There were no torn petitions, no upturned tables. No one spit or was spat upon. No one was attacked. Indeed, last night's 250th Solidarity Sing-Along celebration in Madison was marred by nothing. There was no conflict at all, unless, of course, you count the radical insurgency of song.
The Overpass Light Brigade headed from Milwaukee to Madison to meet up with Giles Goat Boy and plankbob, who helped us organize an overpass event on a lovely new pedestrian walkway over East Washington Avenue, the main thoroughfare leading from the freeway to the State Capitol. The evening was almost balmy, with a crescent moon and Venus shining in the darkening sky. The architectural struts of the overpass enclosed us like a set from Einstein on the Beach and the traffic below honked democrabeeps in response to our presence.
After a photo op in front of a great DIY "Recall Walker Van," badscience and I went to get some good Thai food with Giles Goat Boy. The three of us compared notes on how we were all holding up and talked through some shared anxieties. We acknowledged the personal toll that constant activism takes on one's daily life. Christmas trees were hung at the last minute, presents seemed an afterthought, little details that anchor the holidays were overlooked… we had all been feeling a bit down in spite of the remarkable progress of the recall campaign. It is difficult to find balance in these days of derangement, our leaders smug in old testament certitude, resolute in their upward redistribution of wealth, manipulating austerity hysteria to sharpen the long knives they then use for deep cuts.
Our reflective moods were quickly changed to sheer joy upon entering the High Noon Saloon. The Forward Marching Band had just finished their set, and the Solidarity Singers, along with their backup band, The Learning Curve were rocking the house. Their mix of virtuosity and amateurs' enthusiasm was absolutely inspiring. Picture Captain Beefheart with a raucous two-hundred piece band, or Tom Waits agreeing to play at an old school Union Hall, but only on the condition that everyone in the room sing and bring instruments. There was no divide between performers and audience. We were all on stage, we were all the band, we were all the subjects and conveyors of the songs.
I will fail in my attempt to describe the energized space of this solidarity theater, kinetic with intense commitment and collective joy, breathing a balance of chaotic energy and controlled artistic form. Honestly, I haven't experienced anything like it in a long time. During a musical break, Giles Goat Boy solicited a few folks to help us bring in the signs. We went to my car, got the lite-brites, and marched through the front door with the letters held aloft, a dynamic "RECALL" performance. A massive cheer went through the crowd as we paraded around the room, set the letters up under the stage as the Learning Curve began another set. It took a long time for my dazed grin to disappear, and Giles came up to me and exclaimed, "I no longer feel bummed out… This is exactly what I needed!" I agreed wholeheartedly.
The drive back to Milwaukee was long and late. The silence closed in around us - canned music just seemed hollow after experiencing such a ragged beautiful beast in the bar. The road stretched. I felt like a bird flying slowly home. I thought about Chris Reeder, head of the Solidarity Sing-Along, thanking Scott Walker for bringing us all together. I thought about Kossacks stcroix cheesehead and Cady Brownell driving all the way across the state to meet other Kossacks, a great example of how our permeable community continues to expand. I thought about the idea of solidarity itself, how it seems such an abstract and historically enshrined concept until you need it and are lucky enough to feel yourself absorbed into a collective embracing embrace.
Living according the laws of landing, we have been sharpened in these hard days of cuts, and are learning how to sing our songs in the space between chaos and artistic form.