Will Jesus wash the bloodstains from your hands?

I'm neither a pacifist nor a Christian, but one of the most difficult things for me to reconcile in my mind are the bible-thumping politicians who don't see the irony in their "Jesus guided" missles.

Hazel Dickens, an Appalachian singer, understood it when she wrote, "Will Jesus Wash the Bloodstains from Your Hands," when reflecting on the Vietnam war:

I saw a grey haired mother crying softly in her door
As she gazed upon the pathway where he'd return no more
Oh lord I'd love to hold my baby just once more
And lord I hope I never live to see another war

Will Jesus wash the bloodstains from your hands
Will he welcome you into that peaceful land
Will he forgive the killings, the wars you have planned
Will Jesus wash the bloodstains from your hands?

As good a musical question as can be asked on a day when deaths of American service men and women reach the 3500 mark. And that doesn't include the tens of thousands of innocent Iraqui citizens who have died, nor the deaths of US contractors. Nor does it reckon the thousand of lives which are irreprably changed because of physical and mental casualties.

I don't know which is more difficult to take, Dick Cheney's dark cynicism, or George Bush's cocksure heavenly inspiration.

And from David Rovics, another musical question.

Thank you Roger

I've stewed over this all morning. The lack of coverage of Len Domler's death (see my blog, Len Domler, RIP).

I understand that folk music is small potatoes in a world consumed by The Sopranos, the Red Sox Nation, the gasoline tax, Paris Hilton's jailhouse stint, Lou Deluca's hit, and Lindsay Lohan's DUI, but so is jazz, opera, art, the stage and non-best-selling literature.

Just because the great big world is not paying attention, doesn't diminish its importance.

Len Domler was a cultural cornerstone in the Hartford area. Week after week, without pay, he helped bring interesting, underappreciated, world class music to Hartford. In fact, there are many musicians who passed through that the bigger world would recognize. Musical legends like Pete Seeger, Doc Watson and the Balfa Brothers.

And the local media has ignorned Len's passing. If this was New York City, you know there would have been a sweet elegaic essay in the New Yorker and The Times.

At least, Roger Catlin, who covered music for the Courant for years, has a very nice post on his blog. He went to shows at the Sounding Board. He understands what Len contributed.

Unfortunately when the current Courant music columnist can report the death of Ra Ra Riot and not that of Len Domler, then priorites are screwed up.

Hartford can build civic centers, marketplaces, blue black squares, but it's little cultural organizations, like the Sounding Board, which make Hartford a decent place to live. Long live the Sounding Board, and Len Domler's memory.

From the simple obituary in the Hartford Courant, calling hours are at: the Giulliano-Sagarino Funeral Home at Brooklawn, 511 Brook Street, Rocky Hill on Wednesday from 5-7 p.m. Funeral and burial will be at a later date. Gifts in his memory may be made to either The Sounding Board Coffeehouse, C/O Brent Hall, 460 Wallingford Road, Cheshire, CT, 06410 or to Middlesex Weiss Hospice Unit, Middlesex Hospital, Office of Philanthropy, 28 Crescent Street, Middletown, CT, 06457.

Enjoy every sandwich

I've been haunted by the ghost of Warren Zevon for the past few weeks.

In reading Crystal Zevon's poignant biography, I'll Sleep When I'm Dead, I found myself re-immersed in music, like lots of music, that I love, forget, and rediscover that I love again. No small part in this rebloom of romance for Zevon's music is understanding where much of it came from. I was talking to my friend Jim Chapdelaine, himself a great guitarist, a cancer survivor, and a reader of great depth and breadth, and we agreed that in terms of popular music, in terms of all music, about half of what Warren Zevon produced was great, truly great. The other half is dismissable. And that is a great accomplishment for any composer over the course of fifteen albums of music.

But aside from the "deep liner notes" aspect of the biography, reading about Zevon's life also provides lessons about art, love, family, living and dying.

In a marketing confluence, the arrival of the book coincided with the arrival of three re-mastered Zevon albums, and a collection of rare cuts and demos. So anyone, like me, who felt like being immersed has had the opportunity to do so.

So, I leapt to the next level, and put the VH-1 documentary about the recording of Zevon's last album The Wind, at the top of my Netflix queue. Unexpectedly, in watching the doc for the second time, I found myself in tears, as if I were watching the slow demise of a good friend.

As Zevon said to David Letterman, the lesson of learning the bleak lesson of your mortality is to "enjoy every sandwich."

And so, for at least the next couple of days, as this lesson remains sharp, I will.