Busted Halo
author archive
Molly Ekerdt :
3 article(s)

January 1st, 2003
The Humanity of Patty Griffin's Musical World

Opening Patty Griffin’s newest album Mil Besos (“1000 Kisses”) was like opening a book that I wanted to read in one sitting. And I did. I cued the CD player, wrestled the booklet from its case, and opened to the lyrics of the first song, listening until the album was through.
Griffin writes words that make her listeners pay careful attention as she gives voice to stories of quiet pain and dignity. She inhabits the heartbroken, the misunderstood, the lost, the lonely, the unabashedly lovesick, the vulnerable, and the grieving; and renders them proud and unforgettable. She does so with striking melodies and beautiful instrumentation. She makes me cry. She makes me fantasize about accordion…

November 3rd, 2002
A U.S. Military Training Center Taught Latin America's Most Notorious Torturers and Assassins

At the School of the Americas protest in Fort Benning, Georgia, on November 16th and 17th, people wore T-shirts that borrowed the words of President Bush: “All known terrorist training camps must be shut down–start with the SOA.”
Since 1990, people gather every November in outrage at the existence of this Army training school by U.S. design, with U.S. government funding and–since 1984–on U.S. soil. The existence of a school whose lessons have largely been how to destabilize, torture, and kill, is especially repugnant in the current American climate of anti-terrorism.
SOA graduates from Latin American and Caribbean countries–too many to count–have given the orders for or carried…

June 1st, 2002
The Strains of Starting Over

It’s November and the leaves (of what are not palm trees and cactus) are still green. I must be in Texas. For the first time in four years, winter is closing in and I am not in Iowa–the place where I went to school. Leaving college means not only climate change and nostalgia for the scene at the bar on Wednesday night, but deeper dislocation as well.
My friend Marcy used to say that she could tell who had just come into our house while she was sitting in the living room by the different noises we all made: kicking off shoes, sighing, singing, slamming. If community is a group of people who are custodians of one another’s stories, I do not see the custodians of my stories every day anymore. Instead, I talk to them…

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