Dixie Lullaby

Rock & roll has transformed American culture more profoundly than any other art form. During the 1960s, it defined a generation of young people as political and social idealists, helped end the Vietnam War, and ushered in the sexual revolution. In Dixie Lullaby, veteran music journalist Mark Kemp shows that rock also renewed the identity of a generation of white southerners who came of age in the decade after segregation -- the heyday of disco, Jimmy Carter, and Saturday Night Live. Growing up in North Carolina in the 1970s, Kemp experienced pain, confusion, and shame as a result of the South's residual civil rights battles. His elementary school was integrated in 1968, the year Kemp reached third grade; his aunts, uncles, and grandparents held outdated racist views that were typical of the time; his parents, however, believed blacks should be extended the same treatment as whites, but also counseled their children to respect their elder relatives. "I loved the land that surrounded me but hated the history that haunted that land," Kemp writes. When rock music, specifically southern rock, entered his life, he began to see a new way to identify himself, beyond the legacy of racism and stereotypes of southern small-mindedness that had marked his early childhood. Well into adulthood Kemp struggled with the self-loathing familiar to many white southerners. But the seeds of forgiveness were planted in adolescence when he first heard Duane Allman and Ronnie Van Zant pour their feelings into their songs. In the tradition of music historians such as Nick Tosches and Peter Guralnick, Kemp masterfully blends into his narrative the stories of southern rock bands --from heavy hitters such as the Allman Brothers Band, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and R.E.M. to influential but less-known groups such as Drive-By Truckers -- as well as the personal experiences of their fans. In dozens of interviews, he charts the course of southern rock & roll. Before civil rights, the popular music of the South was a small, often racially integrated world, but after Martin Luther King Jr.'s assassination, black musicians struck out on their own. Their white counterparts were left to their own devices, and thus southern rock was born: a mix of popular southern styles that arose when predominantly white rockers combined rural folk, country, and rockabilly with the blues and jazz of African-American culture. This down-home, flannel-wearing, ass-kicking brand of rock took the nation by storm in the 1970s. The music gave southern kids who emulated these musicians a newfound voice. Kemp and his peers now had something they could be proud of: southern rock united them and gave them a new identity that went beyond outside perceptions of the South as one big racist backwater. Kemp offers a lyrical, thought-provoking, searingly intimate, and utterly original journey through the South of the 1960s, '70s, '80s, and '90s, viewed through the prism of rock & roll. With brilliant insight, he reveals the curative and unifying impact of rock on southerners who came of age under its influence in the chaotic years following desegregation. Dixie Lullaby fairly resonates with redemption.

The ten essays in this collection focus on how southerners have marketed themselves to outsiders and identify spaces, services, and products that construct various Souths that exaggerate, refute, or self-consciously safeguard elements of southernness. Simultaneous.

Superstar in a Masquerade tells the story about Leon Russell, an award-winning Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee, who was born with cerebral palsy, and learned to master the piano. He became an in-demand session man in Hollywood, contributing to thousands of songs by hundreds of artists, during his seven-decade career. He was called the "Rainbow Minister & Ringleader" for the Hippie Generation, and although most people can say they never heard of him, few can say they've never heard him. After reading this book, you can play "Three Degrees of Leon," just like the game "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon," linking him to anyone, from B.B. King to ZZ Top. As an emigre from Oklahoma to California, he invited David Gates and J. J. Cale to join him in the music mecca known as Tinseltown, where the Tulsa Trio made untold contributions to America's popular music. Read about over five hundred artists, and their songs that Leon, David, and J. J. helped create, as well as... When seventeen-year-old Leon replaced Jerry Lee Lewis on stage in 1959. How Frank Sinatra caused Leon to let his hair grow. How J. J. Cale played a role in the formation of the band Bread. How Leon saved Joe Cocker's career and created Willie Nelson's famous image. When Elton John was Leon's opening act on tour. Why DC Comics sued Leon's record label for $2 million. When David Gates's band backed Chuck Berry on stage in 1961. When Leon brazenly threw the "F-bomb" at Phil Spector. When Leon called organized Christianity the single most harmful force in history. What Broadway song Leon borrowed from for "This Masquerade."

From the late nineteenth century through World War II, popular culture portrayed the American South as a region ensconced in its antebellum past, draped in moonlight and magnolias, and represented by such southern icons as the mammy, the belle, the chival

In Crossing Traditions: American Popular Music in Local and Global Contexts, a wide range of scholarly contributions on the local and global significance of American popular music examines the connections between selected American blues, rock and roll, and hip-hop music and their equivalents from Senegal, Nigeria, England, India, and Mexico. Contributors show how American popular music promotes local and global awareness of such key issues as economic inequality and social marginalization while inspiring cross-cultural and interethnic influences among regional and transnational communities.

By the early 1970s, practically everyone under a certain age liked rock music, but not everyone liked it for the same reasons. We typically associate the sounds of classic rock 'n' roll with youthful rebellion by juvenile delinquents, student demonstrators, idealistic hippies, or irreverent punks. But in this insightful and timely book, author George Case shows how an important strain of rock music from the late 1960s onward spoke to and represented an idealized self-portrait of a very different audience: the working-class 'Average Joes' who didn't want to change the world as much as they wanted to protect their perceived place within it. To the extent that "working-class populism" describes an authentic political current, it's now beyond a doubt that certain musicians and certain of their songs helped define that current. By now, rock 'n' roll has cast a long shadow over hundreds of millions of people around the world not just over reckless kids, but over wage-earning parents and retired elders; not just over indignant youth challenging authority, but over indignant adults challenging their own definition of it. Not only have the politics of rock fans drifted surprisingly rightward since 1970; some rock, as Case argues, has helped reset the very boundaries of left and right themselves. That God, guns, and Old Glory can be understood to be paid fitting tribute in a heavy guitar riff delivered by a long-haired reprobate in blue jeans but that #Me Too, Occupy Wall Street or Black Lives Matter might not hints at where those boundaries now lie.

The legacy of defeat in war reverberates through private and collective memory and remains a sub-text in international relations and political discourse. This book examines the manner in which a series of military defeats have been understood and remembered by individuals and societies in the era of modern industrialised warfare.