Ember Swift

Swift Boat to Paradise: Ember Swift's "Dirty Pulse"

BY JAMES MOORE

The more I learn about food, the less I want to eat
The more I learn about water, the less I want to drink
The more I learn about people, the fewer I want to meet
The more I learn, the less I want to think.

Having just seen the Enron movie, I find a special resonancein the last line of this stanza from Ember Swift’s song “Witness” offThe Dirty Pulse, the Canadian singer/ songstress’s ninth and latestrelease on her own Few’ll Ignite Sound label.

“There are mighty few people who think what they think they think,” painterRobert Henri once said.

Ember Swift is definitely one of them. Her beliefs unfurl like flags, drapedin a deft musicality that encompasses soil, water, fire, air, and space inevery measure. A long-time activist, as much glamour goofball punk as justicepoet, she has no compunction calling a spade a spade, or a corporation a corporation,but does so less these days with a burning spear than an effulgent olive branch.

In person, she has that type of open channel laser beam aura I remember emanatingfrom Sinead O’Connor the couple times I was fortunate enough to catchher in concert. A clean presence that power-washes an audience like a bluewaterfall in a green forest.

The last time Swift performed in Fairfield, she and longtime co-creator LyndellMontgomery captivated the packed house at Morningstar Studio. Their musicalsync was intimacy itself, the kind of rapport based on deep ease, golden ears,gift-wrapped talent, and years of transcendent interplay. Incite-ful compositionsstreamed out and enticed even through the nooks and crannies of compoundingP.A. travails.

Understand this: when you’re in performance mode, aural squeaks andkronks feel like some kind of aggravated assault, literally like a slap inthe face, like something’s accosting the sacred space that descendsand ascends once the muse has been invoked.

I once saw Cyndi Lauper in a New Jersey club years ago when she was stillin a regional rockabilly band called Blue Angel. When her vocal monitors faltered,she went completely ape-shiatsu. (Pardon my saucy talk.) Thing is, if youcan’t hear yourself properly on stage, it’s impossible to getsubtle and can even hurt your vocal chords.

First she made faces, signaled to the soundman to make it better, made worsefaces, pointed fingers at the speakers, all the while singing hiccups andyelps a la Buddy Holly in one of those cute as kittens-in-mittens’ poodleskirts with crinoline frills and a little leash on the front. Nothing helped.Her eyes became dark red clouds flashing yellow lightning till finally incomplete frustration she kicked the damn things over. It was pure Mother Divinein all her glorious expressions.

I catch Ember’s sound-check in Fairfield. Listening intently, she pinpointsexact frequencies, tweaking everything just so to maximize the resonance inthe room. Her and multi-instrumentalist Montgomery’s professionalismis immaculate. This is a woman who knows her ____. (Insert presidential expletivehere. You may use Nixon inserts if you prefer. For a Quaker, he had one salty-dogsailor tongue in private.)

During the show, when funny things start to happen to the P.A., she handlesthe annoyance with décor, humor, and aplomb—even showing restraintwhen directly challenged in front of the audience by a soundman who simplyrefuses to do what she asks. She tries a few times, gets nowhere, glancesat Montgomery in semi-exasperation, then lets go, makes do, and does fine.How people react to walls reveals a lot about character.

In a world that has come to need human shields in olive fields
In a world that has come to need advocacy for honesty
In a world that has to come to see reality on the TV
In a world that has long forgotten that good food is the greatest medication
What can be done to be free us of this affluence disease?
—“Affluence Disease”

I like Swift’s new release a lot. Her political patois is temperedwith such joyful overtones, the record seems more like flowers singing ina wild garden than pomp brimstoning choirboys. You know the old dictum: aspoonful of sugar (not aspartame, but pure unprocessed cane, thank you) helpsthe medicine go down.

Dirty Pulse is sweet, conscious fun, Self-conscious in the largest sense,a celebration for open-minded, politically alert, and sustainable living soulswith happy feet. Like her approach to life itself, it combines calls to actionwith acceptance of differences and the loving embrace of humanity and community.

Ember will be performing at Abundance EcoVillage in Fairfield on Saturday,August 19, 2006, at 8 p.m. (641) 472-0444.

Addendum

Two parting shots: Goodbye, Syd Barret and your madcap laughter at the gatesof dawn. “Interstellar Overdrive” is one of my favorite piecesof music of all time, right up there with Beethoven’s Pathetique. Youput the “P” in Pink Floyd even if you checked out long beforethe band hit “Money” on the “Dark Side of Moon.” Iguess you were already there for all intents and purposes. Anyway, bon voyageand don’t forget to write.

As for you, Ken Lay, may your soul arrest in pieces. Even if your lawyersget your name cleared because your mortal coil gave out before you were sentencedto making license plates the rest of your life, your company’s crooked “E” logowill always symbolize hubris, greed, and corporate machismo of the vilestsort.

Here’s a message to all those executives tucked neatly inside gatedvillages with heavenly golf courses living high off the hog from mining loopholes,back-drafting stock options, and greasing government connections to plunderthe commonwealth: democracy is one person, one vote—not one dollar,one vote. Free markets do not equal democracy any more than “executive” privilegeequals America.

Good riddance, Frito Bandito. I wonder if they have loopholes in the afterlife?

Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking websites