Tag: racism

The songwriting teen who jolted society’s conscience

Singer/songwriter Janis Ian performs at a 1975 concert. (Photo by Peter Cunningham)

By Richard Ades

Janis Ian was only 14 when she wrote one of the most influential—and controversial—songs of a generation. The story behind the anthem is told in Varda Bar-Kar’s new biographical documentary, Janis Ian: Breaking Silence.

A Jewish girl growing up in a mostly Black New Jersey neighborhood, the then-Janis Fink was inspired after seeing a young interracial couple cuddling on a bus despite the disapproving glares of those around them. The result was “Society’s Child,” about a White girl whose romance with a Black boy sets her up for harassment and demands to “stick to your own kind.”

Recorded in 1965, the song touched on such a raw nerve that it almost didn’t get released. Ian’s producer, Shadow Morton, had anticipated the problem and suggested that she play it safe by changing its first line: “Pick me up from school, baby, face is clean and shining black as night.” When Ian refused, Morton was forced to pitch the song to more than 20 record labels before finding one that was willing to take a chance on it.

Even after the song’s belated 1966 release, as the documentary relates, many radio stations were afraid to play it. And when Ian tried to perform it at a concert, she was met with racist chants of “n—– lover” from audience members who apparently had bought tickets just to prevent her from singing it.

Recalling the incident in the film, Ian admits that her first response was to flee the stage in tears, only to be shamed for her cowardice by a concert official. When she gathered enough courage to return and finish the song, ushers quickly rounded up the 20 or so haters and escorted them out.

“It was a life-changing moment for me,” Ian says, as it taught her that music could make some people angry, but it could also inspire folks to stand up for what’s right.

Ian poses in 1973 with fellow musicians Bruce Springsteen (left) and Billy Joel (right), along with radio DJ Ed Sciaky. (Photo by Peter Cunningham)

This and other anecdotes from Ian’s years of teenage stardom will be fascinating to anyone old enough—or “woke” enough—to care about the role she played in the 1960s’ culture of protest and liberation. Helping to underscore her importance are cameos from luminaries such as Joan Baez and Arlo Guthrie.

Whether the bulk of the film will be equally fascinating depends on the viewer’s interest in a singer/songwriter who’s best known for just two major hits: “Society’s Child” and 1975’s “At Seventeen,” a touching lament about the pangs of growing up unpopular.

Besides revisiting these mileposts, Breaking Silence is basically a chronological synopsis of what Ian was doing when she was largely out of the public eye. There were romantic relationships with both men and women; there were professional liaisons and breakups; there was a concert tour to apartheid South Africa that Ian agreed to only after ensuring that her audiences would be racially integrated.

There was also a run-in with the pre-disgraced Bill Cosby, who accused the 16-year-old singer of being in a lesbian relationship and tried to have her blacklisted. He was wrong, Ian says, though decades later she did come out as a lesbian at the same time she released her appropriately titled 1993 album, Breaking Silence. Further cementing her status as a gay icon, Ian has written columns for The Advocate, and in 2003 she traveled to Canada to marry longtime girlfriend Patricia Snyder.

Ian is interviewed by Johnny Carson (right) on The Tonight Show in 1967, the year after “Society’s Child” was released.

All the while, as the documentary tells us, Ian has continued writing music, releasing albums and, until recently, giving occasional performances. One fact it neglects to mention is that she’s also become an avid science fiction fan and has written several genre stories of her own.

Otherwise, Janis Ian: Breaking Silence does an admirable job of answering the question: Whatever happened to that plucky teen who wrote a song about interracial dating and forced society to face its own prejudice?

Rating: 3½ stars (out of 5)

Janis Ian: Breaking Silence opens in select theaters March 28.

Klan veteran and Kurdish immigrant form unlikely alliance

Former Klansman Chris Buckley (left) shares a stage with Syrian refugee Heval Kelli in a scene from Refuge. (Photos by Tomesha Foxio)

By Richard Ades

Refuge is the story of the healing that takes place when a former Ku Klux Klan member is befriended by a Muslim refugee.

That’s the way the documentary is billed, at least, though the description is a bit misleading. For one thing, the two men don’t actually meet until late in the film, by which time much of the healing has already taken place.

The former Klan member is Chris Buckley, an Army veteran who lives in LaFayette, Ga., with his wife and two small children. Chris enlisted in the military after 9/11, and his subsequent years of overseas combat duty only added to the hatred and distrust he felt toward Muslims.

More broadly, his ongoing struggle to support his family made him susceptible to the appeal of White nationalism, which encouraged him to blame his problems on people of color, immigrants and other convenient scapegoats. Hence, Chris joined the Klan and began throwing himself into the hate group’s rituals and ideology.

By the time we meet him, however, Chris has left the Klan for reasons that aren’t immediately revealed. He claims he’s trying to put his hatred behind him, though he makes an exception in the case of the religion he blames for his many wartime injuries and for the death of a beloved Army buddy.

Meanwhile, directors Erin Bernhardt and Din Blankenship also introduce us to Heval Kelli, a Muslim Kurd who arrived in the U.S. after his family was forced to flee their native Syria. A cardiologist, Heval lives with his aging parents in Clarkston, a Georgia town two hours away from LaFayette by car—and light years away in terms of environment.

“Mama Amina” works to make newcomers feel at home in the multiethnic community of Clarkston, Ga.

For decades, Clarkston has accepted refugees from various parts of the world, resulting in a community that comprises a multitude of nationalities, languages and religions. All are made to feel welcome thanks to the efforts of warm-hearted residents such as 89-year-old “Mama Amina,” a tireless volunteer.

Chris and Heval eventually meet, of course, though it takes some doing on the part of others to bring it about. In particular, it takes the efforts of Melissa, Chris’s wife, who has her own reasons for hating racism and who emerges as one of the film’s real heroes.

As a record of a Chris’s conversion from a vicious bigot to someone who ends up fighting bigotry, Refuge is sometimes moving, though not quite as moving as it could be. That’s because his transformation largely takes place when the camera isn’t rolling. We see him talking about his change of heart, but we don’t see it actually happening.

But that’s a minor weakness, and besides, the documentary has plenty of other attributes. Among them are the scenes in Clarkston, where rampant displays of kindness and acceptance offer a welcome break from the divisiveness that characterizes much of modern society.

The atmosphere is so intoxicating that not even the arrival of an anti-immigrant gubernatorial candidate and his so-called “deportation bus” can spoil the mood. The candidate apparently realizes that as, after accepting a welcoming piece of baclava, he takes his leave.

If only hatred and bigotry could always be turned away that easily.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Refuge opens March 24 at select theaters and through VOD outlets.

Sweet music, jarring language and a timeless morality tale

Big River

By Richard Ades

Standing Room Only nearly lived up to its name Friday, as its evening performance of Big River filled most of the seats in CPAC’s Van Fleet Theatre. Hopefully, that means there’s a market for the ambitious programming the troupe has been tackling of late.

Or maybe it simply means people have an undying love for the tale whose source material is often considered the Great American Novel: Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Adapted by William Hauptman (book) and Roger Miller (music and lyrics), the Tony-winning musical again sends its scruffy title character and a runaway slave named Jim down the Mississippi on their respective quests for adventure and freedom.

One of the gutsiest things about SRO’s production is also the reason parents might want to prepare their youngest children for the experience. Like Twain’s novel, but unlike an expurgated version I saw many years ago, it allows characters to spout the most racist term in the American vocabulary. The word can sound jarring to modern ears, but it’s probably necessary. That’s because the story depends on a frank portrait of 19th century attitudes to underscore its central lesson.

Huck begins the tale as a rebellious lad who nonetheless accepts the morality of his pre-Civil War era when it comes to the subjugation of black Americans. Indeed, he’s so convinced slavery is a holy institution that he worries he’ll go to hell if he helps Jim escape. Both the novel and the musical are most moving when they show the boy reassessing his position after getting to know Jim as a human being.

Miller’s songs are sometimes stirring but mostly laid-back and pleasant, especially when accompanied by SRO’s old-timey quintet. Performing under music director Chipper Snow, it’s dominated by Ted Reich’s wistful harmonica and Jordan Shear’s lively fiddle.

As for the vocals, there are a few pitchy moments, but most cast members are up to the challenge. That’s especially true of the two male leads. Caleb Baker (as Huck) and Brandon Buchanan (as Jim) harmonize beautifully on duets such as Muddy Water and Worlds Apart.

Acting-wise, their styles are a bit less harmonious. Though Buchanan’s Jim reflects the tension and fears of a man determined to float his way to freedom, Baker’s Huck is unrelentingly calm. He seems unruffled whether he’s fighting off a knife attack or trying to avoid being tarred and feathered by angry townsfolk.

Baker’s physical appearance—he’s taller and huskier than most of the “adults” around him—also undercuts his portrayal of the youth. But that would be less of a problem if he acted more like a frightened teen rather than a laconic good ol’ boy.

Several of the supporting players make indelible impressions under Dee Shepherd’s easy-going direction.

John Feather is dignified and decent as Judge Thatcher, then abandons both dignity and decency to play the self-described King, a con artist who hitches a ride on Huck and Jim’s raft. Greg Zunkewicz is equally conniving as the King’s companion, the Duke, but he sometimes needed to project more at the performance I attended.

Funniest of all is Thor Collard as Huck’s drunken Pap, especially when he’s railing musically against the Gov’ment. Sweetest of all is Ashton Brammer as Mary Jane, who wins Huck’s heart when she becomes the victim of a scheme hatched by the King and the Duke.

As Huck’s friend Tom Sawyer, Anthony Guerrini gets across the lad’s addiction to romantic adventures. It’s not his fault that Tom becomes a distraction late in the story. His 11th-hour reappearance is the only instance in which Twain’s Great American Novel becomes a little less than great.

Even more than SRO’s recently staged Sweeney Todd, Big River is presented in a bare-bones manner. Designed by Angela Barch, some of the costumes are only vaguely 1840-ish, while the “scenery” consists mainly of a footlocker and a large box.

But none of that matters when the production is at its best, doling out sweet music along with a morality tale that retains its power 131 years after it first pricked the conscience of America.

Standing Room Only Theatre will present Big River through May 7 at the Columbus Performing Arts Center, 549 Franklin Ave., Columbus. Show times are 8 p.m. Friday and 2 and 8 p.m. Saturday. Running time: 2 hours, 50 minutes (including intermission). Tickets are $21, $18 seniors (55-plus), $16 members, $12 students. 614-258-9495 or srotheatre.org.