Guest Essay (Chairman Ralph): RIP: The Specials' Terry Hall, Appreciated (1959-2022)

 

<"Bernie Rhodes knows, don't AH-gue!"
Neville Staple and his prop machine gun,

seconds before kicking off "Gangsters"
on "Saturday Night Live," April 19, 1980:
YouTube screen capture>

<The Specials: "Saturday Night Live," April 19, 1980,

mine their signature groove during "Gangsters":

L-R: Roddy Radiation (nee Byers), 

Horace Panter, Neville Staple, Terry Hall, 

John Bradbury (on drum riser, obscured), 

Lynval Golding, Jerry Dammers (at keyboard, out of shot):
YouTube screen capture>

 "I grew up in an environment where you didn't really know where you were from. Coventry was built on immigrants because it was an industrial city looking for cheap labor. I don't think it's an accident that a group like the Specials came out of that." (Terry Hall, Dorset Echo, 12/11/15)

<i.>

How often do we witness a game-changing moment? For me, the Specials' performance on NBC-TV's "Saturday Night Live" (April 19, 1980) qualifies, because it marked my first real introduction to this ska-punk thing I'd been reading about in rags like CREEM, and Rolling Stone.

I was well into my deep dive through the worlds of punk, New Wave and garage, augmented by a healthy dose of dub, reggae, and whatever experimental sounds I could get my hands on. When I wasn't hitting the local record shops, I'd spend hours scouring the dollar eight track bins, looking for classics that I'd missed the first time around, or obscurities that seemed intriguing.

I'd stay up until one or two a.m. on Friday and Saturday nights, enduring the likes of Dr. Hook on "The Midnight Special," so I could catch the latest left field favorites that had struck my fancy. (They usually showed them last, or next to last, of course.)  As much as people dissed rock on TV back then, for me, it was a lifeline in an area where Foreigner and REO Speedwagon reigned supreme. 

With that feeling in mind, I eagerly awaited the Specials' American TV debut. Like millions of other American teenagers, what I knew about ska could fit on a postcard --  that it had preceded reggae in Jamaica, during the late '60s, and had a distinct socially conscious tinge, too. But what it sounded like, I had no clue, so I didn't know what to expect.

The mystery cleared up right away when co-vocalist Neville Staple stepped onstage shouting, "Bernie Rhodes knows, don't argue," the spoken intro that kicks off their classic debut single, "Gangsters" -- a backhanded tribute of sorts to the Clash's supremo, who'd briefly been their manager.

Then it was one, two, three, four, and bam! The screen exploded into a blur of arms, legs, and adrenaline, as the purple-suited lead singer, Terry Hall, bit down on lyrics that equated music biz skulduggery ("Why must you record my phone call? Are you planning a bootleg LP?") with society at large ("I dread to think, what the future'll be/When we're living in real gangster time!"). 

Seeing this seven-piece shimmying and sliding across SNL's postage-stamp sized stage, with barely a letup, nor any pause for breath, made for a riveting spectacle, to put it mildly. The sight repeated itself for the second song, "Too Much Too Young," a dour sideswipe at marriage and family life ("Ain't he cute? No he ain't/He's just another burden of the welfare state"). 

When the smoke cleared from my ears, and my brain, I had no doubt that I'd witnessed something special. Ah, so that's what they mean by this thing called ska, I thought. More, please! More, more, more of this short sharp shock! 

My father, with whom I'd been watching the show in the den, offered a characteristically different take. He looked up long enough from his evening paper, to declare, "They all jump around like wire dolls!"

That sealed the deal for me! I promptly went out and bought the classic debut album The Specials, recorded and released a scant six months before their TV appearance, in October 1979. It didn't leave my turntable for the next six months, I'm sure of that.

<Front Cover Art
Bootleg tape I bought in the UK:
Specials, The Lyceum, London, 12/2/79>

<ii.>

It's always tough when we lose the iconic favorites we've grown up with, but 2022 has felt harder than most. The past couple months alone have seen the passing of Jet Black (12/6), Tyrone Downie (11/5), Martin Duffy (12/18), Wilko Johnson (11/21), Keith Levene (11/11), Kim Simmonds (12/13), Nik Turner (11/10) -- names I'd long ago gotten used to seeing, on album and CD credits -- and now, Terry Hall,  who died at 63, on December 18, after a brief battle with pancreatic cancer.

Still, his passing felt especially shocking, as the reunited band -- now functioning as a quorum of Hall, Golding, and Panter -- were preparing to realize a long-held ambition of cutting a reggae-flavored album in the US. On the surface, anyway, nothing had seemed amiss. Yet behind the scenes, the singer's health was rapidly entering its final downward spiral, as Panter has since clarified, via a lengthy, emotional post on his Facebook timeline.

The moment feels eerily apropos, coming almost 20 years to the passing of the Clash's iconic frontman, Joe Strummer (12/21/02), who took the Specials out on tour with them after seeing one of their gigs, an act that cemented their status as a groundbreaking band.

Like Strummer, Hall essentially learned his trade in public, though getting there took some time, as he told The Big Issue in 2021. Having left school at 15, "I was just starting to get an angle on what I wanted to be and what I wanted to do," he said.

"There was a period where I was signing on and using my dole money to buy records. Young Americans by David Bowie was a defining record for me and I had the first inkling that maybe I wanted to be in a band. But I found it difficult to work out how you actually did it."

The "aha" moment, of course, came from catching the Clash and the Sex Pistols in action. After a brief stint with The Squad, Coventry's answer to punk rock's Year Zero, Hall joined The Specials. "They didn't seem like they could play very well either, so the thing was to form a band and work it out. That's what we did."

Above: The '79 bootleg cassette song list
Below: That iconic first LP back cover shot

                       

<iii.>

They certainly did. What hasn't already been said about The Specials, released only six months after Margaret Thatcher's election as Prime Minister? The All Music Guide states the case perfectly for me: "A perfect moment in time captured on vinyl forever." Then and now, few debut albums sound more fully realized. 

And few soundtracked the times to such chilling, yet ear-catching. effect. The mood shifts from defiant resolve ("It's Up To You": "Stand there like parked cars if you want to/We can't force you to enjoy this music/Take it or leave it, we'll carry on regardless"), to fear of confrontation (Byers' "Concrete Jungle": "I can't dress the way I want/I'm being chased by the National Front"), and pleas for tolerance ("Doesn't Make It All Right": "Just because you're a black boy/Just because you're a white/It doesn't mean you've got to hate him/It doesn't mean you've got to fight").

Humorous moments abound, too, particularly on the covers, like "Monkey Man," and originals like "Stupid Marriage," with Staple presiding as "Judge Roughneck" over a rude boy who's smashed up his ex-girlfriend's window. Now headed off to five months in prison, the jilted ex-boyfriend summarizes the anonymous couple's empty, pointless existence in one withering couplet:  "Naked woman, naked man, where did you get that nice suntan?" The song ends with a cymbal crash, as the good judge shouts: "TAKE HIM AWAY!" 

Yet beneath the good times, the whiffs of missed opportunities are never far away, as Hall laments in "Nite Klub" ("Is the place to be? What am I doing here, watching the girls go by, spending money on beer?"). Staple voices similar frustrations in "Dawning Of A New Era," after hitting it off with the girl from Area Three ("I climbed the stairs to the fourteenth floor/The key won't fit the door"), amid the threat of racially tinged violence that's never far ("Sticks and stones may break my bones/In Area Six, they threw bottles and bricks and kicks").

Throughout all these goings-on, Hall's voice serves as just much of an instrument as Dammers's bubbling organ, or the clipped, staccato bursts of guitar from Byers and Golding, or the sheer limber agility of the Bradbury-Panter rhythm section. One of my Facebook friends described him as "a singular singer," and that's definitely true here -- as his voice zigzags from outright contempt, to been-there, done-that indifference, to unbounded outrage at the turmoil of late '70s Britain that he and his bandmates were chronicling.

Though not a trained vocalist, Hall was already working out the signature persona that would define much of his career -- the weary observer who found the strength to endure, yet never stopped calling out the injustices around him. As Hall told The Big Issue: "Politics and music has always gone hand in hand with The Specials, especially on our first album [in 1979]. Even if we couldn’t change things, we could make people aware."

For me, seeing the band on "Saturday Night Live" was as close as I got to experiencing them live. Then again, I didn't feel put out, as The Specials offers more an apt snapshot of their unique onstage alchemy. As producer, Elvis Costello did a great job of capturing that vibe; even if you weren't there in person, you get the idea.

Though ska and reggae formed the bedrock of the band's sound, "if you listen to the first album, it's not all ska," as Panter himself pointed out, when I interviewed him in 1996. True enough. There's plenty of punk-infused energy to spare, of course, with subtle nods to funk, pop, soul, and even a gentle ballad ("You're Wondering Now," since retooled into an uptempo theme song for the Caribbean crime show, "Death In Paradise").  Whatever the band tried worked wonders, and really, who could resist such unbounded energy? The future seemed bright, indeed.

<Terry Hall and June Miles-Kingston, 

duetting on "Our Lips Are Sealed," 
The Regal Theater, Hitchin, 1983:
Terry Hall Fanpage (YouTube)>


"The Specials' ascendancy was swift. Two years, seven hit singles including two number ones, two hit albums, sell-out tours – the mass stage-invasions and audience energy only adding to the myth. They were everywhere; on Top of the Pops, Radio One, nightclubs and school discos. At the time, the nation could not have seemed more polarised: far right youth cults, violence on the streets, conservative government. Their demise, however, was rapid."
<thespecials.com>


<iv.>

If Terry Hall had never recorded anything else after The Specials, that album alone would have secured his legacy as a top level lyric writer and performer. As it turned out, his run was just beginning, after he, Lynval and Neville quit the Specials to form their next band, Fun Boy Three.

They left after scoring a #1 UK hit with the non-album single, "Ghost Town," a grim recounting of a nation literally coming apart at the seams ("This town is coming like a ghost town/Why must the youth fight against themselves? Government leaving the youth on the shelf"). As career cues go, Hall felt distinctly uncomfortable with the timing ("Why do we need that reward – to say, OK, the world’s shit, our country’s in a mess, do you like my gold record?")

The trio also felt unsatisfied with the second album, More Specials (1981). Having re-listened to it this week, I understand why, but that's another story for another time. Burned out from constant touring, Hall and his cohorts wanted to take the pedal off the metal, and strike out in a different direction.

They hit a home run on Waiting (1983), the second Fun Boy Three album, which is probably best known for the "other" version of the Go-Gos' breakthrough hit, "Our Lips Are Sealed. Guitarist Jane Wiiedlin co-wrote the track with Hall, with whom she shared a brief dalliance, during a seaside tour of Britain in 1980. I prefer the Fun Boy Three version, whose slower-burning, somber vibe brings out more of the song's emotional nuances, but to each their own.

But there's way more to the story. Waiting, Like The Specials, is a cross-section of social ills, only with glossier brush strokes. This is the decade, after all, where Thatcher infamously intoned, "There is no such thing as society." Taken on those terms, "The Things We Do" seems like the perfect soundtrack for Thatcher's endorsement of social ennui, as Hall croons over a cello- and piano-laden backdrop: "Do middle-aged women wear cameo brooches? Do young office lechers drive clapped out Porsches? Do salesgirls at Tescos wear boots number seven? Do you eat digestives at half past eleven?"

A verse later, he supplies the dispiriting punchline: "Is this what we are? Is there nothing inside? If you swallow your food, would you swallow your pride?" Not a pretty picture of humanity, is it? But the wealth of detail packed into each line makes the song feel believable, and we can all think of suitably American examples of the kind of people that Hall's describing. 

My other favorite tracks include "The More I See (The Less I Believe"), which shines a light on that complicated subject called Northern Ireland ("The barbed wire fences have replaced all the trees"), and "The Farm Yard Connection," a pointed, journalistic-style look at who really benefits from the drug trade ("And when the law squad come and took away our weed, bam goes another week's wages, bam goes our family's feed"), an issue lost to its clueless customers ("They talked about life but missed all the points, points, points, points, points, points, points").

You also get lighter moments, such as "We're Having All The Fun," a Ramones-style celebration of the ordinary, in which each vocalist takes a verse to describe what they like doing every day. It doesn't prepare you for "Well Fancy That," which closes the US version, and ranks among the most chilling songs about sex abuse ever written ("I feel asleep/Woke up with a shock/And your hands on me/I couldn't shout/I couldn't scream"), an experience that Hall endured at age 12, and one that prompted him to become an active mental health advocate later in life.

When the Specials reunited in 2008, the band set up stalls on behalf of Tonic For Mental Health, a charity that Hall actively aided and supported until his death. The results proved remarkable to see, as Tonic's founder and chief executive, Steph Langan, told The Daily Telegraph:

“At Specials gigs we would have older skinhead men crying and opening up, and that was quite incredible because we were able to reach people that we wouldn’t otherwise have been able to reach. A lot of fans of The Specials are men of a certain age who probably have never really opened up about their mental health before.”

<Terry Hall, The Colourfield:
Live On "The Tube,"
Newcastle, 3/3/84>

<v.>

In typical fashion, Hall didn't stay in one place too long. The Fun Boy Three officially closed up shop on July 7, 1983, after a show at the Ritz, in New York City. (Contrarians to the end, their setlist had expanded to include an unlikely take on the Doors' epic ode to patricide, "The End.") Hall's next band, The Colourfield, staked out a darker, more introspective, acoustic-based path, but his lyrical acuity remained sharp as ever.

For proof, look no further than "Pushing Up Daisies," a smack at the pop biz that he'd never felt fully comfortable inhabiting ("There's no business like show business, like no business I know/The curtain falls to no applause/When no one goes to sell out shows/You're pushing up the daisies"), or "Sorry," which recounts the sorrow of a relationship built on sand ("We're trying to turn the clocks back, to find the missing piece/But every time we smile, we smile through bridged teeth"). 

Even as longtime fans hoped for a Specials reunion, you had to respect Hall's determination not to retrace his steps, purely for profit -- unlike many of his peers from the era that produced him.

The next couple of decades yielded two '90s-era solo albums (Home, Laugh), and a dizzying series of collaborations (Dub Pistols; D12; Gorillaz; Hall and Mushtaq; Terry, Blair & Anouchka; Vegas, a duo with the Eurythmics' Dave Stewart). I'm not familiar with most of these, honestly, so we'll have to leave it there for now (but it'll be worth another essay, once I rectify that omission).

Inevitably, though, perhaps, the Specials resurrected themselves -- alongside many of their fellow 2-Tone alumni, including the English Beat, Madness, and The Selecter -- and seemingly picked up where they left off. Two new albums quickly followed, including Encore (2019) -- the first new material to feature Hall, since 1981 -- and the self-explanatorily-titled Protest Songs 1924-2012 (2021).

Both peaked at #1 and #2 UK, respectively, showing the band as to be prescient and relevant as it had ever been. "When we made the first Specials record, there was a woman prime minister -- a Tory -- and today, there is a woman prime minister Tory [Theresa May," as Hall wryly observed, at the time of Encore's release. "But it just feels exactly the same... It's actually got a lot worse."

<ITV News Interview, 2/1/19:

"Nothing's changed in massively divided Britain...">

<Coda>

So what do we make, exactly, of this combustive cocktail of art and activism? Well, there's no question that, as sad as his death feels, Terry Hall made the most of the time that he had. He made every word count, which gave his lyrics that much greater weight. No matter what he endured, he fought through those experiences, and persevered, which is all you can ask from any artist.

For me, his influence was massive, like the others that won over my interest -- Joe Strummer and Paul Weller, Billy Bragg and Steve Ignorant, Dick Lucas and Vi Subversa, Viv Albertine and Poly Styrene...the list is endless, and I could go on forever. Like all of those that I've just mentioned, he showed that you could sing about big topics and big ideas without falling into the classic traps of simple sloganeering, or self-mythologizing, or being purely self-serving.

Most importantly of all, he didn't just talk the talk. The Specials' multiracial lineup, in and of itself, provided ample evidence of that ideal in action. So did the other mixed and all-female bands that followed them, and the explosion of ska scenes all around the world. So did his mental health activism, which I've mentioned.

So did the band's formation of its own label (2-Tone), that gave birth to a look, a sound, and a mission statement -- the push for a society that serves everyone's needs, not just those of a fortunate few -- that should provide plenty of inspiration for another generation to create its own soundtrack, in politics and in life.

Hall recognized as much, which framed what he'd tell his younger self, as he outlined in his Big Issue interview: "He paid his way. He didn't tread on anybody getting there. And he did it on his own terms but with respect for others. What more can you want, really? What more is there?"

So there you go. Indeed, he is missed, but in another way, he's still with us, through his words and music. What we do about that? Like the song says: it's up to us. --Chairman Ralph

Links To Go (Tip Your Hat, Take It All In,

And Think About The Possibilities...)

Chairmanralph.com: "Bernie Rhodes Knows, Don't Argue":
https://www.chairmanralph.com/clashbookdispatches/entry?id=3;fa=1

The Big Issue: Terry Hall:
"The Specials Have Always Been About Protest":
https://www.bigissue.com/culture/music/terry-hall-the-specials-have-always-been-about-protest/

The Daily Telegraph:
Plenty Of Other Rock Stars Open Up
About Mental Health -- But Terry Hall Made Skinheads Cry:
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/music/artists/plenty-rock-stars-open-mental-health-terry-hall-made-skinheads/

The Guardian: Terry Hall: Specials Frontman
Died Of Pancreatic Cancer...
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2022/dec/21/terry-hall-specials-frontman-died-of-pancreatic-cancer-says-bandmate

The Specials: The Band (Official Website):
https://www.thespecials.com/the-band

Yahoo Entertainment:
Ska Legends The Specials
On Why Their Brexit-Era Comeback Album

Has Connected "At A Very Unfortunate Time":
https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/ska-legends-the-specials-on-why-their-brexitera-comeback-album-has-connected-a-very-unfortunate-time-211118672.html

The Specials' Ska And New Wave Pioneer

Terry Hall Dead At 63:
https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/the-specials-ska-and-new-wave-pioneer-terry-hall-dead-at-63-011116952.html

Video Links
BBC: 

2-Tone: The Sound Of Coventry:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qM1sv_gQGxw

BBC Archive ("Arena," 3/12/80):
The Specials, Selecter & 2-Tone:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSK73D4p04o

Channel Four:
2-Tone Britain:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjY7bSnnpQQ

Fun Boy Three: 

Live At The Regal Theater, 1983:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXQpuN45xTA

Fun Boy Three:
Live In Germany: May 11, 1983:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyc5jq5a2PE

My Corona Diary (Take XL): "We Need You Back (In The Office, That Is)..."

 

<"We Need You Back..."
Take I/The Reckoner>

<i.>

It had to happen, I suppose. Like millions of other workers out there, I too am now feeling the nudge-nudge-nudge -- gently-gently, at first, but lately, it feels more like a rude poke in the ribs -- to come back into the office, "if only for once or twice a week."

Given that I've largely made my living from my living room for 16-odd years, this directive strikes me as odd, especially after recalling how The Powers That Be (TPTB) sold my current job: "You'll keep doing what you're doing now, from home, but you'll get a regular paycheck." Sounded good to me, so I signed up, and that's how I've been spending my last year.

Apparently, that's not good enough anymore, though why hasn't been made clear to me, since my work -- primarily editorial, as I've chronicled -- can be done anywhere. It's not a new argument, as I realized in 2004, when I pitched a big city paper about working from home for them as a correspondent. I got a swift response, but not the one I'd imagined: "Oh, no, we can't do that. (Pause.) We're not going to pay to maintain an office." 

"But soon, nobody will need to go into an office anymore," I protested, trying to paper over my exasperation. "Soon, you'll able to work from anywhere -- desert island, middle of rural nowhere, the confines of your own home. Take your pick."

What the editor told me, I no longer recall. But her response sounded worthy of Homer Simpson's punchline: "The Internet? Is that thing still around?" 

Needless to say, the person who sparred with me over this issue is retired, like so many others in the news business who failed to appreciate the dawning of the new digital era. It reminds me of Metallica's fumbled response to the advent of Napster, with one major difference. Unlike Metallica, most ex-journalists won't have a rich back catalog to see them through their golden years. Such is life in today's technocracy, I suppose.

<"We Need You Back..."

Take II/The Reckoner>

<ii.>

As the above exchange suggests, The Office has always exerted a powerful, yet puzzling, gravitational pull on the American psyche. Otherwise, we'd hardly have a hit TV show named after it, would we? In many ways, "The Office" is simply the latest version of The Man In The Gray Flannel Suit (1956), or Mike Judge's comedy, Office Space (1999). 

But one message comes through loud and clear, in all of these Hollywood concoctions: The Office isn't a place you'd ever hang out willingly, if a different option presented itself. It's a whirlpool of bitterness and bitchiness, where it never takes long for hidden animosities to surface. Cue that shopworn punchline, "How boring is an office? You won't know till you try working in one."

That's why I piss myself laughing whenever some talking head waxes poetic about the camaraderie and collaboration that people are missing, by continuing to resist the Iron Nudge to return. If you read our Jobs To Nowhere series, you already know how hard I struggled to remember the good times at work. There were a few notable instances, but honestly, I struggled to recall most of them.

The Vox story (see below) makes some interesting points about the whole business. The general consensus suggests the whiff of a classic overdog power move: All right, you bastards. We know how much you've enjoyed working at home, but guess what? The party's over. Time to drag your asses back, so we can abuse you in person, all over again.

I've asked other people for some perspective about my predicament: "We've gotten by a whole year without having to rub shoulders. Why the rush?" The suggested motives I've heard range from control freak maneuvers ("Soon, you'll be coming in every day"), to financial ("They paid for all that office space, they want to get something out of it"), to resentment from above ("The heads figure, if they have to be there every day, so should you").

Still, what's the point of all that technology, if we can't capitalize on the flexibility ir promises? That's certainly true of cities like Los Angeles, where drivers spend roughly three hours a day schlepping back and forth to work. Who wants to endure that kind of insanity all over again?

And that's before we get to the other issue -- whether that green-eyed COVID monster's gearing up for another winter go-round. Time will tell soon enough there, obviously.

<"Be Seeing You..."/The Reckoner>

<iii.>

I just remember how I felt in Chicago, commuting forty-five minutes back and forth from the north suburbs, all to make my overdog bosses richer, as I scratched and scraped on $9.75 an hour. Without my freelance writing income, The Squawker and I would have struggled even more.

Words can't do justice to how much that commute curdled my stomach. For three years, Monday through Friday, I'd walk six blocks to a cattle call bus stop, where cigarette smoke and stale exhaust mingled with the gray and white snowflakes of pigeon shit that coated the roofs of the so-called bus shelters.

I don't recall feeling any camaraderie there, either. For the most part, my fellow travelers buried their noses in books and magazines, or stared blankly ahead, resigned to their fates.

I can't fake any warm and fuzzy feelings for those gauzy gray late '90s day, just as the Internet began rearranging the rhythm 'n' blues of our lives. Compare and contrast with today, when I began looking for remote jobs, and got 100 or so to come up, with little effort.

Guess what? Some outfits are so hot to get their hands on a warm body, they're offering $1,000 signing bonuses. In some cases, you can work remotely, even if your job happens to be in another state. Who wouldn't scoop up an option like that? 

Of course, the real reason behind this sudden snap of the leash is straightforward, as a media company vice president tells Vox. She too commutes three hours to work every day, while trying to raise a child as a single parent. Of course, these facts cut little ice with her bosses, who continue to work remotely, even as they demand everyone else return to the office:

“It’s unfair, but then management was always privileged,” she said, referring to the people above her. “This is just a new way of showing that privilege.”

Indeed, some animals are always more equal than others. What else is new? But with a current ratio of 1.7 per open jobs per worker, I'm not sure how many people feel inclined to listen. My current issue remains unresolved, but if I need any motivation, I only have to recall the general flow of events in Titanic -- the James Cameron version, that is.

Those who scrapped for a seat on the lifeboats, more often than not, secured a shot at survival. Those tophatted and tailcoated gentlemen who paused to knock back another cocktail, as they tut-tutted that unseemly rush to the exits, punched themselves a first-class ticket, straight to the bottom of the Atlantic.

Moral of the story? Not everything good comes to those who wait. As long as that 1:1.7 ratio hangs in our favor, make whatever moves you can. Because the way I feel, and the way things are going, it couldn't have happened to a "better" bunch of guys. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (Don't Hurry, Hurry,

'N' Worry Yourself Back To Work...)

Forbes: Bosses Are Winning 

The Battle To Get Workers Back...*:
https://www.forbes.com/sites/jackkelly/2022/09/20/bosses-are-winning-the-battle-to-get-workers-back-to-the-office/?sh=7cdef66b783e

The Guardian: "It's Just Not Worth It":
https://www.theguardian.com/business/2022/oct/01/back-to-office-say-bosses-staff-prefer-working-from-home

Vox: You're Going Back To The Office...:
https://www.vox.com/recode/2022/10/12/23400496/remote-work-from-home-office-boss-manager-hypocrisy

(*We'll see, guys, we'll see. I wouldn't get out the confetti just yet.)

Life's Little Injustices (Take XIX): Hey, AT&T Greedheads: You're Scrambling My Budget!

 

<Cover art: goodreads.com>

<i.>

Not so long ago, I found myself rereading The Saga Of Hawkwind (2004), written by the late Carol Clerk. If you haven't come across it, by all means, check it out: it's a fantastically written, 500-page epic history of the Founding Fathers of space rock, as they're commonly called. 

Clerk dishes out everything you ever wanted to know about Hawkwind, but didn't know what to read, or where to ask. At its core, it's a narrative defined by 50-odd years of constant lineup changes, and dueling egos, often working at cross purposes, amid the usual music biz skulduggery, with one constant (guitarist Dave Brock) at the center of the vortex.

Some of the most relevant tidbits happen when Clerk explores various aspects of the industry that make it hard for musicians to stay afloat. As Brock himself notes in the last chapter ("Dave Brock: God, Satan...Or Just The Captain Of The Ship?"): "The trucking companies are getting more than I'm getting on a tour.

"The rock 'n' roll business being so corrupt, all these different people, trucking companies, bus companies -- the guy who's driving the bus wants £10 food and £30 per diem, and he's paid to drive the bus.  It's all these things around the periphery which piss me off."

After revisiting that passage, all I can say is: Dave, you have my deepest sympathies, as I know the feeling. I got a fresh reminder of this phenomenon last week, after my phone bill landed in my mailbox.

<"Sick 'N' Tired, 

So Sick 'N' Tired..."

The Reckoner>

<ii.>

This is how crazy it gets 'round the periphery: last month, I had a $3.46 credit. This month, I'm starting down a bill of $236 and some change. 

See, when November started, I'd paid two months' worth of bills, because I'd fallen behind. Chalk it up to that cost of living/inflation thing everyone's going on about lately, so when I got a surplus of 200-some-odd bucks, I'd promptly paid it, to get caught up. 

That mess started around the second week in October, when I tried calling the doctor, and got a nonstop dial tone. I realized something was up, as a panic-stricken email from my supervisor confirmed ("Your phone has been busy all day. Please call me, I can't get through"). I wound up calling AT&T, who duly confirmed they'd cut me off. 

I don't recall getting a disconnect notice, I protested. Of course, you got it, the rep stoutly maintained. Once upon a time, they called to pester you, whenever you fell behind; now, they've switched back to paper notices, apparently. Whatever.

In the end, I borrowed from my supervisor to get the phone back on. Of course, that meant having to repay her, forcing me to repurpose another amount intended for something else. That's how it works around the periphery: one domino topples another, creating a ripple effect that scrambles your budget.

Of course, the chaos came during a particularly busy week. I didn't really have time to fight it, let alone think about it, so I did what anybody in this boat does. "Right," I told myself. "Here's your $110, and some change. Now please go away." And that's the last thought I gave it, essentially. That is...until the new bill arrived.

<"Thank You For Your Business..."

The Reckoner>

<iii.>

Lo and behold, that $236 amount jumped right out at me. "What's going on here, then?" I ask myself. A quick scan confirms my worst fears. Apparently, they've whacked on a $30 reconnection charge, which they told me was coming. I can live with that, I suppose.

Guess what, though? They've whacked on $30 and $50 sums for a pro-rating of the bill. Say what? How or why that happened, I'm not sure but I'm still on the hook for it, so I'll have to let it slide. It's not like there's a Phone Bill Appeals Board to hear my case.

By the time you include the inevitable taxes ($11.74), they've added $129 on an otherwise unremarkable monthly bill of $100 or so. Luckily for me -- if that's the right word -- I can spread the cost over a couple weeks, and minimize some of the damage. Sure, a couple more dominos will topple, but it's the beginning of the month, and I'm getting paid again. All's well that ends well, right?

I suppose, but it pisses me off, all the same. It's all part and parcel of the corruption around the periphery of Big Business, as in, "We know you're hurting, so guess what? It's time to squeeze you a little harder." It's the same mentality that you see with local governments, when they whack the cost of somebody's forced lawnmowing bill onto their taxes. Or water bills that they're struggling to pay, because they're double the local average. Or retroactively compounding interest, as many student loan borrowers discover, to their everlasting regret.

The same story holds true at the grocery store, where the Squawker and I spent $350 -- literally, half my paycheck -- to avoid making the trip for another couple weeks A loaf of bread? Ka-ching!  $5.89. A jar of mayonnaise? Ka-ching! $5.49. Eight-ounce package of sliced turkey lunch meat? Ka-ching! $4.29. A bag of onions? Ka-ching! $2.99. A bag of tomatoes on the vine? Ka-ching! $5.66. And so on, and so forth.

God knows what everything will cost next time, as prices like these keep on rocketing upward. Even a meal out, to give you a break from cooking, averages 25 to 40 bucks in this town. But there's the dirty little secret, right? It doesn't cost them $30 to turn your phone back on, anymore than it costs $350 per person to get your food on the grocery shelf. A lot of this stuff is just the banksters making out like bandits. Because they are bandits. 

Even after a catastrophic global pandemic, we're still left where we started, of agitating for change that most people see as long overdue, and desperately needed. That is, anyone who isn't a rich right wing greedhead, like a certain rogue billionaire who just bought a certain media platform, that a certain rogue ex-President publicly poo-poohs interest in reclaiming. They're fine with all the chaos and crap that they've stirred up. 

In one sense, I guess I could consider myself fortunate, in that I can generate income beyond my day job to deal with these problems. But in another sense, I'd say, "Maybe not," since the same greasy global shuffle is going on -- or, as Don Letts says, in "Outta Sync," the teaser for his forthcoming solo album: 

"Predictions of dystopia? 

Three jobs to pay the rent.

The threat of just a few degrees? 

We're talking two percent." 

We'll find out how close to reality those predictions come, as dire as they are. Because, you see, that's another collateral consequence of life on the periphery -- we usually know what's going down before everyone else does. 

We feel the social ills first; when things fall apart, we're first to catch cold. When things finally rebound, we're the last to catch up. Because, unlike everybody else, we don't exactly get to shop till we drop. See you at the checkout line. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (Hurry, Hurry, 

Grab Your Ticket Outta Babylon

Because It's Burnin' Red Hot, Hot Hot...):

Don Letts: Outta Sync (Official Video):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q7Zf0KWPJoE&t=108s

Midterm 2022 Reflections: Red Ripple, Anyone?

 

<The Gift: LP cover, 1982>

"Get the trans-global express moving

And see our marvelous leaders quiver

They know if that happens

Their lazy days are over

The day the working people rise together...

"We'll all rest much more easy
The responsibility you must bear
When it's your own future in your hands

Maybe a hard one to face up to

But at least you will own yourself!"

The Jam, "Trans-Global Express" (The Gift)

<i.>

The bats are back in the belfry, the red wave fizzed into a red ripple, the Republicans' hostile electoral takeover has crashed and burned, and best of all, I don't have to howl, "The long arc bends, my ass!" That's one way of summing up our now-bygone midterm election ritual, which we'll discuss shortly.

I dreaded that November 8 date more than most, as I was scheduled to report election returns for the Associated Press, a gig that I've held for nearly a decade. If the elephant party was really enjoying a big night, I'd be one of those suckers stuck \watching it. Though I doubted all the "red wave" ballyhoo, like many progressives, I struggled to contain the many anxieties playing tricks with my mind. 

So many unknowns loomed. Had the pollsters somehow missed a hidden appetite for autocracy lingering at the ballot box? With so many nail-biting races predicted, how would the Democratic coalition hold? Would voters buy into the Republican kayfabe about inflation and income, or the mainstream media's narrative that cast Biden as the pinata of the hour?

As it turned out, none of those things happened, and I've honestly never felt more grateful for a particular outcome. The Highwayman's cartoon, published here on the eve of the big day, won't haunt my dreams after all. I won't have to draw on a different Jam song ("Funeral Pyre") for inspiration.

Instead, I'm leading off with lyrics from "Trans-Global Express," one of the keynote songs from The Jam's final studio outing, The Gift (1982), which soared to #1 UK on its March 1982 release, and spent 25 weeks on the charts there. In the US, it peaked at #82, marking the band's second best position (after Sound Affects, which topped out at #72, in 1981).

"Trans-Global Express" outlines a theme that Paul Weller often expressed, as he prepared to wind down The Jam that year. The lyrics call for workers to push back against oppressive political elites for a more equitable world, and gain a stronger say in their own lives. Now 40 years old, "Trans-Global Express" also contains lines that seem eerily prescient for today, as well ("All the things you ain't got no more/Keep us divided with their greed and hate/Keep you struggling to put food on your plate"). Or maybe that's just a nice way of saying, "Same shit, different day," right? 

In any case, Weller felt strongly enough about the "Trans-Global Express" concept to tweak it slightly, as the title of the Jam's final world outing (the Trans-Global Unity Express Tour), and closed side one of the original album with it. Unfortunately, I don't think the production does the song justice.  For the most part, I find it claustrophobic and cluttered, with most of the lyrics lost in the murk of an otherwise fine funk-dub track.

Hell, for years, I didn't even know what the lyrics were, until I researched them online, after being asked to deliver an invocation for my local church. But I figured they'd work a treat, as the opposite of the far right's nostalgic paradise. You know the scenario: some hellish mixture of the 1950s and 1980s, when America made no apologies for kicking ass, with those pesky minorities kept firmly in their place, with the little woman always expected to have a pot of meatloaf humming on the stove, black eye be damned.

As usual, Bernie had it right. 

As usual, the punditocracy missed it. 

What else is new?

"In dreams begin responsibilities." 

<W.B. Yeats>

“By preaching the doctrine that nothing is to be admired except the steel and concrete, one merely makes it a little surer that human beings will have no outlet for their surplus energy except in hatred and leader worship.”

<George Orwell>

<ii.>

As midterm fizzles go, this one proved pretty spectacular, though some faceplants loomed larger than others. Here in Michigan, the entire Republican ticket bottomed out, starting with Tudor Dixon's 10.6% loss to Democratic Governor Gretchen Whitmer, who won re-election by nearly 470,000 votes.

Voters dished out the sharpest electoral humiliations to Republicans Kristina Karamo, and Matthew DePerno, two of the creepiest, most unhinged wannabe authoritarians imaginable, whose respective campaigns for Secretary of State and Attorney General focused on one simple premise: "Just give us the levers of power, and we'll beat the hell out of our enemies, real or imagined, with them.""

Incumbent Jocelyn Benson crushed Karamo by a 13-point margin, while incumbent Dana Nessel made do with a smaller margin (7.6%), that reflected a bitter, hard-fought campaign, as her victory statement suggested: "For all the LGBTQ kids out there who were demonized, and whose lives were weaponized by sad and broken adults during this election cycle: You are good enough. Your lives and stories matter. God loves you just as you are. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise." 

Trump had endorsed them both, of course. Still, I'm glad that neither Karamo nor DePerno will get a shot at engineering an electoral victory out of thin air for the man who elevated them to prominence. Nor will DePerno get to enforce an archaic 1931 law that criminalizes abortion, which also fell by the wayside, after Proposal 22-3 passed by a 13.3-point margin.

Women here regained their reproductive freedom, and other significant protections, such as freedom from prosecution, in case of miscarriages. Michigan's story mirrored similar measures that passed in California, Kentucky, Montana, and Vermont. The results came as a sharp retort to the Supreme Court's call to let state voters decide on what they viewed as right.

Michigan Republicans also lost their 40-year hammerlock on the State House and Senate, too -- an outcome that lifted Democrats to power in unlikely places. For example, Joey Andrews became the first Democrat to represent his Southwest Michigan district since 1964, when Floyd Mattheeussen rode the Lyndon Johnson landslide to a one-term tenure in Congress. Hopefully, Andrews will get to stick around a bit longer than that.

Nationally speaking, just one of Trump's gubernatorial picks won, in Nevada. Most of his Senate picks also tanked, with the notable exception of JD Vance, in Ohio. Even then, Vance had to campaign hard for his five- to six-point victory margin, while his unassuming counterpart, Mike DeWine, romped to a 25-point re-election win as Governor. You know it's a weird night when that happens, but there you go.

By and large, Trump's cadre of election deniers also flamed out at the ballot box. I'm gratified that the bug-eyed likes of Doug Mastriano (Pennsylvania) and Mark Finchem (Arizona), or cooler counterparts, like Kari Lake (Arizona), and Jim Marchant (Nevada), won't get to try their hand at turning our democracy into a far right hellscape. 

In the end, the Democratic coalition held together and then some, driven by outsized turnouts among young, Latino and independent voters, something the pundits never saw coming, either. As Obama's former campaign manager, David Plouffe, succinctly put it: "This should teach us a lesson, that voters always have the last word." Quite!

<Promo Poster, 1982:

Featuring the individual shots
of (L-R) drummer Rick Buckler, bassist Bruce Foxton,
and guitarist/frontman Paul Weller,
that showed them in running poses
(hence, the red, green and yellow shades
selected for the original album cover).>

<iii.>

So what should we make of all this, exactly? For me, the biggest takeaway is the canyon-sized gap between all breathless predictions of a Democratic rout, and how Election Night actually played out. That had been the mainstream media's prevailing narrative until June, when the Supreme Court's dunking of Roe v. Wade -- followed by the eagerness of GOP-dominated state legislatures to pile on, with so-called "trigger laws" -- suddenly made it seem unthinkable.

The narrative changed again this fall, when these types of headlines began carpet bombing my inbox: "Dems Are Suddenly Playing Defense On Abortion" (10/21)."Democrats Aim to Hold the Line Against Heavy Midterm Losses" (11/4). "Democrats Warn of Massive GOP Turnout In November" (9/23). "Democrats Worry They're Being Overshadowed In Arizona Governor's Race" (10/15). "Did The Democrats Peak Too Early?" (10/7). "Inflation Shifts Midterm Momentum Back To GOP" (9/30). "The State That Could Doom Democrats' Senate Chances" (9/27).

And those were just the headlines that I kept in my email! But just imagine the effects on an undecided voter who hadn't paid much attention. Had you read any of these headlines, you might have decided the whole shebang was already over, and stayed home. Thank God it didn't play out that way.

The same goes for a similar onslaught during those final weeks of negative poll stories, that showed mostly Democratic candidates in some dire strait or other. The problem? Much of the sourcing came from Republican-affiliated polling firms, like Trafalgar or Rasmussen, whose numbers have always raised eyebrows. Or should have raised more eyebrows, in this case.

In the end, Michael Moore -- whose predictions of a "blue tsunami" drew howls of laughter around the Beltway -- turned out to be the most accurate forecaster of 'em all (aside from Plouffe, perhaps). But, as he pointed out (see below), anyone outside the Beltway Bubble could have foreseen the outcome, if they'd applied a little common sense:

"We were lied to for months by the pundits and pollsters and the media. Voters had not ‘moved on’ from the Supreme Court’s decision to debase and humiliate women by taking federal control over their reproductive organs. Crime was not at the forefront of the voters ‘simple’ minds. Neither was the price of milk. It was their democracy that they came to fight for yesterday.”

I agree with Moore's other key observation, that Democrats should stop adopting a defensive crouch as their default stance. Yes, to nobody's great surprise, Trump has announced a third White House run in 2024 -- underwhelming results, or not -- because he has no Plan B, beyond trying to avoid getting fitted for an orange jumpsuit. (At least it'll match his makeup, if it happens.)

But Trump won't always be on the ballot to juice turnout, as Moore points out: "They may be trying to gin up the vote through fear – ‘This is going to happen so you’d better get your butts to polls’. They may think it’s noble, but I don’t think it’s noble at all."

Yet that sort of appeal may not work so well against up-and-comers like Florida Governor Ron DeSantis, whose 20-point re-election victory gave the GOP one of its few bright spots on Election Night. DeSantis shares many of the qualities that Trump rode to success in 2016, but make the former President an increasing liability for 2024 -- the same brittle defensiveness, blinkered, grievance-fueled governance, outsized authoritarian instincts, and willingness to push his base's darkest, most primal buttons.

Unlike Trump, however, DeSantis seems far smarter and disciplined, without any of the baggage, which will require a different approach to fend off. The type of freeze-dried machine politics that backfired in New York -- where Republicans gained new unforeseen openings, after the courts tossed out a Democratically-tilted electoral map -- don't strike me as the right answer.

John Fetterman's successful Senate campaign in Pennsylvania offers a better way forward. Unlike many of his cohorts, Fetterman leaned into economic issues, like the $15 an hour minimum wage, and the need to pry healthcare away from the profit mongers. He went on the offensive from the start, and never let up. Through creative use of social media, Fetterman kept his TV doctor opponent, Mehmet Oz, constantly off balance, and scrambling to play catchup.

Most importantly, though, Fetterman defined himself as someone actually worth voting for: "I'm proud of what we ran on. Protecting a woman's right to choose, raising our wage, fighting for the union way of life, healthcare as a fundamental human right." I'm positive that posture played a critical part in lifting him over the finish line, instead of simply casting himself as the lesser, blander evil (Mainstream Democrat 101), or larger than life, "I alone can fix it" authoritarian messiah (Textbook Republican 101).

Even so, the most inspired campaigns in the world won't mean anything, unless progressives continue pushing for basic structural reforms -- like an end to gerrymandering -- that would make the system more responsive than it is now. Michigan's midterms, for example, marked the first districts redrawn by an independent citizen's commission that voters approved in 2018.

While the results weren't deemed ideal by Democrats or Republicans, they still created a more level playing field than observers had seen in decades -- forcing both parties to actually compete for the voters they desired, rather than cherry-picking them from some artificially crafted boundaries designed to keep the status quo forever. 

As I've joked to my friends, any map that ticks off Detroit Democrats and West Michigan Republicans can't be a bad thing. Without it, though, Michigan Democrats wouldn't have broken the logjam that prevented them from advancing their signature priorities. Now that they finally have, Whitmer and her allies should try doing exactly that. Showing people that government actually works is the best defense against extremism.

While there will always be some people who get some illicit thrill from marching around in camo drag, that doesn't mean the majority will join them, especially if their lot improves -- whether it means restoring the child tax credit, or passing the $15 an hour minimum wage. Combine those outcomes with an electoral and judicial system finally freed from its current dysfunction, and manipulation, and maybe then, we'll bring home some version of the Trans-Global Express, and the ideals that it represents. All aboard! --The Reckoner

Links To Go (Raise A Glass
To The Republic, As It Still Stands):

Lucid: Instead Of A Red Wave, The Midterms

Produced A Wave Of Firsts In American Politics:
https://lucid.substack.com/p/instead-of-a-red-wave-the-midterms

New York Times: Abortion On The Ballot:
https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2022/11/08/us/elections/results-abortion.html

The Guardian: "I Never Doubted It":
Why Film-maker Michael Moore Forecast "Blue Tsunami"...:
https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2022/nov/14/us-midterms-film-maker-michael-moore-blue-tsunami

The Huffington Post: How John Fetterman's

"Punk Rock" Campaign Defeated Mehmet Oz:
https://news.yahoo.com/john-fetterman-punk-rock-campaign-104505922.html

Yahoo News: Five Myths That The 2022 Midterms Demolished:
https://news.yahoo.com/5-myths-that-the-2022-midterms-demolished-215620892.html

Yahoo News: What Voters Told Republicans In The Midterms:
https://news.yahoo.com/what-voters-told-republicans-in-the-midterm-elections-212302560.html

Guest Cartoon: The Highwayman Takes On Today's Midterms: "Happy Days Are Here Again"

 <11/14/22: Further Updates/Commentary

To Follow...Shortly!>

<"Happy Days Are Here Again":
Take I/The Reckoner>

When we asked our sin-house cartoonist, The Highwayman, to come up with a satirical take on the midterms, he grumbled a bit, mumbling something about how it's hard to parody an entity (the Republican Party) that turned into a cartoon long ago. "Fair enough," The Squawker and I conceded. Especially when you consider the dark, toxic and malignant cartoon that today's GOP has turned into -- the party of COVID bleach cocktails and cat litter box conspiracies that pretends to play by the rules it eagerly seeks to undermine, even as they're itching to get their grubby little paws on the switch. Then he came back, and gave us these three panels.

    <"Happy Days Are Here Again":
Take II/The Reckoner>

As we quickly grasped, however, when The Highwayman barks an immediate "no" at you, it's really his way of saying, "I'm feeling inspired, but haven't sorted out all the details out quite yet." And he found some suitably inspirational music, as you'll see from the links below. These panels pretty well capture it, since -- depending on whose narrative you read -- it appears that massive chunks of our population, the same ones who believe that Trump really won a second term in 2020, are ready to unconditionally trust the empty suits in his party, who continue the quest of catering to America's most aggrieved and neediest man.

<"Happy Days Are Here Again:
Take III/The Reckoner>

That's one possibility, though it's immediately contradicted by the odd glimmer of hope, here and there -- this past week, for instance, I've seen several pieces claiming that youth turnout could match or surpass historic levels today. If that's so, the Democrats may not in be for such a long night. But if people are really just shrugging off the idea that democracy's on the ballot? All I can do is remind them, "Crack open your Weimar Republic histories, and see how well that idea worked out." 

Autocrats don't like workarounds, which they spend a great great deal of energy trying to pre-empt, or stamp out. Yes, it's natural to cling to that belief, but the record doesn't support it -- and if you're not voting today, because you've convinced yourself that "you'll adjust," or "things will work out somehow," you're not only putting yourself at risk. You're putting the rest of us at risk, too, which is the central idea of the Neurotics song quoted here ("Let's Kick Out The Tories").

Funny, isn't it? That song came out exactly 40 years ago, and yet, we're still scrapping over the same old, sane old mad parade of issues. How much -- and how little -- has changed, over the march of time. We'll see how that march turns out today. --The Reckoner

Links To Go (A Punk Rock Ditty A Day
Keeps The Forces Of Reaction At Bay):

The (Newtown Neurotics): Let's Kick Out The Tories:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FqRtFqoVW6k

Chumabwamba: I Get Knocked Down:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2H5uWRjFsGc

The Daily Beast: The Republicans
Are Bad For The Economy: Here's Why:
https://www.yahoo.com/news/republicans-bad-economy-why-083744391.html

TIME Magazine: The Christian Nationalist Forces
That Terrorized Me As A Child Have Grown Only More Powerful:
https://www.yahoo.com/news/christian-nationalist-forces-terrorized-child-165208032.html