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July 14, 2002
Bill Christison
The
DOA (Poem)
David Vest
I'll Never
Get Out of This Band Alive
July 13, 2002
M. Junaid Alam
A Process
of Dehumanization
Gavin Keeney
Go Tell
Karl Rove!
Matt Vidal
Corporate
"Ethics" Red Herrings
Ed Whitfield
Lessons
from Independence Day
July 12, 2002
Sean Donahue
The Other
Harken Energy Scandal: Oil, Death Squads
and Colombia
Walt Brasch
Sin Tax
Scam
"Psst. Cigarettes. A Buck Each."
Steve Perry
A Tale
of Two Twits
Wall Street Burns, Bush Fiddles, But Where's Wellstone?
July 11, 2002
Lloyd Marbet
Arrested
by the Chamber
of Commerce
David Krieger
Law vs.
Force
David Vest
Fountain
of Foo:
Strike Three Called
Irit Katriel
A Deep
Ideological Crisis
Richard Glen Boire
Dangerous
Lessons:
Public School Drug Testing
July 10, 2002
CounterPunch Wire
Third Party
Woes
South Carolina Denies Kevin Alexander Gray Ballot Status
Nassar Ibriham &
Majed Nassar
Bush's
Middle East Plan: Always Changing, Never Changing
Robert Fisk
Ain't That
America:
A Strange Kind of Freedom
Dave Marsh
The Return
of CREEP:
Record Cartel Accounting
Bernard Weiner
Hope and
Despair in
the Body Politic
Gary Leupp
European
Worries and
Bush's Terror War
July 9, 2002
St. Clair / Cockburn
The Atomic
Clock is Ticking:
All Roads Lead to Yucca Mtn.
Jack McCarthy
Florida:
a Terrorist Sanctuary for Bush's Bloody Pals?
Robert Fisk
How a Saudi
Billionaire
Does Beirut
Stanton and Madsen
God, Incorporated
Kurt Nimmo
IDF, Gangbanging
with Tanks
Bill Christison
Disastrous
Foreign Policies
of the US Part 3:
What Can We Do About It?
July 8, 2002
Rick Mercier
Yucca
Mountain Bound
Lev Grinberg
The
BUSHARON Global War
Tariq Ali
How Bush
Used 9/11 to Remap the World
Lori Allen
The Tugs
of War:
Palestinian Life Under Curfew
July 7, 2002
Alexander Cockburn
White
House Crooks
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The Memphis Blues Again:
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Text by Daniel Wolff
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Weekend
Edition
July 14, 2002
Seduced by a Legend
The Return
of Jimmy T99 Nelson
by Jeffrey St. Clair
Usually, Lloyd Allen, the dynamic singer and guitar
slinger for the Cannonballs, CounterPunch's favorite Northwest
blues band, is, among his many other talents, a walking fashion
statement.
But on this Independence Day evening
at the Waterfront Blues Festival in Portland, Allen wisely choose
to tone down (for him any way) his attire. Even the flamboyant
Allen knew there was no way he could compete with the splendor
of the Cannonballs' guest singer for the night, the Jimmy T99
Nelson, the greatest living blues shouter and one of the true
progenitors of rock and roll.
Midway through the Cannonballs' rollicking
set Nelson strolled onto the stage in a cerulean-colored suit
that shimmered so brightly it looked as if it had just been painted
by Raphael. Adorned with a captain's cap and fighter pilot shades,
T99 looked like he was ready to rock all night. And damned if
he  didn't! Indeed, the 83-year old
blues shouter dominated the stage not only with the Cannonballs,
but with a host of other top-notch acts, including guitarist
Duke
Robillard, piano player Marcia
Ball and harp master Paul
DeLay, stealing the show at what has become one of the nation's
biggest blues festivals.
Nelson grabbed the microphone, waved
one of his big paws at the crowd, then turned and chided the
band. "Slow it down, boys, I'm gettin' too old to sing it
that fast. Heh, heh." The little chuckle told the whole
story. There was nobody on that stage who was going to outpace
Nelson on this night. "The older a blues singer gets, the
better he sounds!" Nelson told me later. "It's all
those life experiences, man."
With David Vest on piano, you could almost
imagine you were hearing Big
Joe Turner and Pete
Johnson in their prime, back when the R&B sound was being
invented and ripped apart at the same time. Vest can do almost
anything with a keyboard. But he'd met his match with Nelson.
Nothing he did with those keys on this night could detour much
attention from the magic and power of Nelson's voice. Vest knew
it too. You could see him smiling as Nelson ripped through Shake,
Rattle and Roll, manhandling the band and hypnotizing the audience.
This was no surprise to Vest. The two were old friends from Houston,
where Vest had played piano in Nelson's band in the 1990s, as
T-99 resurrected a career that had lain dormant for nearly 30
years.
Nelson is known as a blues shouter. But
it's a misnomer. Shouter gives the impression of a singer who
attracts attention by uncontrolled screaming. Like, say, Janis
Joplin. That's not T99. Nelson brings the whole package. He can
be as smooth as Jackie
Wilson, as nuanced as his friend Percy
Mayfield and urgent as Wynonie
Harris. Nelson earned his stripes singing a variety of styles,
from straight blues and jump blues to big band and swing to R&B
and soul crooner. "It all depended on the audience, man,"
Nelson told me. "Back then some of those white cats couldn't
really understand the blues. You had to sing them something they
could relate to."
On this Independence Day night, the largely
white audience would have adored anything Nelson chose to sing
for them. By the time Nelson finished Flip, Flop and Fly and
Roll 'Em Pete, the crowd was in a frenzy, begging Nelson for
more. But he just smiled, waved and strolled off the stage. "You
got to know when to walk off," Nelson said later. "You've
got to leave them wanting more. That's one of the great secrets
of life in the music business."
Jimmy Nelson has a lifetime of those
secrets and on Saturday afternoon he shared a few with me and
Kimberly, along with David Vest and Teresa McMahill. We spent
a couple of hours together at Pete's Coffee House in downtown
Portland.
The first thing you notice about Jimmy,
when he removes his ubiquitous shades, are his extraordinary
eyes: light hazel in color, clear as crystal, lively, intelligent
and impish. He was in Portlandas an emergency replacement for
Ruth
Brown, who'd been taken ill. He flew into Portland expected
to stay a day. Instead, after his blow out opening night performance
with Duke Robillard, the promoters had demanded that he stay
around for the entire five days of the festival. He'd brought
one set of day clothes and his blue suit. He'd left his razor
in Houston. He stayed five days and tore the place up each afternoon
and evening.
"Man, I only have that one suit,"
Nelson joked. "If I don't change it soon, people are going
to think I'm poor."
That wasn't going to be a possibility.
Jimmy Nelson could look sharp in coveralls.
These days Nelson is marketed as "the
Texas blues singer." But he's really an all-American musician,
who was able to absorb the gospel sound, west coast blues and
New Orleans  R&B and transform it into
his own unique, vibrant style. He was born in Philly, in 1918.
It was a musical family, but a divided one. His father, Big Boy
Nelson, was a featured sax player in Doc Hodges' band for many
years. But Jimmy's father wasn't around very much. "He met
my mother at a dance where he was playing sax," Nelson recalled.
"And they got together hot-and-heavy right away, you know,
and he dropped his seed and that was about it. When I was young,
he didn't even come around to buy us milk. But, man, he always
fascinated me. Leading the life of a musician."
His mother, Florence, was a singer and
a very good one by his account. But she was religious and stuck
to gospel songs and church settings. "She didn't play no
clubs," says Nelson. "She didn't go for that. And she
didn't like my father and didn't want me to be a musician. She
wanted something better for me, I guess, and she got me in one
of those 'Holy Roly' churches in Chester, Pennsylvania. She told
me if I ever got in show business she'd whup me."
But the blues had captured Nelson's heart
and soul and, at the same time, he was growing more and more
curious about his father's life. "One day I hopped a street
car in south Philly to a sale at a music store," Nelson
said. "I bought a clarinet for $4.50 and then on the way
home I bought this kitten. My mother came home from work. She
saw the clarinet and the kitten, grabbed them, went up to the
second story window and threw them out on to the sidewalk. That
like to broke my heart, man. And I decided to leave right then.
Everybody was always kicking my dad down to me. But I wanted
to find out what show biz was like."
Most people think that the blues traveled
north, from the Mississippi Delta up through Memphis and St.
Louis to Chicago. Much of it did, of course. But not all of it.
Jimmy Nelson was one of those who went West. Many of the R&B
greats, such as Big Joe Turner and Nat
King Cole, headed to California. So too did many of the Texas
blues musicians, such as T-Bone
Walker and Pee
Wee Crayton. That blend of Texas jump blues and swing and
urban R&B melded to form a West Coast sound that was not
only distinct from what was being produced by Muddy
Waters and Howlin'
Wolf in Chicago at roughly the same period but rivaled it
in quality.
So at the age of 17, Jimmy hopped a train
and headed for the Pacific Coast. "I went with my friend
Head, who knew everything about riding trains," Nelson said.
"But he didn't tell me how dangerous it was, especially
on a passenger train. We was hiding between cars and you know
if one of those guards, one the bulls, found a black man crouched
down there they'd just shoot them and leave them lying by the
rails."
Jimmy eventually made it all the way
to Seattle. He was headed for Port Orchard, a small town on the
Olympic Peninsula to see his Uncle Jimmy Luck. He took the Ferry
from Bremerton across Puget Sound. "I didn't have his address,"
Nelson said. "But he was the only black man in that town,
so he was easy to find."
Jimmy stayed with his uncle only a couple
of weeks before he headed south. "I roomed with him and
his girlfriend until she got frisky, started looking for some
fresh meat, you know?" Nelson said. "So I decided I
need to get out of there before any trouble started."
"How old were you then Jimmy, you
must've been very young," Kimberly asked.
Nelson's face expanded into a devilish
grin. "Oh, I was old enough for that honey, believe me,
I sure was."
He landed in Sacramento, where he soon
got a job in the fields, toiling as a farmworker picking tomatoes,
cotton, strawberries and hops. "Oh mercy it was hot down
there in those fields," Nelson said. "But I didn't
mind the work. I was glad to be on my own and have some money."
One night he ventured into an Oakland
club and heard Big Joe Turner, fronting the Kansas City Rockers.
"It turned my life around" Nelson said. "We were
listening to this band and they were pretty good, but then the
biggest man I'd ever seen in my life stepped out on stage. He
opened his arms wide and started to sing the blues and man I
said that's for me. That man stood flat-footed and delivered
the blues, man! He didn't need a microphone, he didn't need nothing.
I said to myself, this guy's got something I need to have. That
was Big Joe Turner. He was my inspiration to be a singer."
Eventually, Jimmy and Turner would become
fast friends. They would perform together, travel together and
drink together. "Booze, that was Big Joe's sickness,"
Nelson said. "He would drink and drink. Anything and everything.
But he had a magic trick. He'd eat a lot. Oh, he'd eat mountains
of food. And it kept him from passing out from the booze, you
know. We were  working in Mississippi once.
There was this great smell coming up the steps of the hotel.
We went down to see what was cooking. It was a big pot of chitlins.
Joe bought the whole pot. And we ate all those chitlins with
mustard. Oh, they was good, and we used to laugh about that day
for years. Chitlins and hot mustard, Oh yeah."
Sometimes the food didn't do the trick
and Turner would get so drunk that he couldn't perform. On a
few occasions, Nelson would go on stage for Joe. Sometimes, usually
in rural outpost, Nelson would actually go on stage as Joe Turner.
"In a lot of towns in California people think I'm Joe Turner,"
Nelson said. "Clubs would hire me because I sounded like
Joe, and Joe would be too juiced to make the gig. I did all of
Joe's numbers."
"Do you think the music business
treated Joe right?" Vest asked.
"Hell no," Jimmy said, slapping
the table. "Joe Turner never did get his royalties. Look
at all those hits: 'Lucille,' 'Piney Town Blues,' 'Wee Baby Blues,'
'Shake Rattle and Roll'. And he didn't see hardly nothing. You
know Joe couldn't even write his name. That's why he always had
his valet with him. But they robbed him because of that. All
those guys was robbed."
In the mid-1940s, Nelson began entering
singing competitions, going up against the likes of that Bay
Area great, Jimmy Witherspoon. At that point his talent may have
been raw, but it was also evident to anyone with a feel for the
new urban blues sound. He recorded a few songs for the small
Oliet label, but back then Jimmy was more interested in performing
than recording. He soon landed a gig at a Richmond club called
the Tapper's Inn, where he both sang and served as emcee. "I
remember the night T-Bone Walker first came there to play,"
Nelson said. "He'd let it be known that he thought I talked
too much when I gave the introductions. So when it came time
to time to introduce him later that night all I said was 'T-Bone
Walker.' Oh was he ever mad. He thought he deserved more fanfare
than that. But we worked it out. We never had no problems after
that. And T-Bone could play some guitar, man. People thought
he was half-crazy, wailing away with a guitar that's got electricity
flowing through it, and then plucking those strings with his
tongue. It looked like he'd kill himself."
Many of the West Coast scene's best blues
artists passed through Tapper's Inn, including Pee Wee Crayton,
Percy Mayfield, Eddie
"Cleanhead" Vinson, and Lowell
Fulson. "Those were the tender days of the blues,"
Nelson said. "Those old-timers could lay on the blues. Make
you cry, if they wanted. I remember Ivory
Joe Hunter. That man had the biggest feet in the world. When
he sat on the bandstand, he didn't need no drummer. He'd just
slap his foot and everybody'd start dancing to that stomping.
And some night poor Lowell Fulson would come down with his guitar.
They wouldn't let him sit in, because he was never in key and
couldn't sing hardly at all. Finally, this guy from LA got Lowell,
gave him this chic-a-boom beat, and he put that in Everyday I've
Got the Blues and went flying to the top. I'm so proud of Lowell.
These white cats who play the blues today think they doin' blues.
But a lot of them just don't have the feel, you know? It's a
shame they didn't get to see people like Big Joe or Pee Wee."
Jimmy's best friend in Oakland was Percy
Mayfield, the brilliant songwriter and singer. "Oh Percy
was great, but you know a lot people couldn't stand to be around
him because he talked so much," Nelson said. "I mean
he just couldn't stay quiet. Percy and I were in the Masonic
Lodge together. But I didn't get to see him much because he was
in the higher orders, in the inner sanctum. But Percy could be
cheap too. One time I had to borrow his bus to take my band down
to San Diego. He wasn't using it. But he still charged me $100.
Oh, I loved Percy Mayfield like a brother, though."
Later Jimmy moved across the bay to the
Long Bar Showboat Club on Fillmore Avenue in San Francisco, a
fully integrated club with Chinese bartenders. "That was
one wildest places, man," said Nelson. "And they worked
you hard. The music would start at 9 PM and continue straight
through until 10 in the morning. They demanded three new songs
a week from the singers, four new songs from the band and even
new songs from the shakedancers."
It was here that Nelson became friends
with Louis
Armstrong and Billie
Holiday. By all accounts, Holiday was treated roughly by
the management. "Billie, oh she would cry and cry,"
Nelson recalled. "Finally the owner got mad at her and paid
her off in one dollar bills...700 one dollar bills. And he made
her sit there and count them. That was cold, man."
Louis Armstrong was one of the original
vitamin freaks and had something of a mean streak, particularly
with women. "I never seen anyone pop as many pills as Louis
Armstrong," Nelson said, shaking his head. "A big plate
filled with all these different kinds of vitamins and stuff.
Whew. You know Louis could be kind of rough on the ladies. But
Louis' wife Lucille didn't stand for that. She carried a knife
and told Louis if he hit her she'd cut him."
There were legendary singing contests
at the Long Bar. "We was into cutting heads back then,"
Nelson said. "You know what cutting heads is? It was like
a heavyweight fight on stage. You wanted to take on the top singer
and cut his head on stage, man. I mean crack his skull open,
upstage him, take his spot. Me and PeeWee Crayton and Percy Mayfield
used to go at it with cats like Wynonie Harris. O-boy, nobody
dressed like Wynonie Harris. And his songs, they had some crude,
cussin' stuff in there. But he was a mean man. Really mean to
people. You know I was always thought you had to be nice. You
can't go around stepping on peoples' heads when you climb to
the top cause there won't be no one around when you hit bottom.
When Wynonie hit bottom there wasn't nobody there."
One day in 1951, Jimmy got a call from
the Bihari Brothers, owners of Modern Records, asking him to
perform at the at club in Oakland with the Peter Rabbit Trio.
That night they recorded four songs. Six weeks later "T-99
Blues" (named after an old highway running out of Ft. Worth)
hit the airwaves and Nelson was the hottest property in R&B.
The emphasis here is on property. It's the old story of the relentless
exploitation of black musicians and songwriters. His record was
a big hit, but Nelson was pinned down at the Long Bar for another
year. "I wanted to go on tour and take advantage of my record"
Nelson recalls. "So I told the owner of the Long Bar that
I needed to leave. He said, 'Son, come here, I want to show you
something. This is a contract. You can't leave now.' That was
an early lesson in how the music business owns you."
Like other blues artists of his time,
Nelson also didn't see much profit from the brisk sales of his
record, which climbed to the top of the charts. "We just
wanted to make records to advertise ourselves and our club dates,"
Nelson recalled. "We didn't know these records were going
all over the country. And, of course, it wasn't in the Bihari
Brothers' interest to tell us. Eventually, I learned from that,
man, about the copyright laws. But only after everything died
down."
When Nelson was finally free to hit the
road, he got signed up with Los Angeles promoter Ben Waller.
One of the first thing's Waller did was to take Nelson to a tailor.
"I go out to the tailor's shop," Nelson said. "My
eyes got big. I saw all this material. I want that blue one,
that gold one, that white one. Back in those days, black cats
dressed sharp and sing your ass off. So I got to DC with all
of these suits and then I got my first paycheck. And it wasn't
much. And I called Ben Waller said, where's the rest of my money?
And he says, in those suits. And then there was his 15 percent
off the top. Early lessons in the music biz, man. Lots of tickets
being sold, lots of money being made, but not by the singer."
Things haven't changed much. These days
recording artists are routinely socked with the bills for overpriced
videos deemed necessary to sell their records.
For the next two years, Nelson toured
the country at a grueling pace, playing the Apollo in Harlem
and the Howard Theater in Washington, DC. The constant touring
meant that Nelson didn't have time to record any new songs and
left him too tired to write new music.
Nelson's voice has been a touchstone
for some of the great singers who've followed him, perhaps none
more so than B.B.
King. Indeed, the success of T-99 Blues prompted the Bihari
Brothers to summon the young BB King from Memphis to Los Angeles
for a recording session. Those cuts have recently
been reissued and if you listen to them, along with T-99
Blues, you'll hear how deftly King incorporated Nelson's stylings
into his own vocal approach, creating one of the signature sounds
of Post-WW II blues. Many years later King told Nelson: "If
it hadn't been for singers like you, I would not have gotten
in the business."
When the Bihari Brothers latched on to
BB, they ended up letting Jimmy go. "The Bihari Brothers
said they wanted to record this kid from Memphis," Nelson
says. "And that was BB King. Those sessions turned out one,
two, three, four, five hit records in a row. "it was three-o'clock
in the morning..." Oh, yeah, BB was on his way. And it wasn't
long before I got my 'Dear John' letter from them. They didn't
have that much money and decided to put it all in promoting BB.
But I'm not bitter about it. I see BB from time to time and we
chuckle about those days. He says, he wouldn't have made it without
singers like me, without the money the Biharis made off of T99
Blues. But I look back and say, it all works out in the end.
BB became one big star and we've all been able to enjoy that
great music."
"Yeah, but the Bihari Brothers blew
it, Jimmy," Vest said. "They could have signed you
and BB and had you recording great songs for them for the next
fifty years."
I asked him what he thought about the
advent of rock and roll and whether he felt ripped off that the
white bands were making so much money off of black music. "Oh,
man, that was nothing," he said. "We'd been doing rock
'n roll forever before those guys came along, Wynonie Harris,
Big Joe, even Fats
Waller. They rocked long before Elvis. I did like that Little
Richard, though. I met him in a club in Atlanta. This was
before I knew he was that way, if you know what I mean. He took
us upstairs and said, 'Have some of this.' I drank it, thinking
it was water, you know, but that stuff was the sweetest white
lightning I'd ever tasted. And I just kept drinking it. Here's
a secret for you: put a little grape juice in there with that
stuff and you could go all night." Nelson playfully flicks
his index finger up and down. "Heh, heh. But, you know,
Richard got to the point where he stopped writing and doing new
material. He's spent years and years performing the same old
stuff and it shows. I can't do that."
In 1955, Nelson settled in Houston, where
he became, along with Lightnin'
Hopkins, Eddie Cleanhead Vinson and T-Bone Walker, one of
the giants of the Texas blues scene. While in Texas, he continued
to record, including the remarkable "Free and Easy Mind"
for Chess. He also fell in love with the woman who would become
his wife, Nettie. But with the advent of rock and roll, blues
wasn't attracting as much attention or money. Records and club
dates didn't pay the bills, so Nelson got a fulltime job at Hartney
Construction Company, where he worked for the next 20 years as
a bricklayer and mason. He's very proud of pouring the concrete
for the Astrodome and not very impressed with the Astro's new
digs, Enron/Minute Maid Field.
"There came a time when working
construction paid more money than playing music and when you're
married you've got to think about those things," Nelson
said.
Over the next couple of decades, Nelson's
chops weren't idle. He played local clubs in the Houston area
and he continued to perfect his songwriting skills. Jimmy Nelson
isn't just one of the greatest blues singers of his time. He's
also one of the great songwriters in the history of the genre,
including such standouts as "Meet Me with Your Black Dress
On", "House of Blues" and "Free and Easy
Mind." His songs can be ironic, funny, chilling, heartbreaking,
raunchy and just flat out rocking. "I don't look back,"
Nelson said. "I don't have any interest in redoing T-99
Blues. I'm writing new kinds of music. My new songs are 7 chorus
long. Now songs that long can get boring. So you have to work
in some channels and utilize the band. Put some solos in there.
The older I got the more I knew how to write. When I was young,
I just put a bunch of silly things together. And if nothing comes
to you, you get a block, just take another drink and shout the
blues, man. It'll be alright."
In 1998, Jimmy Nelson made an audacious
return to the recording studio, producing Rockin'
and Shoutin' the Blues released by Rounder. This 9-song CD
featured five new songs by Nelson and extensively rearranged
covers of Leroy
Carr's seminal How Long Blues, Doc
Pomus' Boogie Woogie Country Girl and his old friend Eddie
"Cleanhead" Vinson's, Sweet Mr. Cleanhead. Jimmy was
backed by a first-rate band of Texas musicians, led by the great
guitarist Clarence
Hollimon along with two horn players from Roomful
of Blues, Rich Lataille and Doug James. The music sounds
new and fresh, the band finds deep grooves and stays in them.
Even so, Nelson dominates the record with a voice that is both
polished and thunderous, sly and playful.
The record was nominated for five W.C.
Handy Awards, the Grammies of the blues. Nelson was invited to
Memphis for the awards show. "I can't brag on Memphis,"
Nelson said. "My trip to Memphis was miserable. I paid my
airfare, cabfare, and hotel at $190 a night. They didn't pay
the entertainers. I wish they wouldn't nominate me anymore. I'll
go broke. I wondered why the Bobby Blue Bland and Etta James
were reluctant to go down. Now I know."
Nelson also says that Rounder didn't
do much to promote the CD. "Yeah, they didn't treat me right,"
Nelson said. "They sent out thousands of copies of the cover
with my picture on it, but the CD inside was religious music.
Can you imagine that?"
This summer Nelson will release a new
CD titled Take Your
Pick, featuring Duke Robillard on guitar. "After all
these years, I finally found out the secret of life," Nelson
said. "Own your own record label. My session cost $10,000.
If I find a penny on the ground, it goes to my sessions. I pay
the fees and the musicians and I can do what I like."
On the closing night of the blues festival
the skies above Portland opened and the rains came pouring down.
The crowd of 10,000 or so huddled together, grooving to Marcia
Ball and her scorching band. Midway through her set, she brought
out Nelson, looking splendid in that same blue suit. Jimmy ripped
through two smoking blues and then waved good-bye. But the crowd
wouldn't let him go. They demanded more and he gave it to them.
There were many there who'd probably
never heard of Jimmy T-99 Nelson before thatstormy night. And
that's a damn shame, a sign of how quickly the living history
of the blues can evaporate even among connoisseurs. But it only
took a few moments for that sound to be resurrected and taken
to heart. Those rain-soaked blues fans left in amazement, with
no doubt that they'd just seduced by a legend.
This Weekend's
Features
Bill Christison
The
DOA (Poem)
David Vest
I'll Never
Get Out of This Band Alive
M. Junaid Alam
A Process
of Dehumanization
Gavin Keeney
Go Tell
Karl Rove!
Matt Vidal
Corporate
"Ethics" Red Herrings
Ed Whitfield
Lessons
from Independence Day
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