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It’s the oddest thing. My mom loved country music. Not some artsy take on roots music ala Alison Krauss or Emmylou Harris but true corn pone, hard-core redneck music. Her stack of records included Buck Owens, George Jones, Eddie Arnold…While she also had acceptable variations, such as Elvis or Patsy Cline, her primary love was COWBOY music. My Tuscarora Mommy loves cowboy music. This was very confusing to my Jamaican Daddy, who, thanks to Hollywood, was accustomed to thinking of cowboys as the natural enemy of Indians. It was confusing to me, too. When my best friend and I played cowboys and Indians I flatly refused to let him be an Indian with me because he was, after all, the enemy. No way, no matter how good a pal, was some white boy going to be an Indian when I was around. When my mother intervened and said Freddy could be an Indian, too, I thought it the ultimate betrayal. But, what could I expect from a mother who loves cowboy movies? Yes. Cowboy movies – the ones where Italians and Jews in red face swarm over the sides of the fort attacking the innocent white folk. My mom loves ‘em. She always has. I find this an aberration. Perhaps the non-conformist gene that I inherited manifested itself this way with my Mom. Maybe this was her way of rebelling against the circumstances of the rez back in the 50’s. Maybe she was rebelling against her family. Maybe she was simply being ironic. Nope. Mom lives cowboy music and cowboy movies. And, so do all her rez pals and bingo buddies. Perhaps it’s due to the circumstances of the red generation that came of age during the 50’s and 60’s. This genera ration had almost been assimilated. My grandfather could speak all six languages of the Haudenosaunee and my mother could speak about six words. Her generation bobbed their hair, dyed it, permed it and seemed to want to blend more the generations before them. Maybe this was indicative of the state of the social politics of the reservation at the time. Drum roll please…Enter my brother’s generation, the folk who came of age in the 70’s. Hardcore Injins, they had long hair, they picketed, they took a stand at Alcatraz, they were at the siege at Wounded Knee; the generation that insisted on being visible, on not blending. They are the reason we have such strong voices now. So, please tell me, why, oh why, do they love cracker music? Cracker music. Southern Rock, honky tank blues. Why, oh why, do Indians love Lynyrd Skynyrd? Charlie Daniels? The Allman Brothers? The blues would be great but it’s not like we go for the real thing. Mention Howling Wolf or Muddy Waters and you may get an absent nod, but mention George Thorogood and the Destroyers (GT&D as they are fondly referred to in Oshweken)? Show me one reservation across the country that doesn’t have “Bad to the Bone” playing on a radio/jukebox/stereo every weekend. Even the traditional Haudenosaunee who won’t touch a drop of liquor will get up and have a boogie to “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer”. Folks, has anyone ever listened to the lyrics of these staples of reservation culture? I was at a party recently and my brother chastised me for not dancing to “Sweet Home Alabama”. He gave me an accusatory glare and said “Looks like someone’s forgotten where she came from”. WTF? Oshweken sure as hell ain’t in Alabama. And, the more we learn about the song the more we redskins (or any person of color) should not be getting up and bopping around to it. It’s a song celebrating African American oppression in the south. Nothing to do with us? Remember, we wouldn’t have made it through the whites only door either. My generation, the one that came of age in the 80’s and 90’s didn’t so that much better. We were a little more rebellious, a little worldlier. Instead of referring to everyone’s favorite high school teacher as “that way” we had a word for it – gay. We dyed our hair green and gave ourselves new wave haircuts that brought the above-mentioned generations to hysterics. We started rock bands…which…sounded like …Lynyrd Skynyrd. What happened to the advent of Indian rock? It spawned Indian Marshall Tucker bands. Roots music, I’ve heard said. Hmmm. Depeche Mode is not roots music, I’ll admit. But, don’t you think our roots music is probably best manifested with modern drum songs and vocalizations? Let’s face it –we have claimed major elements of redneck white culture as our own. Those roots people we have embraced were the ones who didn’t like having redskins around the neighborhood. Instead of recognizing and scorning this, we actually embrace this culture as a barometer for what is Indian. Why is it “white” of me to listen to techno music and not to listen to southern fried cracker music? Why are fry bread tacos served at every powwow? We all know it’s a tasty hybrid of Indian and Invader culture but so it a lovely squash soufflé. Why popularize and covet the one guaranteed to kill us with obesity and or diabetes? I always find it funny when meeting other Indians
for the first time. I’m breed enough that I’m always regarded
with suspicion. I wait until the opportune moment to start dropping
my rez authenticity hints: I may be a little fancy and odd but luckily, Indians
know one their own. After all, I do know all the words to “The
Devil Went Down to Georgia” Vicki Ramirez, Tuscarora, lives in New York City where she hides her Lynyrd Skynyrd inside her Sex Pistols CD. Image by Patrick Tafoya |
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