play more music
In my salad days, when I was young and green, I had a swingin’ bachelorette pad in San Francisco.  One of the kick-ass benefits of my volunteer job at KUSF was the ability to put myself on the guest list of any club in town, and I used to go out at night frequently to enjoy “the rock n’ roll”. One of my favorite local bands was called Zircus. They had a lead singer whom, in retrospect, rather resembled Penn Gillette, and had this neat trick of hurling his bass drum into the audience during the course of the show. Ya gotta love an artist who is willing to risk braining his audience in the pursuit of his art (a bass drum flying at your head is no laughing matter). Anyway… I remember walking down the street to see them one night at the name-now-eludes-me club at the corner of Fulton and Masonic. I seem to recall this was an important gig for them; an A&R person was in the audience or some such nonsense. During the course of the show, in between songs, an awkward break in the music occurred. Arguing broke out amonst the bandmembers (they had a horn section, so there were quite a few of them on-stage). One of them finally shrieked “Just play something!” As a college radiohead, I felt embarassed on their behalf; it was the live performance equivalent of dead air.
The reason this memory comes to mind is because, lately, I have been thinking that libertarians should, pardon my French, shut the f*** up and play more music. I’ve watched, and participated in my own small way, in the Holy Platform War of the Libertarian Party. I’ve winced in pain while watching my friends and allies spar with one another on various email discussion lists in debates about how best to entice 20,000 libertarians to move to New Hampshire, the raison d’etre of the Free State Project. Sometimes it seems like each and every one of us is the walking wounded, or worse, a full-on zombie, and rather than just dealing with one another directly about how best to achieve our common goal (i.e. personal freedom), we’re all so focused on defending ourselves from unintended “attacks” that we waste unconscionable amounts of time and energy.  Please don’t think I’m sitting on my high horse here; I’m probably a worse offender than most. I’ve got a skin that’s more delicate than a baby’s ass. Pair that with a tongue that, when inspired, can melt most household plastics, and you’ve got a recipe for drama. Drama’s great if you happen to be one of those chicks with just one name (you know… “Cher”… “Madonna”…), but if you’re a would-be revolutionary, fledging political activist, or whatever the hell it is I’m trying to be, I’m afraid it’s just a colossal waste of time. Serving on the Board of Directors of the FSP has been my own penance; I now have a much better understanding of the pain my past criticism and scathing remarks may have caused those who have gone before me. It’s bad enough fighting an uphill battle, without your own allies chucking rocks at you.Â
Here’s to well-placed rock-chucking (i.e. at the bad guys!). Here’s to remembering which of us are on the same side here.  ”I reckon you should shut the fuck up and play some music.” So said the ever-so-to-the-point young Irishman with the mic in his hand at the Consolidated show. They not only took it to heart; they named a song on their next album after his proclamation. Â
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