The Southern Avenger Repents - I was WRONG about the Flag

[Ibanez]

Tear Down these Monuments to Slavery

[ASUG8]

As many predicted, here's the beginning of the demands to take down any mention of confederate memorials. Read the comments if you have a little time.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/07/0 ... lp00000592" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

If there's a push to start removing these, then I'm going to equally begin the protest to remove all memorials, namesakes, etc.. of the following:

Slaveowners/ Founding Fathers:
Charles Carroll
Samuel Chase
Benjamin Franklin
Button Gwinnett
John Hancock Massachusetts
Patrick Henry
John Jay
Thomas Jefferson
Richard Henry Lee
James Madison
Charles Cotesworth Pinckney
Benjamin Rush
Edward Rutledge
George Washington

Throw Sherman and Grant in there also.

[Skjellyfetti]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k84lMPX_Kjg[/youtube]

The South’s Heritage Is So Much More Than a Flag
By PATTERSON HOOD JULY 9, 2015

First off, I love the Southland.

I was born and raised in Florence, Ala., a small town on the northern
banks of the Tennessee River in a region known locally as the Shoals. It’s a
Bible Belt community; my hometown was “dry” until I was nearly 20 years old.
It was also the birthplace of some of the most beloved and important music of
the 20th century.

W.C. Handy, sometimes known as the father of the blues and an
important early jazz figure — the author of “Beale Street Blues” and “St. Louis
Blues,” among other early standards — was born in Florence in 1873. The
radical and ingenious producer Sam Phillips was born half a century later in
McGee Town, a small farming community about eight miles to the northwest,
two farms over from my family’s homestead. He nurtured the invention of rock
’n’ roll, discovering Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Howlin’ Wolf, Charlie Rich, Ike
Turner, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis, among many others.

On the south side of the river, the neighboring towns of Muscle Shoals and
Sheffield hosted recording studios — FAME Studios and Muscle Shoals Sound
Studios, respectively — that along with Stax Records’ studio in Memphis
became the epicenter of the soul and R&B explosion of the late ’60s and early ’70s.
Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Percy Sledge, the Staple Singers, Bobby
Womack and many other African­ American artists crossed racial barriers and
recorded classic music with the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section, who happened
to be white. Together, they recorded landmark hits that were the soundtrack of
the Civil Rights Movement.

The four towns that make up the Shoals are deeply religious and politically
conservative, but they also hosted a bubbling underground of progressive
thought, home to a vibrant minority of freethinkers and idealists. In our own
mythology, we weren’t caught up in the bloody violence that will forever haunt
the reputations of Birmingham, Memphis and Selma — we were too busy
making joyous music. The elementary school I attended had already been
integrated (peacefully, as far as I know) by 1970, when I started first grade. I
never saw a burning cross or a burning church. That said, I’m sure there has
been plenty of frothing at the mouth there recently over last month’s Supreme
Court decisions, President Obama’s eulogy for Clementa Pinckney at
Charleston’s Emanuel A.M.E. Church, the rainbow lights at the White House —
and of course, the Confederate flag.

When I was growing up, I never thought much about the flag. My father,
David Hood, was and still is a session bass player with the Muscle Shoals
Rhythm Section. His views on the Civil Rights era were shaped by the time he
spent playing with Aretha and the Staple Singers. He looked at George Wallace
and Bull Connor with great disdain, and was mortified to think that people
around the world believed all Southerners were like that.

My father worked long hours at the studio, and I spent a large part of my
childhood with my grandparents and great­uncle. Raised during the Great
Depression, they were progressive by the standards of their generation and
told me stories about Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who the old folks said had
saved Florence and the surrounding towns; and Wilson Dam, a World War Iera
structure that crossed the Tennessee River just east of Florence, made the
river navigable and provided the impetus for Roosevelt’s Tennessee Valley Authority,
which electrified the region and brought it — sometimes kicking and
screaming — into the 20th century. They also told stories about my greatgreat­grandfather,
who fought for the Confederacy at Shiloh during the Civil War. They were always quick to say
that he had been poor and never owned
slaves, and had simply fought against a conquering army invading his home.
Such is the storytelling that pervades the Southern character. The South
loves myths and legends, and while they may have roots in the truth, they often
overlook certain complexities. We raise our children steeped in “Gone With the
Wind” folklore and pretend that all the things we saw in “12 Years a Slave”
didn’t happen.

As a songwriter, I’ve spent the better part of my career trying to capture
both the Southern storytelling tradition and the details the tall tales left out,
putting this dialectical narrative into the context of rock songs. My band’s bestknown
work, an album we recorded a decade and a half ago called “Southern
Rock Opera,” is an examination of life in the South after the Civil Rights era, in
the form of a coming­of­age tale of a Southern boy about my age who grows up
to become a famous musician before dying in a plane crash while on tour. The
album wrestled with how to be proud of where we came from while
acknowledging and condemning the worst parts of our region’s history.

When Drive­By Truckers were recording “Southern Rock Opera,” we were
very concerned about how the record would be received. We wanted to back up
everything we said with documented facts, lest we be construed as apologists —
lest someone not notice that a sympathetic song about George Wallace was
written from the Devil’s point of view. And we made a conscious decision not
to discuss the so ­called rebel flag. We didn’t want our narrative getting bogged
down in a debate about an antiquated symbol, one we considered a moot point
in any case. My own coming­-of­-age story revolved around much more
important things like going to rock concerts and trying to get a date or hanging
out with friends on weekends. The flag might have been a backdrop at Lynyrd
Skynyrd concerts, but beyond that it wasn’t really anything any of us thought
much about at the time.

It was only later, when we started playing songs from the album at shows,
that we noticed that fans were bringing rebel flags and waving them during a
song called “The Southern Thing.” The song was written to express the
contradictions of Southern identity:

Ain’t about no foolish pride, ain’t about no flag
Hate’s the only thing that my truck would want to drag
You think I’m dumb, maybe not too bright
You wonder how I sleep at night
Proud of the glory, stare down the shame
Duality of the Southern Thing.

Instead, people were treating it as a rallying cry. I’m still grappling with
how easily it was misinterpreted — and we rarely play it today for that reason.

It was around that time that I began paying attention to the flag flying at
courthouses and state capitals. I started hearing things like “heritage, not hate”
from people who were perhaps well­meaning, but were nevertheless ignoring
the fact that their beloved Southern Cross flew at Klan rallies — that it was a
symbol for a war fought on the principle of one man owning another. Let’s
pause to think about that one for a moment: one man owning another. When
our kindly Grandpa says “states’ rights,” that’s the “right” he’s talking about.
Unfair tariffs? Many of the soldiers in the Civil War probably couldn’t spell
“tariff.” But they certainly knew that the South’s economy and very way of life
was built upon the backs of men, women and children of color.

Last month, a terrorist with a gun killed nine unarmed men and women in
a church in Charleston and woke the people in our country up from sweet
dreams of a postracial America, driving home just how far we still have to go.
As the city mourned and tried to make sense of its grief, the State House of
South Carolina still flew the rebel flag at full staff. Now the tide is turning; the
state’s legislature voted to take it down from the Capitol grounds early Thursday morning,
and it’s not impossible to think that other Southern states
might do the same before long.

It’s high time that a symbol so divisive be removed. The flags coming
down symbolize the extent to which those who cry “heritage, not hate” have
already lost their argument. Why would we want to fly a symbol that has been
used by the K.K.K. and terrorists like Dylann Roof? Why would a people
steeped in the teachings of Jesus Christ and the Bible want to rally around a
flag that so many associate with hatred and violence? Why fly a flag that stands
for the very things we as Southerners have worked so hard to move beyond?

If we want to truly honor our Southern forefathers, we should do it by
moving on from the symbols and prejudices of their time and building on the
diversity, the art and the literary traditions we’ve inherited from them. It’s
time to study and learn about who we are and where we came from while
finding a way forward without the baggage of our ancestors’ fears and
superstitions. It’s time to quit rallying around a flag that divides. And it is time
for the South to — dare I say it? — rise up and show our nation what a beautiful
place our region is, and what more it could become.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/09/magaz ... share&_r=0" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

[89Hen]

About to removed from YouTube, get a glimpse while you can...

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jREUrbGGrgM[/youtube]

[houndawg]

[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k84lMPX_Kjg[/youtube]

The South’s Heritage Is So Much More Than a Flag
By PATTERSON HOOD JULY 9, 2015

First off, I love the Southland.

I was born and raised in Florence, Ala., a small town on the northern
banks of the Tennessee River in a region known locally as the Shoals. It’s a
Bible Belt community; my hometown was “dry” until I was nearly 20 years old.
It was also the birthplace of some of the most beloved and important music of
the 20th century.

W.C. Handy, sometimes known as the father of the blues and an
important early jazz figure — the author of “Beale Street Blues” and “St. Louis
Blues,” among other early standards — was born in Florence in 1873. The
radical and ingenious producer Sam Phillips was born half a century later in
McGee Town, a small farming community about eight miles to the northwest,
two farms over from my family’s homestead. He nurtured the invention of rock
’n’ roll, discovering Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Howlin’ Wolf, Charlie Rich, Ike
Turner, Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis, among many others.

On the south side of the river, the neighboring towns of Muscle Shoals and
Sheffield hosted recording studios — FAME Studios and Muscle Shoals Sound
Studios, respectively — that along with Stax Records’ studio in Memphis
became the epicenter of the soul and R&B explosion of the late ’60s and early ’70s.
Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Percy Sledge, the Staple Singers, Bobby
Womack and many other African­ American artists crossed racial barriers and
recorded classic music with the Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section, who happened
to be white. Together, they recorded landmark hits that were the soundtrack of
the Civil Rights Movement.

The four towns that make up the Shoals are deeply religious and politically
conservative, but they also hosted a bubbling underground of progressive
thought, home to a vibrant minority of freethinkers and idealists. In our own
mythology, we weren’t caught up in the bloody violence that will forever haunt
the reputations of Birmingham, Memphis and Selma — we were too busy
making joyous music. The elementary school I attended had already been
integrated (peacefully, as far as I know) by 1970, when I started first grade. I
never saw a burning cross or a burning church. That said, I’m sure there has
been plenty of frothing at the mouth there recently over last month’s Supreme
Court decisions, President Obama’s eulogy for Clementa Pinckney at
Charleston’s Emanuel A.M.E. Church, the rainbow lights at the White House —
and of course, the Confederate flag.

When I was growing up, I never thought much about the flag. My father,
David Hood, was and still is a session bass player with the Muscle Shoals
Rhythm Section. His views on the Civil Rights era were shaped by the time he
spent playing with Aretha and the Staple Singers. He looked at George Wallace
and Bull Connor with great disdain, and was mortified to think that people
around the world believed all Southerners were like that.

My father worked long hours at the studio, and I spent a large part of my
childhood with my grandparents and great­uncle. Raised during the Great
Depression, they were progressive by the standards of their generation and
told me stories about Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who the old folks said had
saved Florence and the surrounding towns; and Wilson Dam, a World War Iera
structure that crossed the Tennessee River just east of Florence, made the
river navigable and provided the impetus for Roosevelt’s Tennessee Valley Authority,
which electrified the region and brought it — sometimes kicking and
screaming — into the 20th century. They also told stories about my greatgreat­grandfather,
who fought for the Confederacy at Shiloh during the Civil War. They were always quick to say
that he had been poor and never owned
slaves, and had simply fought against a conquering army invading his home.
Such is the storytelling that pervades the Southern character. The South
loves myths and legends, and while they may have roots in the truth, they often
overlook certain complexities. We raise our children steeped in “Gone With the
Wind” folklore and pretend that all the things we saw in “12 Years a Slave”
didn’t happen.

As a songwriter, I’ve spent the better part of my career trying to capture
both the Southern storytelling tradition and the details the tall tales left out,
putting this dialectical narrative into the context of rock songs. My band’s bestknown
work, an album we recorded a decade and a half ago called “Southern
Rock Opera,” is an examination of life in the South after the Civil Rights era, in
the form of a coming­of­age tale of a Southern boy about my age who grows up
to become a famous musician before dying in a plane crash while on tour. The
album wrestled with how to be proud of where we came from while
acknowledging and condemning the worst parts of our region’s history.

When Drive­By Truckers were recording “Southern Rock Opera,” we were
very concerned about how the record would be received. We wanted to back up
everything we said with documented facts, lest we be construed as apologists —
lest someone not notice that a sympathetic song about George Wallace was
written from the Devil’s point of view. And we made a conscious decision not
to discuss the so ­called rebel flag. We didn’t want our narrative getting bogged
down in a debate about an antiquated symbol, one we considered a moot point
in any case. My own coming­-of­-age story revolved around much more
important things like going to rock concerts and trying to get a date or hanging
out with friends on weekends. The flag might have been a backdrop at Lynyrd
Skynyrd concerts, but beyond that it wasn’t really anything any of us thought
much about at the time.

It was only later, when we started playing songs from the album at shows,
that we noticed that fans were bringing rebel flags and waving them during a
song called “The Southern Thing.” The song was written to express the
contradictions of Southern identity:

Ain’t about no foolish pride, ain’t about no flag
Hate’s the only thing that my truck would want to drag
You think I’m dumb, maybe not too bright
You wonder how I sleep at night
Proud of the glory, stare down the shame
Duality of the Southern Thing.

Instead, people were treating it as a rallying cry. I’m still grappling with
how easily it was misinterpreted — and we rarely play it today for that reason.

It was around that time that I began paying attention to the flag flying at
courthouses and state capitals. I started hearing things like “heritage, not hate”
from people who were perhaps well­meaning, but were nevertheless ignoring
the fact that their beloved Southern Cross flew at Klan rallies — that it was a
symbol for a war fought on the principle of one man owning another. Let’s
pause to think about that one for a moment: one man owning another. When
our kindly Grandpa says “states’ rights,” that’s the “right” he’s talking about.
Unfair tariffs? Many of the soldiers in the Civil War probably couldn’t spell
“tariff.” But they certainly knew that the South’s economy and very way of life
was built upon the backs of men, women and children of color.

Last month, a terrorist with a gun killed nine unarmed men and women in
a church in Charleston and woke the people in our country up from sweet
dreams of a postracial America, driving home just how far we still have to go.
As the city mourned and tried to make sense of its grief, the State House of
South Carolina still flew the rebel flag at full staff. Now the tide is turning; the
state’s legislature voted to take it down from the Capitol grounds early Thursday morning,
and it’s not impossible to think that other Southern states
might do the same before long.

It’s high time that a symbol so divisive be removed. The flags coming
down symbolize the extent to which those who cry “heritage, not hate” have
already lost their argument. Why would we want to fly a symbol that has been
used by the K.K.K. and terrorists like Dylann Roof? Why would a people
steeped in the teachings of Jesus Christ and the Bible want to rally around a
flag that so many associate with hatred and violence? Why fly a flag that stands
for the very things we as Southerners have worked so hard to move beyond?

If we want to truly honor our Southern forefathers, we should do it by
moving on from the symbols and prejudices of their time and building on the
diversity, the art and the literary traditions we’ve inherited from them. It’s
time to study and learn about who we are and where we came from while
finding a way forward without the baggage of our ancestors’ fears and
superstitions. It’s time to quit rallying around a flag that divides. And it is time
for the South to — dare I say it? — rise up and show our nation what a beautiful
place our region is, and what more it could become.

http://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/09/magaz ... share&_r=0" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

Music is the way past hate.

BTW, his dad and Roger Hawkins were on lots more music besides the locals mentioned, e.g., I'm pretty sure they were the rhythm section on The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys album by Traffic.

[houndawg]

Tear Down these Monuments to Slavery

The pyramids were built by compensated labor, not slaves. Excavations of the surrounding villages where the laborers lived have found graffiti demanding increased wages, including the beer ration.

[Ibanez]

If there's a push to start removing these, then I'm going to equally begin the protest to remove all memorials, namesakes, etc.. of the following:

Slaveowners/ Founding Fathers:
Charles Carroll
Samuel Chase
Benjamin Franklin
Button Gwinnett
John Hancock Massachusetts
Patrick Henry
John Jay
Thomas Jefferson
Richard Henry Lee
James Madison
Charles Cotesworth Pinckney
Benjamin Rush
Edward Rutledge
George Washington

Throw Sherman and Grant in there also.

And most people in power during the 1800s.

[Ibanez]

Tear Down these Monuments to Slavery

The pyramids were built by compensated labor, not slaves. Excavations of the surrounding villages where the laborers lived have found graffiti demanding increased wages, including the beer ration.

I know that, however slaves were used in the creation of pyramids. Mostly Jews.

[Skjellyfetti]

I know that, however slaves were used in the creation of pyramids. Mostly Jews.

That's a myth.... mainly fueled by the Ten Commandments movie.

Jews weren't in Egypt at the time of the construction of the pyramids.