The day before a masked ICE agent shot a woman in the face in Minneapolis, the Eureka City Council voted to allow the Eureka Police Department to look into using drones as part of its arsenal. A week later, that same council voted to condemn the illegal occupation of Venezuela by the Trump-controlled military. These aren’t disconnected events, and anyone with a coherent ideology built around resisting state oppression would be forgiven for feeling disoriented. I personally can’t imagine the political gymnastics required to recognize the violence of imperialism abroad, while also further arming the agents of that violence on the domestic front. Perhaps I don’t have the kind of special mind that can visualize the threat of “imperial boomerang” without also imagining that the swath of destruction will include my own community. Maybe those ubiquitous “Think Globally, Act Locally” bumper stickers that graced our roads over the decades on VWs to Volvos to Subarus to Priuses and Teslas meant something else to their ostensibly liberal owners. I don’t know; I’m not wired like that. I am cursed with the horror of remembering things and forming my opinions based on reflection, which is pariah behavior in this place.
For instance, I recall that ICE is younger than my ability to vote and that the Obama administration massively expanded its scope and funding as part of an overall project to broaden the many abusive policies of the Bush administration. The right wing turns the status quo into a nightmare, and institutional norms-obsessed liberals work overtime to defend that nightmare. I tend to lump oppressors and enablers into the same category when considering my opposition to bad policy and state violence. That makes me a bit of a crank, according to the sensible people who usually write op-eds and letters to the editor.
I had an epiphany about those sensible people last week, coming back from taking an elderly relative to the doctor. A motorist cut me off on the right, utilizing the bike lane to do so and nearly hitting a cyclist at the same time, all so that she could make it to a right turn on red a little faster. The cyclist yelled and waved his arms, and I stared at the offender, while she just … ignored everyone else and looked straight ahead, speeding away from the scene toward U.S. Highway 101. That kind of deliberate blind spot is how many people live their lives and pad the impossible gap between their sense of justice and the criminal administrators they support on their preferred political team. Just pretend it’s not there, not really happening. That’s the cheerless tune of the ethical zombie, unconcerned that the meat in their current meal might have been ripped from the screaming body of a neighbor.
I don’t want to live like that, which I suppose makes me something of a radical. I don’t feel like one — I’m pretty boring — but here we are. I guess the question is: Do we continue to stagger around, hoping to blend in just enough with the shambling, ravenous hordes to try to stay off the menu, or do we find a way to unite against the threat of increasingly emboldened monsters? If history is any indication, I would suggest you get used to cannibalism creeping further into civic life. Please prove me wrong, America. Land of the free. Meantime, the rest of you get out there among the living, and dance while it’s still legal and not completely monitored by the creeps and ghouls.
Thursday
Tim O’Brien and Jan Fabricius are a husband and wife duo who have spent the last decade picking their way around the country and beyond, bringing their talented take on bluegrass to the people. Her mandolin and voice merge with his guitar and multi-instrumental prowess like salt and pepper from some lovely little ornamental shakers. It’s a nice sound, is what I’m trying to say. You can judge that for yourself tonight at 7:30 p.m. at the Old Steeple ($35).
Friday
Elderberry Rust Stringband is playing a free gig at the Kaptain’s Quarters tonight at 8 p.m. for those of you looking for some Friday fun in Eureka without a high price tag.
Meanwhile, half an hour later across the bay at Humbrews you will find Grateful Getdown jamming to all comers with $15 for the door. This is the first Dead-related gig I’ve reported on since the death of founding member Bob Weir, a milestone I hardly need to bring up for the fans, but one worth mentioning to put this gig in the context of the big wheel that is turning and you can’t slow down.
Saturday
Speaking of Humbrews and tributes to and OG members of large post-hippie musical movements, at 9 p.m., the 14-member Frank Zappa songbook ensemble Stinkfoot Orchestra takes the stage, once again joined by Napoleon Murphy Brock,who sang and played horns on some of Zappa’s ’70s output. I am not the biggest fan of Frank but I had a lot of fun the last time this group took over Humbrews, so bear that in mind when contemplating the trajectory of your evening ($25).
Sunday
The Miniplex is hosting an early show at 6:30 p.m. — out of deference for the karaoke fans — but what a show it is. Magic Fig is a relatively new band from San Francisco, full of folks from other groups who have come together to create some of the best sounds I’ve heard in a while. Their latest album Valerian Tea is absolutely gorgeous, full of speckled motes of sound sighing, drying and curling at various temperatures in a convection zone on the plasma outer rings of Heaven. Don’t miss this one if you can help it. Local champs Western Extra will be making sandcastles out of song as well ($10).
Monday and Tuesday
The days are getting longer but it is still January, and thus we must observe the Sargasso stillness between the stormy nights of song. The world is changing, but some traditions still apply.
Wednesday
Americana soul singer and songwriter Marty O’Reilly is making a pitstop at the Arcata Playhouse tonight at 7 p.m. Rusty vocals and dirty boots are a quick sketch of the man’s sound, you can fill in the rest for yourself much better than I can, by listening to his tunes online and checking him out in person to beat the midweek slump. A $20 bill will get you the goods in the latter case.
Collin Yeo (he/him) really misses Northtown Books, an oasis of quiet brilliance in a blaring and stupid world. May it rise from the ashes.
This article appears in After the Flooding.