Breath & Shadow

MUSIC REVIEW

Crescendo

By Erika Jahneke

If the John Lennon that worked on Rubber Soul could travel to the present, listen to Bruce Springsteen and Johnny Cash and get injured on re–entry, he might have written an album that sounded like "Rollover". Luckily for us, we get it, even without the time machine being invented. It's got a number of qualities all those artists would recognize; a little blues, a little country, a lot of populism and some blue–eyed soul, mixed with a hearty dose of English cheek.

The most important thing about this album isn't its activist soul, although Crescendo has long been a dedicated disability–rights activist and there are songs about the treatment of veterans, ("Poppy") independent–living centers ("Liberty"), sexual oppression, ("The Ballad of Roy and Julie") and institutionalization,("Inglish House"). The exciting part for me was how much fun it was, much more deserving of being turned up loud than of a respectful contemplative silence. This is a disc you'll have because you want it, not because your honor as a crip says you ought to have it. That alone makes this the best thing I have heard all year. I'm so pleased not to have to reach to find something I like because I respect its intentions. If you'll forgive the pun, "Rollover" is a highly accessible album. I would recommend it to introduce concepts in disability culture to able–bodied friends and allies. My mother took it to work to share with her boss, who, while sharing her home with a disabled family member, is getting a crash course in bigotry, illogic, and institutional indifference. While I can't promise this will turn a dedicated Republican into an ADAPT crusader, perhaps Mom's boss will learn the important lessons without which no movement can start: "You're not alone," and "It's not just you."

There was even a lesson in it for me, though I believe myself to be up on all things disability–culture–wise. Because it's been a tough couple of months in our house, "You Don't Need Sympathy If You've Got Soul" was my favorite track. Even my able–bodied brother started humming along with the Cole Porter inspired "Don't Lock Me In", which goes beyond being a fannish filk to become a re–imagining that includes disabled folks in the Western ideal of wide open spaces. Maybe these catchy songs will achieve what all the well–intentioned mission statements in the world have so far failed to manage: giving disability a wider space in the public consciousness.

As somebody who is politically active, but as yet has lacked the guts to move Al Gore's Inconvenient Truth from its number 42–with–a–bullet placement on her Netflix queue, I appreciate the playfulness mixed in with the harsh realities. As important and haunting as "The Ballad of Roy and Julie" is, I'm really grateful it is followed by the sweet, bashful, vulnerability of "Wheelchair Waltz". A whole album full of bereft Roy's and Julie's would leave the listener crushed under the weight of the task before us, which makes the later track important as a palate cleanser, whether or not it really is about "having it off on the dance floor" or a more metaphorical dance of a different sort. Special praise is due to longtime Crescendo collaborator Andy Morgan, who, in addition to "knowing more harmonica players than is good for his sanity" helps to maintain that loose two–great–friends–messing–around–in–the–garage feeling that makes classic rock such a joy. In short, buy two. They're small.

You can order them for $15 each via the artist's e-mail at adaptdan@yahoo.com.

Erika is a wheelchair user, novelist and crime–fiction fangirl who lives in Phoenix, but has left her heart in San Francisco and her spleen in Baltimore. She hopes for creative success or the chance to wash out the coffee cups in the writers' room at HBO. Other goals include celebrating the election of a Senator for whom she voted, world peace, and the chance to direct.
Feedback is her strongest addiction. Feed the craving at ejahneke@yahoo.com.