A Reality Check on the Values Voter

By Paul McLeary In the last few weeks, there has been much gnashing of teeth and rending of garments among the “reality-based community” about the great new albatross supposedly hanging around the Democratic party’s neck: The Values Voter. As with so many other dumbed-down media constructions (think “Security Mom” or “Nascar Dad”), the sheer intellectual laziness and utter sophistry of the media’s lunging groupthink is here on full display. While it would be foolish to claim that that there isn’t a core group of socially conservative Americans who vote with one hand placed firmly on their Bible, it’s another thing entirely to promote this vocal minority into the stratosphere of the major voting blocs. The history of this supposedly new group can be traced back to a single question in the Election Day exit poll. Question J asked: “Which ONE issue mattered most in deciding how you voted for president?” The answers ran as follows: Education, four percent; Taxes, five percent; Health Care, eight percent; Iraq, 15 percent; Terrorism, 19 percent; Economy and Jobs, 20 percent and the kicker, Moral Values, 22 percent. Yes, moral values had the highest ranking, but just what does it mean to say that people hold moral values to be important? Are they against lying? Cheating? Liberal Hollywood? Adultery? War? Running the numbers.What are we asking when we ask about moral values? Given the exit poll’s muddy terminology, it would probably be helpful if we combine the poll’s choices in a more logical way – grouping them into categories. After all, education, taxes, etc. are incredibly specific answers, while moral values allows for quite a bit of wiggle room in its interpretation. For example, grouping “war issues” (Iraq and terrorism) together, we find that 34 percent of voters felt they were the most important issues facing the country, while economic issues (economy and jobs, taxes, health care) clocks in at 33 percent. When looked at this way, moral values bring up the rear at 22 percent. It seems that despite all the post-election revisionism, the issue Americans are still most concerned about is the war and the West’s fight against violent Islamic fundamentalism. And there’s plenty more where that came from. Remember those weepy Democrats saying that it was gay marriage that sunk Kerry’s chances? Turns out, that wasn’t quite right, either. As Alan Abramowitz over at the Donkey Rising blog reported, “In 11 states with gay marriage referenda on the ballot, the president increased his share of the vote from an average of 55.4 percent in 2000 to an average of 58.0 percent in 2004 – an improvement of 2.6 percentage points. However, in the rest of the country, the president increased his share of the vote from an average of 48.1 percent in 2000 to an average of 51.0 percent in 2004 – an improvement of 2.9 percentage points.” Digging even deeper, we find that voters who cited moral issues as most important gave their votes overwhelmingly to Bush (80 percent to 18 […]

The Sauce Guru of the Fifth Ward

By Catherine McGarry Miller Dion Willis is something of a rarity in today’s world: he’s happy. Barclay’s Executive Chef is a contented family man who loves his job and is so confident in his own abilities that he’ll take on all comers. Although Barclay Gallery and Garden Café in the “Fifth Ward” (Walker’s Point to some of us) is new to the restaurant scene-and owner John LeBrun’s first-Willis has 20 years of cooking experience under his belt. As a youngster, his first kitchen experiment was preparing a pork chop dinner for his mother. But his “real” culinary career started at 15 with a dishwashing job at Chi Chi’s. “I came up through the school of hard knocks” he says of his culinary education. By 16, he’d moved up to the position of appetizer cook and his interest in food blossomed: “I love just grabbing everything and coming up with anything good.” He puts the emphasis on good. You could call him an excitable boy – he seems electrified by his culinary adventures and inventions. A native Milwaukeean, Willis grew up on the city’s North side in a restaurant family – his mother and father ran a George Webb’s at 91st and Carmen for most of their adult lives. At home, his father ran the kitchen: “Dad was the cook [in the family] – Southern, soul food, ribs, chicken, Midwest, everything.” He graduated from Greendale High School, where he played defensive end for the school’s football team. During this time, he put away a lot of pizza and still considers Italian food his favorite. Training under his hero Bob Zappatelli at Zappa’s Restaurant on Silver Spring was an excellent proving ground for Willis. There, Willis developed his proficiency in Mediterranean cookery and complex sauces. The turning point in his career came when he made a curried chicken dish better than the head chef:  Willis knew then that he was well on his way. After Zappa’s, he has worked in the main kitchen at Potawatomi Bingo Casino, home of the lauded Dream Dance and Bya wi se nek Buffet, and two years ago was the first chef at Swank, “the posh eatery” on Water Street. At Barclay’s, Willis started as Sous Chef, but was promoted to Executive Chef within the first week. “We had faith in him and loved his enthusiasm,” owner LeBrun avers with pride. Willis returns the compliment. “I start with the boss man and if he likes it, I make it.” In his own role as boss, Wills is laid back. In his kitchen of ten chefs, one mistake is not enough to banish the Sous Chef to Siberia. Perhaps that’s why many of his Swank staff followed him to Barclay’s. “I’m always smiling. I have the drive to put out good food. I get high on the positive comments and respect constructive criticism.” Willis enhanced the menu created by Barclay’s owners: Buffalo wings for LeBrun’s daughter Laura; sweet & sour chicken without breading for his daughter Sara’s gluten-free […]

By Laura Martin I have always been the type that fought for what I believe in, and this year, there was an inferno lit under my butt. I have watched the last four years as funding has been cut from our education system; I have cringed as the American people were told of a great new program to protect the environment with cleaner air and water that somehow allows for more mercury emissions; my heart has hurt over the injustices suggested by limiting people’s right to live their lives, whether it is an attack on a woman’s right to choose or an individual’s right to marry. This is my story. So I decided to get up off my seat and do something about it. At first, I spent time talking to anyone who would listen. I then worked to register voters. During this process, I was completely non-partisan, as I had vowed to be under oath. As the election drew near, I focused on canvassing door-to-door in my neighborhood. After working eight hours at my day job-the one that pays the bills-I would come home, change clothes and hit the streets. This is how I spent all my free time in the five weeks leading up to the election. I had entirely put my life on hold. My friends and family were understanding and didn’t pressure me to spend time with them, as time was dear. They would have to wait. I hope my nieces will someday understand why I wasn’t there for their soccer games, but nothing-I mean nothing-was going to get in my way. In October, things seemed hopeful. Everywhere I turned, I saw lawn signs encouraging a “regime change;” bumper stickers urging “protect our environment: plant a Bush in Texas” and pins professing “Don’t tell me who to love, and I won’t tell you where to go.” I had vowed to do everything I could ensure an administration change, and I did. But it wasn’t enough. The time is upon us.Before I knew it, it was the Election Day Eve. I was physically and emotionally spent. All I wanted to do was sleep, since I had risen way before the sun the morning before. But there was work to be done. Months of hard work by so many people was about to be tested. Almost everyone I know spent the night before the election preparing. Volunteers worked in the cold and rain putting up signs all over the city. My boyfriend, Bill, and I spent hours organizing each volunteer’s duties. We wore out our tired printer outputting pages and pages of walk lists, all which needed to be sorted and prioritized. All over the country, people just like me were preparing for what was probably the most important election we will see in our life times. The energy of all the months of hard work was coming together; the excitement was contagious. Unlike the morning before, when the alarm went off on Election Day I sprang out […]

An Elegy

By Frizell Bailey Christmas used to be my favorite holiday. And how could it not? Any holiday where you get loads of gifts and can gorge yourself on platefuls of fatty food is all right by me. Besides, this festival of gluttony is a great way to cap off the end of the calendar year. But it was more than that. Christmas, for me, was always first and foremost about family. I grew up in a tiny Mississippi town of the sort that most people think of when they think of the South. There were no fast food restaurants or malls or even a Wal-Mart for 30 miles. We had one stop light on Main Street until it was replaced by a stop sign. Much of my family lived right there in town and had lived there all their lives. Those that didn’t came home several times a year from New York, New Orleans, Chicago and California for family reunions and holidays. By far, Christmas was the granddaddy of them all. There’s no place like home for the holidays.Most years saw our little section of town inundated by convoys of extended family. For a solid week just about every member of the Thomas and Bailey family was “home.” Hotel rooms were rarely an option. The mere mention that someone was considering getting a room was sure to offend and be dismissed as sheer nonsense. So kids doubled up in twin beds or slept on the floor. My parents’ three-bedroom house, which usually seemed unable to accommodate the six of us, suddenly seemed spacious enough to hold up to seven additional people. I would gather with groups of my aunts and female cousins in family kitchens to prepare copious amounts of food:  turkey and dressing, glazed ham, potato salad, several cakes and sweet potato pies. We would usually stay up late into the night, and each of the following nights, catching up and generally enjoying one another’s company. On Christmas day, the children would, of course, spend much of the day playing with their new toys while being ushered between Big Momma’s and M’deah’s (my maternal grandmother) house. My father and uncles could usually be found watching football and savoring brews in between munching on turkey and dressing and playing with the kids and their new footballs or radio-controlled cars. Holidays with my family, however, were not entirely like the Waltons. Ours, like most, had its share of dysfunction. There were often arguments and disagreements about one thing or another. And because holidays often meant the consumption of large amounts of alcohol, there were sometimes arguments that escalated into fisticuffs or, worse, gun brandishing. It may sound like a horrifying thing, but if you knew my family it would all seem quite humorous and harmless. These arguments usually ended in lots of apologies and tears, brothers hugging and saying how much they loved each other. But sometimes, you can’t go home again.It has been a number of years since we have […]

Leonard Cohen

By John Hughes In the song “On That Day,” Leonard Cohen – arguably the wisest man in music – addresses September 11, 2001. Original perspective, even revelation, is expected from a writer such as Cohen, tangling with that subject. The song lasts all of two minutes and four seconds, is highlighted by the playing of a weirdly comic Jew’s Harp, and concludes with the underwhelming question, “Did you go crazy/or did you report/on that day/they wounded New York?” So much for revelation. That disappointment sets the tone for Dear Heather. The disc sounds like the career of 70-year-old Cohen ending not with a bang but with a shrug. It’s a grab bag of songs marred by the preponderance of too many brief and minor sketches by the old master, and it fails to add up to much despite some strong moments. Cohen augments his case with a few of the 13 songs: “Go No More A-Roving,” “Villanelle For Our Time,” “Morning Glory,” and “The Faith” recall the Leonard of old-playful, sagacious, penetrating, and moving.  The singing of Anjani Thomas and Sharon Robinson helps a lot, especially because Cohen’s own singing here is even more melancholy than usual. The occasional piano playing of Thomas and the tasteful saxophone renderings of Bob Sheppard contribute musicality. But much of the album achieves little more than easy-listening status, and the record requires only that you listen to it with one ear, rather than the usual full engagement. Dear Heather concludes with a bizarre live version of “Tennessee Waltz,” a lurch into country music as unsettling as YoYo Ma trying his hand at rock and roll might be.  What was he thinking? It’s ultimately desultory, sometimes pretty, and disposable.

Rufus Wainwright

By Erin Wolf Want Two, Rufus Wainwright’s follow-up to last year’s Want One, is quite the veritable mobile of whirling sonic fancies. Like its predecessor, Want Two hops from cabaret tunes to operatic orchestrations. Borrowing influences from Latin, French and classical sources, Wainwright pens grandiose songs that are rightly focused around his beautifully satiating vocals. Wainwright’s trademark flamboyancy isn’t quite as prevalent as it was on 2001’s Poses. Want One and Want Two are Wainwright toughening up his writing chops, and lyricizing with a bit more introspection and indulging in the morose and despairing, but always shining a ray of light on seemingly dark subjects. Wainwright’s ability to work humor into his lyrics (“I’m so tired of waiting in restaurants / reading the critics and comics alone / with a waiter with a face made for currency“) and his ability to incorporate odds-and-ends instruments such as banjos into his orchestral-like epics-and to make that incorporation seem like a perfectly natural occurrence-is refreshing and uplifting for such serious songs. Therein lies the talent of Rufus Wainwright-with his ability to make the oddly unnatural seem perfectly ordinary, he creates a solid album that is anything but concrete in its structure.

Fu Manchu

By Jeremy M. Rottgen Fu Manchu’s Start The Machine roars with the intensity and consistency of a 502 engine. This is the kind of stuff Marshall stacks and hot-wired humbuckers were made for. This is Fu’s first release since being signed to DRT records. Longtime fans will most likely welcome it because pretty much every song on Start The Machine is a distorted masterpiece. They were allowed more freedom since signing with DRT, and it shows.You’ve got to admire a band that has found the ultimate point between gain and volume, creating an immense guitar sound. The punk philosophy applies as well with no song exceeding three and a half minutes. “Written In Stone” kicks things off with a snarl. Things do slow down a bit toward the middle with “Out to Sea,” a trippy instrumental with enough reverb and echo effects to throw you into a trance-but besides that one break, Start The Machine does not stop churning. Despite being a somewhat unknown success, Fu Manchu have attempted to bring the crunch for many years. They don’t pull any punches when it comes to their releases. It’s consistent and their fans don’t have to guess about what they’re in for next.

The Occasion

By Erin Wolf The Occasion re-define the term “noise-rock.” With jangly tambourines, mellow vocals and garbage-can-drum tendencies, The Occasion’s self-titled debut is immense, reflecting the hills of desert sands that grace the cover of their album-completely enveloping and sensory-sweeping. Quietly pretty in spots with the incorporation of twinkly pianos, and psychedelically hard-hitting with enough guitar distortion, fuzz and feedback to make even Sonic Youth raise their eyebrows, The Occasion make music to suit themselves. Vocals range from anguished plodding on “I Can’t Stop Falling” to Morrissey-like lamentation on “Ease Away.” The latter track best showcases The Occasion’s vastness in sound, with its guitars sporadically strumming amidst the soft, steady shake of a tambourine, and with sliding vocal echoes haunting in the background. Upon first listen, it’s hard to accept this band’s unique and ethereal sound, but upon recognizing the intricacies and creativity found in their music, it’s hard not to feel appreciation for this New York quintet. Coloring within the lines is definitely not on their musical agenda-indeed, coloring outside the lines has never sounded so inviting.

Chronicles, Volume One

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