Denise Sullivan

Author, Journalist, Culture Worker

Your Golden Sun Still Shines, an anthology of San Francisco writing, now available

Your Golden Sun Still Shines, the new collection of San Francisco stories I edited for Manic D Press is now available at independent bookstores everywhere (and directly through the publisher’s website).  I had a most gratifying experience working with all of the writers I invited and eventually selected for inclusion in the book: Part of the process for me was connecting with each individual’s writing style and finding my own voice as an editor. I found I really enjoyed the whole process, especially working one on one with fellow writers and San Franciscans and learning more about their stories. Together, we compiled what I hope is an enjoyable portrait of the City in the here and now, with flashes of the past and future added for context and your reading pleasure. Here’s a snippet from the blurb:

This collection of uniquely San Francisco stories from a wide range of voices wrests wisdom from chaos and channels boundless progressive energy into lyrical short stories and personal narratives, demonstrating that grace and resilience under pressure are as much a measure of San Francisco’s legacy as they are a determination of its future.

We had a wonderful book launch event in October at our annual literary festival Litquake. As we continue to do readings throughout this fall, winter and next spring, we hope you’ll join us (our next event is on November 12 at Adobe Books in San Francisco at 4 PM:  Featured readers are Tony Robles, Shizue Seigel and Norman Zelaya.  All three writers are also poets and fiercely proud San Franciscans whose work shares that special ingredient, “friscosity”).  On November 19 at 4 PM, San Francisco poet laureate Kim Shuck, Kelly Dessaint, Broke-Ass Stuart, Alvin Orloff, Shizue Seigel and I will be in discussion at City College San Francisco for the Howard Zinn Book Fair. The remaining contributors to the collection include Dee Allen., Jorge Tetl Argueta, Peter Case, Patsy Creedy, Stefanie Doucette, Lynell George, John Goins, E. Hagan, Michael Koch, Raluca Ioanid, Sylvia J. Martinez, Alice Elizabeth Rogoff, Don Skiles, Anna Maria Smith and Barbara Stuaffacher Solomon. I have nothing but love and respect for all of the writers, and I truly appreciate their efforts to make Your Golden Sun shine.  Please drop us a line and let us know what you think of our book.  And I’ll keep you posted on upcoming appearances and news here, too.  Thank you!

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Filed under: Arts and Culture, Book news, Books, San Francisco News, Tales of the Gentrification City, ,

Remembering Tom Petty

Tom Petty was born today in 1950 in Gainesville, Florida.  He died suddenly earlier this month at home in Los Angeles.

Like countless rock ‘n’ roll fans of my generation, I loved the music of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers from the first notes I heard.  I saw the band perform countless times in every decade they worked, from an early band show at the Santa Cruz Civic Auditorium, to an intimate gig at McCabe’s Guitar Shop, where Petty and guitarist Mike Campbell sat in with J.J. Cale.  The Heartbreakers and their leader made it look easy, in the way that only musicians who are of one mind do: The mastery of their musicianship and its intensity, particularly over the three nights I saw them during their historic Fillmore run, remains burned in my consciousness. When I call up the memory, I can feel the room levitate as it did each night during “Runnin’ Down A Dream.” Not every concert is like that.

This month’s column is dedicated to the music and memory of Tom Petty with a focus on his quiet work as a philanthropist, and not so quiet work as a rock ‘n’ roll giant.  READ THE WHOLE ARTICLE at Tourworthy.

 

Filed under: Obituary, rock 'n' roll, Rock Birthdays, , , ,

Peace Punks, Hate Speech & Berkeley

Green Day at Gilman, photo by Murray Bowles

In 1988, the peace punks who congregated at 924 Gilman Street in Berkeley, California, had a choice to make: To meet encroaching skinheads with violence or to fight back with the tactics of non-violence. Choices were made, the inevitable schisms from within ensued, and life went on, as the new documentary, Turn It Around: The Story of East Bay Punk, tells. While the story and other tales of punk rock glory illustrate punk’s inherent contradictions and what happens when utopian ideals like egalitarianism and rule-by-committee are put to the test, the film is also in perfect synch with the hate speech controversy happening on the UC campus this fall.

“The film played in Charlottesville a few weeks back,” explained its director, Corbett Redford. “Someone from the audience commented, ‘This is how allies work. Allies stand up.’”

The punks of Gilman, far more of them straight, white, and male than queer, people of color, or women, did indeed stand up to the Nazi strain in their midst. And yet, the politics of waging peace and the how music fits into those politics is often more nuanced and complicated than taking up of pitchforks, tiki torches, or baseball bats.

READ THE WHOLE STORY AT DOWN WITH TYRANNY!

Filed under: Arts and Culture, film, Punk, , , , , ,

Rumble: The Indians Who Rocked The World Is A Revelatory New Documentary

Forget everything you think you know or have been told about the birth of the blues and the histories of jazz and rock ‘n’ roll: Rumble – The Indians Who Rocked The World has a different story to tell and by the sound of it, much of what’s been handed down to us about North American music and its origins has been wrong.
The sound of the American South – the rush of its waters, the song of the bird, the crack of thunder and the rain that follows – informs the sound of Native American music, the root of all other American forms.

Take the story of the Mississippi Delta’s Charley Patton, widely acknowledged to be the father of the country blues. An existing photograph of him reveals he is likely a man of mixed race origins, though without clear proof, historians have remained inconclusive in their findings. Rumble reveals through interviews, research, and recordings, that Patton’s blood ties are to the Chocktaw nation and moreover, his connection to Native American music contributed to the rhythmic and vocal patterns of what we know as country blues. In the film, musician Pura Fé (Tuscarora) a/b’s his technique with a turntable and her voice: “That’s Indian music with a guitar,” she says. Calling on a kind of pre-blues origin of his sound, the assembled scholars and musicians, including modern day bluesmen Corey Harris and Alvin Youngblood Hart, go into deeper explanation of Patton’s relationship to Dockery Plantation, the setting where he developed a showstopping style living among Black, Choctaw, and European farmworkers. He went on to pass on what he knew to other area musicians like Son House and visiting players like the young Roebuck Staples and Chester Burnette (who of course became Howlin’ Wolf). So why is Patton’s history generally painted so sketchily in the history books? READ THE ANSWER & THE ENTIRE ARTICLE in Down With Tyranny!

Filed under: Arts and Culture, film, , , , , , , ,

Mavis Staples & Buffy Sainte-Marie: Over 100 Years of Singing Strong

Two American icons of freedom singing, Buffy Sainte-Marie and Mavis Staples, are out on the road entertaining this summer, though don’t expect them to stay quiet on matters of national and international interest.  This pair were on the front line of the Civil Rights Movement and have been strong presences for peace in our time, as well in the movements for African American equality, women’s rights, Native American sovereignty,  religious freedom, and environmental healing.  Between them, they have over 100 years of speaking truth to power in a song.  Read all about them in my monthly column for Tourworthy.

Filed under: anti-war, column, Women's rights, , , ,

Amadou & Mariam: Visionary Mali Music

From Ali Farka Touré to Tinariwen, the music of Mali is as diverse as that of the US. This summer, one of the country’s finest combos, the rock/electronic/blues duo Amadou & Mariam, return to the states for a series of shows. For this month’s column in Tourworthy, I capsulize their history and speak to some of their collaborations with alternative musicians around the world.  I also talk to noted disability scholar, Leroy Moore Jr. about the realities of musicians from Africa touring with disabilities (Amadou & Mariam are both legally blind).  Take a look and listen to the couple’s new single, “Bofou Safou,” and link to the full story here.

Filed under: Arts and Culture, Blues, column, cross cultural musical experimentation, Mali, video, , ,

Mumia Abu-Jamal & Matters Of Black Life

I have composed my thoughts about the new book, Have Black Lives Ever Mattered? by political prisoner, Mumia Abu-Jamal. Read the piece by clicking through to Down With Tyranny!

Abu-Jamal’s collection of essays, published by City Lights Books, covers the extrajudicial killings of Black Americans since the late ’90s to the present. The writings are an attempt to examine how the country arrived at its new stage of intolerance and what can be done from here. As told from the perspective of a writer who has spent the last 30 plus years behind bars, and most of those years on Death Row, the analysis proves to have been prescient in its wisdom and precise in its depiction of the US problem with white supremacy and law enforcement’s impunity when it comes to taking Black lives. I hope you’ll let me know what you think.

 

Filed under: anti-war, Books, income disparity, police, racism, , , , ,

Congratulations Kim Shuck

Kim Shuck was named the new Poet Laureate of San Francisco today. Author of several collections of poetry, editor of anthologies and contributor to countless publications and journals, Kim is part Cherokee, part Polish, and is a fifth generation San Franciscan currently living in the Castro District.

“I’m delighted and flattered and ready to get on with the job,” she told me this morning upon the announcement of her post. “It’s not about me as much as it is about poetry and supporting poetry in the City.”

A lifelong reader, educator, lover of San Francisco’s libraries, its poetry, and writing history, I know Kim best as the curator of the Gears Turning Poetry Series which started at Modern Times Bookstore Collective in early 2015 and ran until the store’s closing at the end of 2016 (Gears Turning continues at Adobe Bookshop). Thanks to her efforts, her monthly reading series hosted a truly diverse, intellectually gifted, and emotionally-deep line-up of Native American readers and San Francisco poets, from the Mission to North Beach: She introduced voices that are not always featured at the usual bookstore readings and helped to restore a sense of normalcy to a bookstore that was having trouble surviving the new San Francisco.  She will be publishing a book of collected works by the poets in the series soon.

Kim’s own poems explore life’s often ineffable and sometimes more tangible mysteries, the light and the dark of them. The work is at once lyrical, traditional, and new. There is joy and grief and hope to be found in the collections of her poems, Clouds Running In, Rabbit Stories, Smuggling Cherokee, and the chapbook, Sidewalk Ndn. She is also an awarding-winning bead work artist.

Kim steps into the poet laureate position where Alejandro Muguía leaves it:  Both Alejando and Kim identify as poets of the People and of the Mission District, though they certainly have their respective histories and ties to San Francisco’s other poetry district, North Beach.  But what I really wish to acknowledge here is their tireless (a cliché, but true) efforts to raise the Mission’s profile as a literary destination in itself and for never saying no when called upon to read, present, or otherwise boost poetry in the neighborhood and beyond it.

A side note: Yesterday’s NPR program Fresh Air featured an interview with Native American writer, Sherman Alexie who noted there were fewer Indian voices at work than when he started publishing. He joked he and Louise Erdich hoped for a Native American writing renaissance and I immediately thought wait: What about the recent poetry prize awarded to Joy Harjo? What about Kim Shuck? Today’s news confirms that Native voices, and all the poets of San Francisco, past, present, and future, will be well-tended to in the hands of our seventh poet laureate. Congratulations to her.

 

 

Filed under: Book news, Books, California, Poetry, Women's issues, , ,

Song For My Father

I have an image of him in the late ’50s: Still underage, he sneaks through the curtains at the front door of the hungry i, the Keystone Korner, or the Purple Onion, slinks into one of the seats in back, and gets lost in music.

He must’ve told me of the nights as a teenager, he went to hear Dave Brubeck, Gil Evans, Gerry Mulligan, and the Mastersounds, with Wes Montgomery. But it wasn’t until he died that I understood what it meant to be there in North Beach, San Francisco, Saturday night, 1958 or ’59: The Beats had arrived, and Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg passed through, but my dad was from across town—the Sunset, Ocean Beach, a Catholic boy—and the cleanest cut kid in the joint. Lenny Bruce worked in the area and would’ve called him “Jim,” the comedian’s nickname for a stiff-necked straight, but my father was no square: I like to imagine the neighborhood regulars welcoming him, an innocent among hipsters for the night.

As a child, I didn’t grasp that my dad was a jazz fan, though his stack of interesting looking records were his only possessions I ever admired. I realize now that his was a modest-sized collection, though it was very tidy, very specific and very, very cool. It was Cool Jazz, also known as West Coast, that he favored and he had every recording by the Modern Jazz Quartet featuring Milt Jackson. I guess he liked Jackson’s vibraphone because Cal Tjader’s records were also well represented, along with MJQ sound-a-likes the Mastersounds with Buddy Montgomery on vibes, and his brother Monk on bass, and sometimes Wes on guitar. Piano jazz also rated on his scale – Brubeck was a hero, as was iconoclast Ahmad Jamal. And there were even stranger sounding names to this kid –J oao Gilberto, Antonio Carlos Jobim and Laurindo Almeida – with their pronunciations that confounded me, and their breezy bossa nova guitars that captured the scene at Ipanema Beach. And then there were the Stans: Getz and Kenton, alongside tenor sax man, Rahsaan Roland Kirk (who was still just Roland back then). Flipping through the stacks, I felt like I knew these jazzmen, in a way others tell me they’ve known Frank Sinatra, James Brown, Bob Dylan and Jerry Garcia; they were like fathers, a part of the family.

It was the colorful, modern art-inspired album covers on the Verve, Prestige, Argo, and Fantasy labels that first drew me in, long before I knew anything about musical shapes, colors or subtleties, and all the shades they could throw. I think of putting one of those records on the turntable now, pouring over the liner notes and getting lost myself, while holding an actual Blue Note or Impulse! sleeve, instead of a reissued imitation. Sure, I could pick up a copy of one or two at a vintage vinyl store but it’s my dad’s records I really want, caked with his energy, accompanied by the stories of their purchase, and a recounting of the historic gigs where the songs came alive for him. I also want his approval and enthusiasm for my taste in the avant-garde and for own small, tidy, and very cool stack of Alice Coltrane, Ornette Coleman and Sun Ra. But even if he were here to sit with me, I don’t know that he’d be all that interested in talking jazz. Somewhere along the way, he left behind his passion for it.

By the mid ‘60s, more and more fans of Cool Jazz had turned to hard bop and rock’n’roll. Times changed, and the City, as we call it, had been psychedelicized.  My dad was a young suburban family man, a periodic drinker who put down the bottle long enough to regain his vision and become a health food nut, a jogger and a tennis bum, long before those things helped define leisure styles in the laidback ‘70s. “Over-committed,” is how he referred to the house, the yard, the two kids and three cars— and his life between jobs just outside San Francisco. Music didn’t figure into that picture. There was no nightlife to pursue there and no trips to town to hear the jams; most all the old clubs had gone dark though North Beach was becoming home to the next generation of outsiders, the art students and punk rockers of my generation. Not yet 40 years old, a suspended driver’s license kept him unemployable and housebound, his wife at work on the swing shift. By day, he slept in the hammock or sat at the kitchen table, pouring filtered coffee through a cone. He stayed occupied, typing mysterious reports and letters on the Royal and watering the lawn, but he never reached for the stack of vinyl or the phonograph, adjacent to the patio, just on the other side of the sliding glass door, in the family room of our California ranch-style home. It was as if getting up, the simple act of putting a needle to a record, was just too much for him: He had entered the no-jazz zone.

Though occasionally he’d ignite the old flame:  He took me to see Cal Tjader locally, though teenage me couldn’t understand why a so-called legend should be playing at St. Francis High School. I heard he rousted my brother and took him to see Milt Jackson at the grand opening of the Mayfield Mall.  Other times, if ever he dug the music in the air, he’d partake of that jazzer’s strange custom, finger-clicking (shoulders hunched). And sometimes while driving, he’d tune into the jazz spot and bop to the radio, occasionally gesturing with an air-cymbal crash. These efforts were simultaneously embarrassing and ethereal for me: Jazz made life bearable, if only for a moment, as we floated off to another land, returning refreshed, after a couple of bars or beats. 

When my dad moved out of the house at the end of the ’70s, my mom gave his records to a young jazz enthusiast, a boy she thought would appreciate them.  I moved back to San Francisco, and I’d heard so did my dad, after he’d done some rambling.  Eventually we got together for lunch, often at St. Francis Creamery in the Mission, and on days he was flush, at Mama’s or Vanessi’s in North Beach. We never spoke of the past — it wasn’t in our repertoire — but the memory of his LPs, their covers, their vibraphone, horn and piano sounds, and their spiraling liner notes occupy a large space in my heart, lighting a space in the darkness of the holy here and now. I wonder, had he lived, if we’d ever get back to jazz, if he would’ve rediscovered his passion for it, or if he would share mine for Mingus and Monk. If only it had occurred to me to have played some Louis Armstrong at his funeral.  What if he’d lived to see his 50s?  Would he have succumbed to the Quiet Storm or held strong?  For sure we’d agree Duke is king, and we most certainly would’ve gone to see Ahmad Jamal at his most recent appearance in town.  But would he still put on that ridiculous posture as he be-bopped down the hall, and would I still reflexively roll my eyes at him?  I will never know, though whatever his style and taste in his 70s and whether we agreed wouldn’t matter, if only he was here, right now.  Because what I really need to ask him, what I really want to know, is why he stopped listening.

 

A version of this piece was published in my 2016 chapbook, Awful Sweet.

Filed under: It's Personal, Jazz, Sunnyside Up, , , , , ,

Latinas And The Roots of American Music

For my monthly column on music making a difference, I tried to capsulize the long history of Latinas contributing to popular music in America. From the earliest phonograph records made by San Antonio’s Lydia Mendoza, to LA’s Alice Bag (pictured here) who helped invent West Coast punk, and into the 21st Century with Fea, that’s nearly 100 years of recording history on their side. Read the entire article here and let me know what you think.

Filed under: Arts and Culture, California, column, cross cultural musical experimentation, Latino culture, Mexican American/Latino Rock, Punk, Texas, , ,

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