Conquistador

We are now on our way to Valencia. The countryside is really similar to southwestern US, west Texas maybe. I suppose America covers so much territory that it is possible to find landscapes similar to most places we've been so far. Except here, there are hills and olive groves, probably much more like California than Texas. Little of both.
I haven't had a chance to talk about some of our trip and I'm sure most stories will come back to me when I have a chance to relax after the tour and process everything. Just now we are driving past a monastery from the 15th century. I now take back what I said about California. Perhaps the dirt is as old, but there will never be this monastery enclosed in a fortress-style wall on any US tour. Damn. It's incredible. Just sitting up on a hilltop of geometrically cut field plots of different colored greens and clay--some new crops, some freshly plowed, not yet baked--still dark with moisture.
Spain, as a country, is very tied to North Carolina's history, albeit almost completely indirectly, yet, nonetheless, importantly. The first thing that comes to mind is, just as American soil was becoming sought after, tensions between England and Spain delayed John White from returning to the NC Outer Banks with supplies, causing the intended Cittie of Raleigh to fail, or, at least to become the legendary Lost Colony (see previous entry "Manifesto" on this topic).
Our songs "Leaves Do Fall" and "Outnumbered" are imagined tales of the real life people of the Lost Colony. That's one connection NC has with Spain. The other indirect connection that comes to mind is Cortez. Where to begin? When I think of Cortez, I think of a rustic wooden doorway, and just beyond the doorway are bloody naked bodies, piled like meat, on top of which are women screaming, being raped at knifepoint. I see it happen from the other side of the door, from the bystander's point of view, and I feel the weight of the guilt of the survivor. This is how I read history books--in a series of awful images, which is why I read so few of them anymore. Back to Cortez. The other main thing I think of is the burning of the aviaries. One of the single most offensive maneuvers of warfare I've heard--to burn to the ground the beautiful aviaries full of all kinds of beautiful birds in order to burn to the ground a symbol of a people's pride in their native land. This is how the native South Americans took the Spanish language. With a death to their insides.
Our connection, then, is that the immigrants from South America are currently North Carolina's fastest growing community because of the attractive jobs in agriculture, among other things, and we have been lucky enough to get introduced to a new language and culture naturally. Not at all the way they came by it. But we share our English, in return, which is rich with it's own stories of defeat for native North Americans. That's the way I guess. Sometimes I wish I knew how to speak the language of my own Indian ancestry--not to communicate as that would be difficult, but just to know. And I wish I knew the love stories. Was there a Cherokee boy my English relative fell for? Or was it the other way around? I wonder if these kids fought with their parents--"She's not your color!" I can imagine they must have. The isolated mountain relatives of mine probably have all the stories I want to hear, but I have only met them once, at my grandfather's funeral and I was just a little girl then.

This landscape brings all this to mind for some reason. Everything is so tenuously connected for me--little ligaments of fact stringing together all kinds of information, some imagined, mostly imagined, triggered by sensory impressions.
______________
Just back from the gas station stop and I realized something in there--this journal entry may seem anti-Spain. But all that stuff about Cortez seems impossible now that I look around at these olive groves and even this morning, in the city. Impossible. I can't imagine how an awful conquistador could have been borne of this country, but then, I'm an American so I can relate. Saskia said it best when, on the day of the war protest in Raleigh, she said, "I love my country, but I fear my government."

33,000 Feet

So many things have happened on this trip and I think, I wish somebody from home were here to see this so they could corroborate that it actually happened. And 20 years from now we could talk about how surprised and happy we were.
Today was a pretty nice day before the show too. We walked around and had pizza on the square close to downtown--close to our hotel. We had to buy some new pedals for Ivan since some of his got taken from the stage in Vienna (really, who would do this and, by the way, I feel so bad for what will happen to this person's karma).
By the time we got to the venue just past noon, there had already been a number of pre-sold tickets so we were happy that people were committed. But we were not prepared for what actually happened. After sound we had some light dinner and by the time we got back to the venue, it was totally packed--in America it probably would have sold out far earlier. Very special. And now we sleep.
That reminds me of a story I thought of on the plane to Madrid. I was so afraid on this particular flight that I had imagined that the wing might fall off and it would mean a certain crash. So here is a rough outline for a story I am working on and which I am sure Ivan should write a melody for so we can make it into a song.
________________________
A couple seated side by side is sucked out of the plane, in tact, when the wing tears off. The wind is so strong and cold that it is impossible to speak, even though they do not think to speak. They are strapped into adjoining seats, in open air, at 33,000 feet. They look at one another with their eyes and then, with their hands--they clasp one another's throats and tighten their grips. They hold their breaths in, even though they would not be able to breathe by this time, tightening their hands with all their strength at 22,000 feet. Her eyes well up, which is normal, and his eyes close so that he does not have to watch. They are no longer conscious of the fall at 16,000 feet--only the wind. They think of nothing, for a while, and then, at 12,000 feet, they think of their first little house. They think of how nice it was to live there, together. Then, they think of the day they moved out of the house and how happy they were to be going to a new place, but how sad they were to leave behind the place where so many memories were made. That day, after all the rooms had been inspected, after all the lights except one had been put out, they stood at the front door thinking. The first time they brought furniture in here, they thought: "How much larger a room seems when it is empty!" And that spot--the spot by the window--was the best place to lay during a rainstorm. The water would run off that particular corner of the house in a torrent, causing a great and comforting noise. And over there--that fireplace mantle was never really repaired properly was it? It is interesting the way broken things become one's own and flaws begin to blend, becoming invisible with everyday use. Now, empty, they can see the room again the way they saw it in the first place. And then, at 2,000 feet, they close the door and walk out.

To the people of Madrid

You people in Madrid... damn. I was thinking there would be only a few people at the show, especially since we were the only band on the bill, but this was amazing. I really don't have any other way to say it. It was amazing. Ivan just came in and is calling for time out because he wants me to stop typing so we can talk about how great the show was again. All of you singing along and everything--we can't figure out what just happened. But we like it!!!
That's what I'm talking about. Jumping, dancing, and singing with us. You were especially great on Boxcar. Thank you.

Easter in Stockholm Part 1--the food!!!

It has been a few days since I updated this journal but so much has been happening. It was easter in Stockholm with our friends from Shout Out Louds. I have been telling Ted that I want him to write a book called, The Scandinavian Man's Guide to Hospitality. He was the kind of host who was awake 30 minutes before everyone else, making coffee and breakfast. On our first day there, he woke us up to a breakfast of ham, cheese, and Swedish bread (like Wasa bread). Then he and the guys went to the grocery store and picked up everything for a traditional Swedish Easter dinner--which was amazing. Lots of herring, anchovies, cured salmon, and two different potato casseroles with herring--one creamy and one creamy and salty. Everyone came over and I think we had 12 or 13 of us at the table. We were so happy. They taught us some Swedish drinking songs, which are sang at the table with everyone's little glass raised. It will probably be one of my favorite memories when I'm old. After dinner and after after-dinner cofffee and dessert, Bebban and I walked around the city and shopped. Only for a little while though because I had to get to sound check. The show was later that night. We weren't sure if many people would turn up because we don't have a record label in Sweden, or even distribution, but there were a lot of people there and people were dancing so much during the show, and got more excited over their favorite songs, it became clear that some of these people already have the records. Not to mention this venue was in the top floor of a theatre building and was enclosed with windows looking over the water and the city so it couldn't have been more beautiful.
The next morning Ted brought us down to a breakfast of Swedish yogurt with applesauce and cloudberries, which can only be found in northern Sweden where they can only be grown wild. There was also bread, cheese, caviar, soft-boiled eggs, and a plate of different kinds of cured or smoked fish. Seriously, he's writing this book.
For Sunday Adam had arranged for a special day, which was a real surprise. We drove to Adam's family's summer house and had Easter Sunday dinner with them. When we arrived, we went into a sunny room at one end of the house to have drinks and some pretty amazing cured salmon on toast. The sauce was a whipped, oil-based cream with anchovies and spices. Then we went into the dining room for dinner, which was a roast of deer with a dark gravy--probably a red wine reduction but I have to get the recipe, potatoes au gratin, cranberry sauce, and a mixed green salad in a vinagrette. Everything was so delicious and real, the textures of the foods were just right and being with Adam's family made me feel so at home and comfortable. They're all really warm and there's a little one who is especially adorable--a two year old who's only English words are "I love you." He was a little shy so I'm going to have to learn more Swedish so I can talk with him next time we visit.
After dinner we put boots on and walked down to the lake and around the fields which all reminded me so much of North Carolina. There aren't many places in the world where long-leaf pines can flourish so it's not common to see them. But the mix of long-leaf pines and oak trees was an immediate reminder of Raleigh because it's the part of North Carolina that has a mix of hard woods and pine and in just the same ratio. The lake was still frozen, unlike Raleigh, even though it was reasonably warm and sunny. Spring is new for Sweden--their daffodils are a month out still and ours bloomed one month ago.

Semana Santa

After dinner tonight Giorgio, Ivan, and I walked down the street to see the processional for Semana Santa. The streets were so crowded that we decided not to try to get close to the cathedral, through which all the processional participants must travel, but we still got to see one large church's float in honor of Jesus. In front and behind this float were endless streams of people dressed in black cloaks and tall, pointy hats which are designed to hide their shame as they are sinners. The KKK in America latched onto this look and appropriated it, turning it into something so disturbing that for Americans like us, seeing these processionals here is difficult. On first seeing them, my heart sank and I felt flush with fear. You can probably see why in this photo I snapped. I'll try to post some footage too--maybe tomorrow.

La Rubia... she came in very late last night.

Our show in Seville was fantastic--everyone had a good time and there were lots of people dancing and singing along! We were very happy.
Then we went out to the afterparty where we met lots of fun people and partied until 6:30 a.m. Tonight I went to the theatre and one of the guys from the label said that he bumped into the lady who owns the little hotel we are staying in and she said, "La Rubia... she came in very late last night." I can imagine she said this with the face, "you know what I mean?" He was laughing. He said, "I heard you had... a good time last night." Es verdad. Right now it is around 5:00 a.m. and we just got back to the hotel but everyone is just now starting to leave the bars. We left a packed bar (the fun club) and I was thinking, "These people do not stop," but now, an hour later, our neighbors are just getting in and the people down on the street are laughing and it sounds like there are some discussions about who they saw at the bar and who said what. I thought I was a mistress of the night, but in Sevilla...

We are in Spain!!!

Well, I no longer feel like Joseph K. More in control of going where I want to go instead of running around trying to have myself "arrested." You know?
I was in the shower a little while ago wondering where Sevilla's water comes from. Does it come up from the south--from the Straights of Gibraltar? It could be the same water Morocco drinks. Does it come from the north--near Madrid, following the same route we took today? Does it come from below us--from an aquifer or some ancient construct conceived of by an inventive genius I can imagine having leathery-tanned skin and an engineer's focus, eyes squinted from the sun and from the weight of ideas. Or is it from a river--like how we get our water at home? I was shaving my legs with the little bottle of Kiss My Face cream I keep in my bag and, since I always use the lavender kind, I thought, "I wonder if the scent of this will make me miss being home?" But I can't remember if it did because I started thinking of the conversation I'd had with the man on the late-night lobby shift downstairs. I said, "Hola. Necissito...mi...llave? por favor?" He then, obvioulsy impressed by my facility with the language, rattled off 45 seconds of friendly and totally incomprehensible Spanish as he handed me a key attached to a fat, inflated intertube with stick-on numbers. We both just looked at the key and laughed because, this is the key.
Eariler today we were picked up at the Sevilla airport and taken to our hotel, where we all promptly took a long, post-24 hours of traveling (flights/connections/running around airports) nap. I awoke to a little baby crying in the room next door. The mama was consoling the baby in Spainish and I thought... I'm in Spain! We are staying in the old district where geraniums and vines on balconies hang into cobblestone streets so narrow, you sometimes have to step into a doorway to let a car pass. We ate at a little restaurant that could have been transported from the lower east side of NYC just this morning, kitch and Scandinavian-modernity in tact. Our waitress had a fashionable haricut and a tight little shirt that said "Rock Star" on it in metallic lettering. She asked Girogio about our show tomorrow night but said she can't go because she'll have to work.
I was surprised to see how much things are the same in the bohemian communities wherever you go. The food and wine, however, was... way different. Richer. And the coffee was delilcious. I mean, it was a regular cup of coffee but it tasted like a secret recipe involving a seriously rare combination of ingredients passed down through traditional songs. For the main course, Giorgio and I had a fillet of fish with a tomato and bay leaf sauce spooned over the top and Ivan had roasted pork with a light fruit jelly. Then we all had a little chocolate mousse cake for dessert.
We walked over to meet everyone at the South Pop Festival that is already going on. We bumped into lots of people who spoke English well and even one other American from the festival. Then we walked around a little more before coming back to our little hotel. And now we are caught up. I'll post some photos tomorrow and some news on our trip to see the cathedral. I heard that Sunday is the big, opening processional to the cathedral for Holy Week.
que bueno.

Rosebuds go to Europe

I was reading The Trial by Kafka a number of years ago when I realized that I am a lot like Joseph K. I tried to explain this to a European friend and as an example I said, "You know. I want to go to Europe for example. But I never will because it is too expensive and because I don't have a passport and because I will keep inventing excuses. I arrest myself."

The Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks

All these fellows were there inside
when she entered, utterly naked.
They had been drinking, and began to spit at her.
Recently come from the river, she understood nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The taunts flowed over her glistening flesh.
Obscenities drenched her golden breasts.
A stranger to tears, she did not weep.
A stranger to clothes, she did not dress.
They pocked her with cigarette ends and with burnt corks,
and rolled on the tavern floor in raucous laughter.
She did not speak, since speech was unknown to her.
Her eyes were the color of faraway love,
her arms were matching topazes.
Her lips moved soundlessly in coral light,
and ultimately, she left by that door.
Hardly had she entered the river than she was cleansed,
gleaming once more like a white stone in the rain;
and without a backward look, she swam once more,
swam toward nothingness, swam to her dying.

Pablo Neruda

Seattle

We miss you Seattle. I was just thinking about how nice it was to play at the Triple Door and have all our radio supporters in the audience and all those sparkley stars in the stage curtain behind us. That was really special.

Bohemian Revolution

There really has to be a bohemian revolution. Perhaps a third major political party composed primarily of young people from the creative class or anyone capable of dissent--those concerned for the future of our country who are unafraid of a fight. We'd start by talking about it at the coffee shop and the social club and we'd talk about the impending doom of social security and the apocolypse that will ensue with the upcoming mass exodus of baby boomers from the jobs they've been holding, causing young able-bodied, able-minded job seekers to find themselves floundering, which causes those older job holders to look upon us with a sense of entitlement and say that we're slackers or whatever it is they say.
This political party should be called something resembling what it is: the party of the people is my vote. My friend Luke said, "Don't you think that sounds communist?" Hum. Maybe? No, it's not a "communist" organization but it should have social justice issues at it's core. It's not even radical in my opinion. Most things we want are already in place to some degree. For example, we (in the party) could all agree on universal health care being necessary and then reveal the present system for what it is: a failing model of universal health care. I mean, for the uninsured, what do they do? If they are poor enough (and if they are sick enough, they will soon be poor enough) they may qualify for medicaid. Lots of musicians I know qualify and have some coverage through medicaid. This is a social service. I presume the doctor and hospital bills that go unpaid are absorbed, causing hikes in costs for the contributing members of today's system, which in turn causes insurance and self-paid trips to the doctor too expensive. This a simplified version, mainly for the purposes of the conversation, but also, how difficult does it have to be? It seems so common sense and elementary to me. So the health care system we have now, I'm saying, is already forced to account for the poor no matter what. Eventually everybody needs some health care no matter who they are or what their financial situation is. So why not treat our basic needs? That's the job of everyone--to create a country wherein we take care of our basic needs. This is in our best intrest as a country, even for economic reasons. Take care of everyone and it makes us more economically competitive. If you compare our country to a restaurant, it wouldn't take long to see that an efficient country would take care of it's own, no matter how poor, just like an efficient restaurant would take care of it's, I don't know, dishwashing staff. Without the dishwasher, the restaurant would fall apart. Those of us who have spent a lot of time working in a restaurant know the heirarchy is dishwasher, cooks, kitchen manager for the kitchen and then host, waiter, floor manager in the front of the house. Without the dishwasher, everything, all the way up and in both the kitchen and the front of the house, would fall apart.
Okay, this is the first example of an issue the party could take up as part of the platform we'd run on. And we'd aim to put together enough of a membership to actually run for office. Our human and common sense issues would connect to lots of people and we wouldn't have to affiliate ourselves with a side or religion or corporation because it's a new invention. In a debate, some crabby old man would call us a liberal or maybe even communist organization, but we won't accept any shit talking because WE label ourselves, WE define our movement, and WE choose our pursuits. We'll point this out. It'll be pitiful to see an old man who is losing his grip on power attempt to defend his platform by insulting the other. It's not reasonable but it'll be his desperation compelling him to do it.
I'm going to keep thinking and talking about this.

Ronnie Spector

Our last show of 2005 was last night in Atlanta with Ronnie Spector. We played just before she went on and after we finished I didn't go back stage because I didn't want to see her before she went on. I wanted to feel like I was at a show instead of in on a show. I found a little spot close to the side of the stage so I could watch her walk on and all that. It was strange to see her burst out onto the stage and begin singing. I don't know what I was expecting but it was really Ronnie Spector. I think I thought it would be different but it was as if we were watching a performance sliced from another era. Her voice was so strong and her range was so much more impressive than I would have been able to understand by listening to records. She sang the hits, of course, but there were some little known and completely unknown gems in there as well. I heard she has another record coming out in the future (it's been years and years since the last) and I know she's added some vocals to the upcoming Raveonettes record but I haven't heard any of these things yet.
I should have taken photos. I don't know what possessed me to leave the camera at home. ???

September/October

Nashville Recording Artist

So these are some photos of the September/October tour. They are older but better late than never. The little girls are the dance group who performed just before us at the city festival we played in Ivan's home town. That was a lot of fun. I was surprised to see how many little kids and old folks walked up and sat down in the grass and around to watch us. I think they liked it. I know the little kids liked it because we had some dancing babies but the old folks liked it too. They didn't watch the guy after us who was playing acoustic covers (Brown Eyed Girl, etc.) and they weren't really into the earlier musical act, the "Nashville recording artist" who was playing mostly covers of country songs. But the dancers and the Rosebuds they liked. So I felt happy about that. Some people will respond to original art if they are exposed to it so more city party planners should consider getting us to play, or Portastatic, or Crooked Fingers, or, I don't know, the Strokes.
One more thing about that Nashville recording artist: if anybody, say Ivan, went to Nashville and recorded a song at a studio in the city limits, wouldn't he be considered a "Nashville recording artist"? You should have seen this band. It was embarrassing. Not the costumes: red, white, blue shirts with large stars on them, and not the hats either, oversized suede cowboy hats, but the white, stretched Lincoln Navigator limosine with a trailer attached that they were traveling in (see attached photo). I can only hope that the singer's husband was a Nashville limo driver for recording artists or something because otherwise, that was just repulsive. Probably not to other people though. I guess other people see an SUV limo and think, "Nashville recording artist!!!"

We put our Christmas tree up. It's a large, white, plastic, fiber optic, flashing monster that couldn't look any more fake and that's why we love it. When I saw it flashing and buzzing with all it's internal electrical gadgetry and plastic wonderfulness, I knew Ivan would freak out over it. This past spring I tore out all the old shrubs so that I could plant ones that bloom and are fragrant but now we only have little tiny shrubs so there isn't really a place to put outside lights. Everybody on the street has them on the fence or on small trees or shrubs but we don't have all that yet. But we bought a lot of those strings of ceramic lights--the big bulbed ones--and now we are stuck. I suggested we put some on the mailbox and Ivan suggested we put them on the big, green, city-issued trash can and wheel it out to the front. He said something like, "you know, dress it up." It has to be illegal and I guess we'll find out.

Ft. Lauderdale

We are in Ft. Lauderdale tonight for the first time. Right now we are at Morgan's house (long-time good friend) and everybody is asleep except Morgan and me and we are listening to Born to Run by the boss man and an Andrea Bocelli opera. We just played our last night with Shout Out Louds and were so sad to say goodbye to them. They are just great people and the best of friends now. You know how it is when you just really click with someone. We are missing them already.
Tonight they came on stage and sang along to "Blue Bird" and we clapped and sang along to "Hurry Up Let's Go" and it felt like so much real fun. After the show, all night, I tried so hard to have fun but i just felt sad to lose them.
I'll be posting some photos from the shows soon.
Maybe I should sleep now since we have to drive to Savannah, GA tomorrow.

thanksgiving

hi everybody. we went to a little home-style cooking restaurant in austin, tx tonight with the shout out louds and it was a lot of fun. most of them were very interested in the traditional thanksgiving dinner and when they ordered, they consulted us on the quality and authenticity of the sides. Ted said he liked the fried okra but i think he was just being nice because i told him it was my favorite. mostly the turkey with stuffing was the jam. so, after the dinner we went to play pool and foosball and get to know each other better. "Cheers" in Swedish is "skol" like "skull" but i think i'm spelling it wrong. it also has an "a" with the circle over it. After a long night of hanging out and being secretly sad about just general thanksgiving stuff, i decided the best thing to do would be to throw myself into the Swedish culture and so Ted and Carl taught me to toast properly (the Swedish way) by looking each member of the party in the eye while saying SKOL and then drinking and then making eye contact again. Also, if there are more than two people in the party, each should be aware of the arm with which they "cheers" each other so that if they are sitting side-by-side, for example, they should click left hand to right hand so that they create a circle-like shape with their bodies and arms, signifying closeness. If there are three people or more, it doesn't matter but if one-on-one, we must sit next to each other, face each other, click our outer-handed glasses and make eye contact when we say "cheers" and again after we take the sip.
Much better now.
There's a show tomorrow so i should get some sleep. happy thanksgiving everybody. i hope your uncles didn't go on and on about how great they are and i hope your mamas were nice to your girlfriends/boyfrineds. it's hard on everybody so remember that we all have our hang-ups and that we are all human--even the weird family members who don't always seem to present that "human" side first.
everyone's just as strong and/or hurt on the inside. but remember, you are not to tolerate any kind of abuse, not today or ever, from anyone. even family. if they're mean to you, you are not obligated to stay. you have your life to live (really live!) even if they are going the other way.
especially if they are going the other way.
my little 5-year-0ld niece did call this morning to say happy thanksgiving so i do have her and her wonderful, fearless little girlness to be thankful for.
happy thanksgiving.
k

portland and nesting

so, this was our room at the jupiter hotel in portland. i liked it a lot. boutique hotel. i think we could get this same room with one car-load trip to ikea. i think about ikea a lot when i'm on the road. i think about all the things i could get to decorate the house and make it look as cute as the ones in the catalogue. this is what happens to girls when they are put in a van on a rock and roll tour for a month. they start nesting, from satellite locations.

more photos

troubador photos

so, if anybody has show photos, please feel free to add them.
k

More Tour!

Okay, this tour is going great! The Shout Out Louds and The Sun are both great bands, and sweethearts too. And The West Coast was of the hook! Pamona CA and San Francisco were our favorites, with Seattle in there too. The KEXP show at the Triple door should be archived soon. So check out their website for more info. Hey thanks to everyone who is coming out to see us and saying hey. That means a lot when we get to meet you guys at the shows. Saw a break dancing show with the one and only Biz Marke DJing after our show in Seattle. He left a little to be desired as a DJ, but he is American Pop culture at it's finest. Don't forget to go to www.myspace.com/therosebuds for more goodies. We will be spending Thanksgiving in Austin Texas this year. Oh well, it is a holiday based on a fake premise anyway and if it was not for getting to spend time with people we care about we would not celebrate it at all. The songs "Come Back" from the Shout Out Louds, and "Justice" from The Sun are incredible and you need to hear them. Well I better go now. We have a long drive to Austin tomorrow. Till then...

Ivan

Tour!!

So we are on tour now in a hotel room in Billings Montana. One show so far at the Varsity Theater last night in Minneapolis. The Shout Out Louds and The Sun are both great. A beautiful sold out show! Tons of info and all kinds of stuff coming to this blog as soon as we figure how to post everything. Until then, here is a picture of the pirana from the aquarium in Minneapolis MN!

Rosebuds Manifesto 2005

Rosebuds Manifesto 2005

Birds make good neighbors because they are survivors and we have a lot to learn from their example. At the top of spring we had a cardinal couple making a nest on our porch and we were so proud. We bought seed, we took photos, and we watched their progress with excitement and pride. This agitated them and so we started only watching from inside but they caught a glimpse of me at the window twice and, before I was fully aware of what happened, they were gone. They moved out and abandoned the nest they were building. I didn’t intend harm but their concern was rooted in the centuries of information I didn’t have. They chose survival.

Americans, especially the ones afraid or too proud to take responsibility for poor choices that led to any level suffering, love to talk about the tradition of the sacrifice of the few for the benefit of many—the few usually being military folks but I’d also like to recognize for this discussion the inadequately-protected and provided for immigrant community, the non-subsidized artists, the struggling working class and those who inhabit the muck underneath the workers—the undergrounders. It is our position, however, that (as has played out time and time again in our culture) blind allegiance is not patriotism. Not today, but not ever either. The true failure is in not being nimble enough, flexible enough, to admit failure and to accept change.

A lot of the lyrics in Birds Make Good Neighbors deal with choices, in general and/or in specific ways, in the small and familiar lives we live and in the more archetypal, historical accounts of the people who established the first colony in America which was to be the great “Cittie of Ralegh,” modeled on London, but, as it happened through poor choices, they became the group officially known as The Lost Colony. And when I say “archetypal” here, I am referring to that which would become a pattern of failure. Yes there were other bad choices made by others before the Lost Colony--we all know about Columbus and the Spanish policy of rape, murder, and decimation of the Native North and South Americans. For gold or land or power, which, in retrospect, never really equaled amazing prosperity for Spain. That’s a huge story to wrap one’s mind around. Trying to write about it would be like trying to write about any specific war—too enormous. It seems more natural and appropriate to write about the story of regular people like us coming to a new country and how it was for them—full of ideas, hope, contrariness, and, for the casualties, a deadly inability to admit failure or to accept that change may enable survival.

The Lost Colony was a mix of young and old, little kids, newlyweds, pregnant women, business men, teachers, experienced seamen, all of it--the people who came in 1587, even before the Mayflower and the Puritans came to North Carolina, set up a colony and then completely disappeared. They ruined relations with the natives right away, and were either killed by those Indians, or were taken in by a different Indian tribe, offered protection and a new life—not as an English man or woman in an Indian village, but the complete life of an Indian. The first scenario is easy to believe—the colony of 107 people could have easily been slaughtered. But the idea that these regular English people would choose to go live as Indians with the Croatan tribe (which later became the great Lumbee Indian tribe of NC) fascinates me. It’s the admission that they were wrong to have offended their hosts, and that they will no longer live the life they have lived and will no longer dream about establishing the London of the new world, but will essentially become Indian for survival. There has been no conclusive evidence to reveal which scenario actually happened but there is evidence that both could have happened and it is my opinion that both did happen. Perhaps a split occurred—the old thinkers decided to march up the coast through hostile territory to establish their city and were slaughtered, and the flexible survivalists admitted failure, and were taken in by the Croatans. Either way, their governor, John White, whom they sent back to England to get supplies, food, and backup was delayed because of the impending war with Spain and so, instead of returning in three months, he returned three years later to find the colony empty. No bodies, no sign of life either—just one word carved into a post: “CROATOAN.”

This story fascinated us so much as children growing up in and around the Outer Banks of North Carolina that it’s always been strongly planted in our minds, informing our awareness of the world around us, giving us the cultural context within which other knowledge of risk, failure, and survival would be placed and with which it would be compared. The main lesson has always been that our poor choices and the poor choices of others mean we have to struggle.

No, old folks, today is not like the old days at all, and today’s children you are afraid for (and of) are different from the children of your day, but they are survivors. Do they resemble barbarians? I say that’s good training for how they will live tomorrow. They don’t care about manners? Have you read their poetry? They care about survival. And love. And that is why we sing proudly about both.