Hawks

An opinion piece by bassist Paul Marshall:

Hooray for America! Again, the people have spoken with their vote; again, we look forward to a peaceful transition of power. Some might even call it “change,” but they would have to admit to a certain amount of naïve optimism.The Obama supporters, giddy with victory, happily continued to denigrate and ridicule the defeated Republicans, who chose a different tack. They honorably and gracefully conceded not only the victory, but the historic significance of the event, acknowledging over and over again that the election was in fact a great moment in the history of a great and continually evolving nation.

Prominent conservatives, who disagree with Obama’s stated and implied policies, have nonetheless declared that “he is my president,” and prayed for his success in the office, though those prayers may face a challenge by the ACLU. The audacity of hope is thrilling, while the audacity of prayer is alarming. A racist country no more. Oh sure, there are racists everywhere. And some voted against Obama, and some voted for him, but it was a non-issue for most voters. Amen.

But, oh, discrimination and prejudice is still alive and well in the world. Gays? Well, yes. Mormons? Stereotypes leap to mind. Jews? A Jewish president? Muslim? A Muslim president? Does one of these colors ever bother you?Meanwhile, the country is still run by Democrats and Republicans, and the two-party system is in good health. Libertarians, Greens, Peace And Freedom, and all you others with your crackpot Constitutional, Environmental, Economic ideas can go back to your distant web enclaves and hunker down. But have no fear. We still have the best President money can buy.

It’s been a glorious week of rains, cool days and nights, mysterious winds that blew all smog from the basins. Topanga Canyon was silent on a Thursday afternoon. No deer, no hawks or owls, no hikers on the trail save solitary us. It’s bone dry, and dead vegetation exposes the bones of the ridges to the horizon. But a breeze of peace strokes our faces as we watch the sunset bring down slowly its curtain. It’s the interregnum. A foul spirit has been purged from our land, and the new era is blank, with limitless room for dreaming, and nothing to dismay. We have been yearning for this for what feels like a lifetime.

It’s a new day in America. An intelligent and sane man will be President for the first time since Jimmy Carter. And the Hawks have a song on a trashy, big-budget vampire show.

Check out “True Blood” on HBO this Sunday evening, November 9. Curious to see how “Hallowed Ground,” the sentimental Hawks song about love, marriage, and Mike Stinson, fits into graphic sex and violence? Us too.

Forget about that big presidential election!
I See Hawks In L.A. is up for a Grammy in Category 69 (that’s right, 69), CONTEMPORARY FOLK/AMERICANA.

If you’re a NARAS (or you know one and can influence them in whatever ways necessary) vote for us!—–

Read and weep, my friends. An article by our last line of defense and next vice president of the United States, Naomi Wolf (Naomi Klein will be president):

Concerns about deployment of military on U.S. soil growing — while mainstream media buries its head in the sand: a Buzzflash commentary by Naomi Wolf

“This inspired California foursome has put out its fourth CD since 2001 and the band is still alluring. Their recipe for success? Good songs, varied arrangements, a smooth sound supported by a seductive lead, vocal harmonies right on the mark, sterling electric guitar, transparent pedal steel and some guest artists on violin and accordion. Nothing revolutionary, but one bathes in their traditional virtues like a good soup in an old pot. Seen through the eyes of the Hawks, this music is easy to enjoy, light and timeless. Acoustic ballad, unbridled rock n roll, an Irish tune and a return to country music roots. Welcome to the family, enter, don’t stay out in the cold, and sit right down at the guest table, between the Foster Martin Band and the Dillard and Clark Expedition.”

Click here for: interview with Paul L

Hawks Axiom #43 states that the goofier a club’s name, the greater the chances of a cool show. Axiom #9 states that feelings of trepidation at sound check are often harbingers of that same cool gig. So Rhythm N Brews in Chattanooga is delivering a double dose of axiomatic data. The club is dark and cavernous, on a recently gentrified downtown street that’s eerily deserted. It’s a Sunday evening. It’s very quiet.

We meet the Bohannans, brothers Marty and Matt, drummer Jeremy, Josh the bass man. They are regular guys, super nice, and they’ve set everything up for us, including loaning us their great gear. Paul L is reunited with a Fender Deluxe Reverb with working tremelo, and couldn’t be happier. The soundman Doug gets the best onstage sound we’ve had in a long time, dialed up in about 5 minutes. We’re good to go.We walk to the riverfront and cross the Tennessee River on a half mile wide pedestrian bridge, largest in the U.S., as dusk yields to darkness. A four level riverboat, looking like an old Queen minus the rear paddlewheel, is the picture of slow gentility passing beneath us far below on the black still water, its white clothed dining tables lit by glowing lamps. Civilization. We stroll the bridge to the other side, come back on the highway bridge.

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We’re rolling on a handsome and very wide interstate, I-75 to be exact, connecting Atlanta and Chattanooga. Rob’s cell phone can go online, and so: as we slice through densely wooded hills and ridges, Rob finds the Starbucks locater website and dials in Acworth, Georgia. And lo–tucked into these rural hills are not your naïve imaginings of banjo pickers on lonely cabin porches in grassy clearings, but rather 53, yes, 53 Starbucks within a 20 mile range. This is mindboggling. Fifty three Starbucks in a small patch of rural South Carolina. We’re far down this road to the future. There are wonders to be seen in the palm of your hand.

Rob has located a Starbucks. We’re exiting for Cartersville. At 605 Main Street, we are promised a Starbucks. We stop at the access road. In every direction are tall pines. Surely we will see the maiden Hiawatha treading a cool shaded trail. No. There’s a fresh red dirt gash in forest slope, and a pastel gas center. With a very long line.

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