslifenews.com/video-shows-mcdonalds-fries-made-eat/1191801/>

<i.>

The minute we checked out the menu, I knew we were in trouble. The Squawker and I had stopped off at this roadside diner, Paisano Italiano, for lunch, while running the usual errands that tug at your brain, and wear down your patience, but still have to be done. We'd eaten here a couple years ago, but if you like something once, you'll like it again, right?

But I began having second thoughts when I scanned the prices. The cheaper meals started at $11-12, and rapidly escalated from there, to $15, and up. 

So I quickly flipped the page, and looked at the sandwiches. "This might be the only thing I can afford here," I told Squawker. "Otherwise, I'm not sure how this'll work, even if we just get water to drink." This is what you tell yourself between paydays: decisions, decisions.

"Yeah, I see what you mean," Squawker said. "It looks like it's about 50 percent more than what it was last time."

The waitress continued to flit around, wiping a table here, our table there, darting over to the register for a quick sidebar conversation with some regular or other.  Getting her attention hadn't been easy. Keeping it looked harder still. I steeled myself, and kept looking. Surely, I told myself, there's something I can afford here...

<ii.>

The waitress flitted back over. "Need a few more minutes to decide?" she asked. We both nodded.

I gestured at the menu. "I think I'll have stick with a burger, which is... Okay, there's one for $5.75. Everything else is six, seven bucks and up."

"Sure you don't want to try the pizza buffet?"

"Well, that's 20 bucks, and the thing is..." I lowered my voice. "By the time you include the tip, it'll be $25 or $30 when we leave here."

"All right." Squawker shrugged. "I think I might have to get a meal, though. Spaghetti with some meat, I think."

"No add-ons for us, I guess." I forced a smile, and gestured to the waitress. "I think we're ready now."

<iii.>

The waitress returned, her order pad poised. "All right," I said, "I think I'll get the Classic Paisano Burger, and..." I scanned the menu once more. "Do you get fries with that?"

The waitress shook her head. "No, that's a separate item." 

My eyes clouded over. "What? I can't do that, oh, wait..." There they were, for a single ($1.59), or a double ($3.75). "No, no, no, forget it. I can't do that."

The waitress rolled her eyes, and threw her hands on her hips. Her lips froze into a sarcastic flourish. "Welcome to Paisano Italiano!" she said.

"You want to go?" Squawker asked.

"I think we better," I sighed. "The way this is going, I'm not sure this is the place for us."

I took a quick last look on our way out. The room had gotten a little fuller, as the lunchtime crowd were beginning to filter in. They all looked older, though, sixtysomething and up. Of course, I told myself. Retired Baby Boomers, from the looks of it. Great jobs at great wages. Everything worked out swell for them. For me, not so much. Who else could afford this place now?

We headed back into town, and settled on our favorite taquiera. They had lunch specials for a fiver each. Or maybe we could split a burrito. Either way, those options looked a lot more pleasant than the situation we'd just encountered. Our mindless errands still beckoned. Such is life. --The Reckoner

When Open Mikes Aren't Open Anymore: Three Snapshots

<i.>

Generally speaking, I don't do open mikes. For an example of the hiccups that occur, see my other post below, "The Never-Ending Open Mike (Two Surreal Case Studies)." I'm not saying the problems that I cited happen all the time, or my experiences have always been subpar. The situations I encountered simply hardened my resolve to find better outlets for my music and spoken word material. After all, it's hard to showcase your abilities when the showcase itself goes sideways.

Lately, though, I've seen some odd terms and conditions popping up, when I've wanted to participate. Imagine the Riddler posing one of his preposterous jokes, wagging his finger at Batman's campy '60s incarnation, or the darker ones currently making the cinematic rounds: "Riddle me this, Caped Crusader. When is an open mike not so open anymore?" To which Batman strokes that famous rugged jaw, furrows an eyebrow or two, then snaps his fingers, and responds with the following three examples.

Exhibit A: Sounds Good (But We Gotta Vet Ya First): Back in the summer, I'd recorded three songs at home, and thought. Hey, why don't I try these out? Can't do any harm, right? That's the most common reason for doing open mikes, right? Road-test your new material in front of a real crowd, keep your chops up, that sort of thing. In this case, you had to e-mail the venue in question ahead of time, which I did. Here's the response I got back:

Thanks for your message regarding open mic.

Please send along a sample clip of what your performance would be - either video or audio. Thank you.

I found this response baffling, since it begs one obvious question: well, if you're just gonna cherry pick who you want onstage, anyway, it's not really an open mike anymore, is it? Then it becomes something else, but not an occasion that fits the alleged purpose of open mikes: a place where all comers can play whatever they want, while getting a chance to meet, and swap phone numbers and/or ideas afterwards.

Needless to say, I didn't send a thing.

<ii.>

Exhibit B: You Gotta Pay (If You Wanna Play): The same venue cited above (we'll call it Cardboard City) also runs a poetry/spoken open mike, which I've done three times. I was looking forward to the same opportunity again this week, until this sentence from the press release stopped me dead: "$5 minimum donation please. Donations support our non-profit arts organization." It's not clear to me whether this policy applies to everybody, or just those watching the performers, but on its face, this sentence skirts the edges of paying to play.

Pay to play is most commonly associated with sports leagues and music venues. The term refers to the practice of requiring an upfront fee before the performer can take the field or the stage. Musicians first encountered pay to play in the 1980s, at venues in Los Angeles, CA. (Typical variations involve buying X number of tickets in advance, or guaranteeing that "X number of people will show up.") Pay to play is less controversial in the sports world, especially in local leagues, where few, if any parents will quibble about the price of signing up Little Johnny and Suzy for soccer.

I'll have to investigate how Cardboard City applies its donation policy, but my only issue is the connotations it carries for performers, who already face enough barriers to entry -- and doing our "thing," whatever that means -- without our wallets getting thrown into the mix.

Exhibit C: Shut Up And Sing (Just Don't Annoy The Regular Folks). I came across this example while preparing an entertainment calendar for one of the publications that uses my writing. The verbiage reminded me of the Dixie Chicks documentary, Shut Up And Sing (2003), which chronicled the outcry that greeted the band for its relatively mild denunciation of then-President George W. Bush. Given the ferocity of Trump's fanbase, imagine what would happen now, if a similar band declared itself "ashamed that the President is from New York"!

Anyway, here's the relevant language from this venue (we'll call it The Stable), in all its one size fits, opaque glory:

Please be respectful with your material. While we want to be open with our stage and invite all forms of art, it cannot be at the expense of others. This is not a night for improvisation or a political platform, but a chance for all to enhance their crafted art skills. Thank you. I have a few issues here, starting with the obvious: What does "respectful" mean, and who gets to define it? Presumably the host, though it's not exactly clear. Judging from the next sentence, it's fair to say that any Dixie Chick-style verbiage is verboten, and you'd probably check your improv comedy styles at the door, too. After all, we wouldn't want anybody riffing off Trump's latest pipe dreams, or Phil Ochs's "Love Me, I'm A Liberal," would we, now?

I'm not sure what kind of open mike is being promoted here, unless it's the Comfy Cozy Coffee Set. Considering how dark, dangerous and desperate our times have grown -- and not only politically, as the California wildfires are demonstrating this weekend -- it's a little bit much to insist that musicians, in particular, just stare straight ahead and keep their mouths shut. Sorry, but if all we've done is just stay in a bubble, and simply talk shop, then not much has happened.

One quality that these examples share is the apparent lack of trust underpinning all of them. What's really strange is that open mikes aren't paying gigs (except for the host), so if there's no money -- no guarantee, no tip jar -- changing hands, what's the problem? It's not as if I've seen anyone at either venue counting off the MC5's signature song: "And right now, it's time to...kick out the jams, motherfuckers!"

Happily for me, I'm not going to deal with the fallout from these practices. I've been asked to perform at a church dinner with someone else a couple Saturdays from now. Aside from one suggested song ("This Land Is Your Land"), our minister is letting me work out the rest -- as it should be, since I've played there before. No advance clip, no minimum donation, and no admonition against airing inconvenient opinions needed. Maybe I'll check back and see how the above venues evolve -- or don't -- but I'm doing what makes me happier. Which means staying off the Open Mike Highway, at least for now--The Reckoner

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry,

Before The Sandman Gives You The Hook):

The Never-Ending Open Mike (Two Surreal Case Studies):

https://ramennoodlenation.blogspot.com/2019/01/the-never-ending-open-mike-two-surreal.html

Showtime At The Apollo: Sandman Fight:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CvJO_M6jIxg

Gigs And Bands (UK): Five Reasons Why

Open Mic Nights Are Killing Live Music:

http://www.gigsandbands.com/5-reasons-why-open-mic-nights-are-killing-live-music/

(Plenty of food for thought here -- written to irritate, so bear that in mind, but lots of interesting pros and cons in the comment section, so have fun!)