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How the TV Networks Became Drug Peddlers
The corrupt relationship between the pharmaceutical industry and the major TV networks makes a sick joke of the notion of an independent press. Nothing more blatantly displays its role as corporate whore. Alexander Cockburn traces the slimy ties. ALSO, He’s the man for whom Rush Limbaugh threw over for Sarah Palin. Donald Juneau investigates the short career of Republican Bobby Jindal. ALSO, One of America’s greatest environmental writers, the legendary Doug Peacock, gives CounterPunchers a brilliant history of the Yellowstone River country. Get your new edition today by subscribing online or calling 1-800-840-3683 Contributions to CounterPunch are tax-deductible. Click here to make a donation. If you find our site useful please: Subscribe Now! CounterPunch books and gear make great presents.
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Today's Stories March 6-8 , 2009 Alexander Cockburn Chris Floyd Uri Avnery Dave Lindorff Mark Weisbrot David Ker Thomson Phil Aliff Rebekah Ward Tracey Briggs Dean Baker Wajahat Ali David Michael Green David Macaray Michael Dickinson Susie Day Bob Sommer Website of the Weekend March 5 , 2009 James G. Abourezk Kathleen and Bill Christison Robert Weissman Patrick Cockburn William Blum Robert Fantina Saul Landau Benjamin Dangl Christopher Brauchli Website of the Day March 4, 2009 Marjorie Cohn Mike Whitney Ron Jacobs Ashley Smith Joanne Mariner Dan Bacher Mark Engler Franklin Lamb Cal Winslow David Mandelzys Website of the Day March 3, 2009 Conn Hallinan Fawzia Afzal-Khan Brian M. Downing Robert Larson Daniel P. Wirt, MD Russell Mokhiber William Loren Katz Kathy Sanborn Pauline Imbach Christopher Ketcham Website of the Day March 2, 2009 Andrea Peacock Paul Craig Roberts Peter Lee John Blair Peter Morici Uri Avnery Michael Donnelly Fred Gardner Sonia Nettnin Andrew Lehman Website of the Day
Feb. 27 - March 1, 2009 Alexander Cockburn Harry Browne Anthony DiMaggio Sasan Fayazmanesh Mischa Gaus Felice Pace Mike Whitney Lee Sustar Peter Lee Nicole Colson Roger Burbach Rannie Amiri Missy Beattie Dave Lindorff Robert David Steele Vivas John Ross Ralph Nader Yves Engler Alan Farago Zulfikar Majid David Yearsley Charles R. Larson Kim Nicolini Lorenzo Wolff Poets' Basement Website of the Weekend February 26, 2009 Dave Lindorff Jonathan Cook Patrick Cockburn Mike Whitney Eamonn McCann Tim Wise Tom Barry Harvey Wasserman Adam Turl David Macaray James McEnteer Website of the Day
February 25, 2009 Chris Sands M. Shahid Alam Chris Floyd Dave Lindorff Norman Solomon Rachel Godfrey Wood Niranjan Ramakrishnan Ron Jacobs Nadia Hijab Dennis Loo Website of the Day February 24, 2009 Paul Craig Roberts Uri Avnery Peter Morici Jonathan Cook Paul Fitzgerald / Andy Worthington Brian Horejsi Julia Stein Norm Kent Rachel Smolker / Dennis Loo James McEnteer Website of the Day February 23, 2009 Michael Hudson Mike Roselle Patrick Cockburn Franklin Spinney Einar Már Guðmundsson Ralph Nader Jordan Flaherty Helen Redmond Dennis Loo Harvey Wasserman Terry Lodge Website of the Day February 20 / 22, 2009 Alexander Cockburn Michael Neumann / Ismael Hossein-zadeh Paul Craig Roberts Linn Washington Jr. Saul Landau Marjorie Cohn Binoy Kampmark Dave Lindorff David Yearsley David Macaray James McEnteer Rick Salutin Wayne Clark Richard Rhames Stephen Martin Mitu Sengupta Charles R. Larson Richard Morse Lorenzo Wolff Poets' Basement Website of the Weekend February 19, 2009 Norman Finkelstein Harry Browne Robert Bryce Brian M. Downing Fred Gardner Andy Worthington Wajahat Ali Laura Carlsen Deb Reich Christopher Ketcham Website of the Day February 18, 2009 Paul Craig Roberts Mike Whitney M. Shahid Alam Patrick Cockburn Conn Hallinan Dave Lindorff Rannie Amiri Gareth Porter Eric Hobsbawm Christopher Brauchli Martha Rosenberg Website of the Day February 17, 2009 Michael Hudson Mike Whitney Ralph Nader Joanne Mariner John Ross Belén Fernández Mats Svensson David Macaray Gregory Vickrey M. Junaid Levesque-Alam Michael Dickinson Website of the Day February 16, 2009 Patrick Cockburn Oscar Guardiola-Rivera Paul Craig Roberts Uri Avnery P. Sainath Dedrick Muhammad / Michael Brown Carla Blank Patrick Irelan Dan Bacher Fidel Castro Harvey Wasserman Website of the Day February 13 - 15, 2009 Alexander Cockburn Joshua Frank Mike Whitney George Ciccariello-Maher Nikolas Kozloff Brian M. Downing Paul Craig Roberts Christopher Ketcham Ron Jacobs Dave Lindorff Alan Maass Chuck Spinney Phil Gasper Stephen Lendman Charles Thomson Kathy Sanborn Saul Landau Len Wengraf Harvey Wasserman David Macaray Tom Stephens Seth Sandronsky David Yearsley Lorenzo Wolff Kim Nicolini Poets' Basement Website of the Weekend
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Weekend Edition The Musical PatriotSonic Fakery in "Slumdog" From the Mozart of ChennaiBy DAVID YEARSLEY A. R. Rahman’s two-fisted Oscar haul a couple of weeks ago was richly deserved. Without his soundtrack, Slumdog Millionaire would have been largely unwatchable. It was the palliative of Rahman’s score that allowed the movie’s grim images of poverty and violence to be served up as entertainment. Even more skillful and necessary was the way his music energized the film’s central conceit—Redemption by Game Show—with a kind of urgency and excitement that the narrative nonsense itself could hardly sustain. To his credit Rahman, a seemingly modest and likable fellow, acknowledged the arbitrariness of industry awards, especially the infamously fickle and foolish Oscar. On his triumphant return to India last week Rahman was asked to comment on the fact that his musical guru, Ilayairaaja, has never been recognized by Hollywood’s dubious Academy. “Ilaiyaraaja sir and his music are beyond the Oscar limits. The international music community knows the supremacy of Raja sir in Indian film music. He has already proved his talents through symphony and Thiruvasagam oratorio. So there is no need to compare him with just winning some award.” Who needs the Oscar when one reigns supreme in India? Composer of a staggering 850 film scores and some 5,000 songs over a thirty year career, Illaiyaraaja has raked in many Indian film awards but never the mother lode from California’s distant shores. This year ten films are moored at his musical dock ready to take on his cargo of high-energy synthesizer sound inflected with Indian rhythms, and various Asian and world music melodic touches. The Slumdog Millionaire resonates with a facile spirituality thanks to Rahman’s abundant use of the human voice put through slick echo effects and kindred “enhancements.” Here’s betting that cinematic freighters from across the world will seen lining up in the Bay of Bengal for product from Rahman’s Chennai studios, said to be the most advanced in Asia. Rahman’s music is highly produced, highly packaged, and highly effective: his is the sound of India’s high tech transformation. One could almost imagine after seeing this film that the class and religious divisions of Indian it depicts could be dissolved by this soundtrack alone. The fast-paced often jerky visual style of Slumdog Millionaire, self-conciously influenced by music videos, already presents events on screen as comfortingly fictional, even fantastical. The squalor of the slums is never to be confused with the real thing, even if the movie is shot on location. With its chugging drum beat, reverb-enhanced tenor incantations over a shimmering synthesizer haze wafting past like incense, the opening music imbues the proceedings with a mythic quality from the start. The soundtrack confirms that the unsteady camera is not that of the documentary-filmmaker but of the fiction-maker. Thanks to this repetitive, hypnotic music saturated in longing and possibility, we always know we are in safe hands. Our time in the slums, in the interrogation rooms, in the gangster palaces, cesspools, customer service phone centers, and Who Wants to Be A Millionairestudio will never be too unsettling. The film’s excursions into faux realism never threaten cinema verité. Brutality in the film is always softened by music, even when that music is pumped up on adrenaline. With the rush of Hindu fanatics across the train tracks to our child protagonist’s slum in the early phase of the film we again hear the locomotive action of Rahman’s music, this time with syncopated drum beats, portentous throbbing in the middle range of the texture, and chromatic tinges from the keyboard. This music presages doom while promising to avert it. The soundtrack not only readies as for the killing of our hero Jamal’s mother but assures us that the partially slow-mo massacre about to be staged for our benefit will be pantomime, reenactment, a necessary plot point with a whiff of pathos. The soundtrack lets us know both what to expect and that it won’t be too horrible to watch. Yes, we are in for a few minor jolts, but they are about as inconvenient and unthreatening as those Jamal gets while being “tortured” by the police for allegedly cheating on the game show. In the massacre the visual style aestheticizes the violence into harmlessness. For its part the music provides the images with the aura of manageable terror even while assuring us that the force and surety of Rahman’s beat will pull us through the savagery. Let the massacre scene run in real time and without music and watch the theatre empty. The funky track that springs Jamal and his bad brother, Salim, from the villians’ lair running a begging ring, also gives the game away. Thanks to Rahman’s mastery of the tonalities of easy excitement there’s never a doubt we are watching kids in a disco-fairy tale rather than desperate children—or even desperate characters—running for their lives. Similarly, Rahman helps convert a harrowing fall from a train, with Jamal being dangled by his brother from atop the carriage by a rope around his feet, into a swashbuckling romp rather than the deadly accident it most certainly would have been. Throughout the movie’s two hours Rahman’s music provides the aural anesthetic to the dangers implied, if never honestly confronted, by the images. The soundtrack’s numbing energy is that of a video game rather than evocative of the unpredictable and menacing obstacles that the film consistently and opportunistically evades. Even the long and devastating shots of the Mumbai slums we see when the boys return to their home city so that Jamal can find the love of his life, still in the clutches of the bad guys, are given the sonic airbrush by Rahman’s music. All is about as threatening as an issue of National Geographic. The overlap in musical styles between the Millionaire game show theme and Rahman’s other synthesized action strains is only one of many clues that the unbridled fantasy of instant riches, paid off big time and with utter predictably at the end of the movie, is hovering over the slums from the very beginning of the movie. Though the music occasionally gestures towards the monumental, this is not an epic: the happy end is always just around the corner. The closing Bollywood dance number staged during the credits releases the true inner urges of the film towards the escapism of musical revue. The whole film is like a jack-in-the-box: spurred on by the music, it winds itself up, but it is really no surprise when the clown finally pops out. The denouement reunites Latika and Jamal in a train station. At the head of hundreds of dancers gathered behind them on the platform they work out a simple and cheery choreography to Rahman’s song, “Jai Ho.” For this giddy masterpiece Rahman got the Oscar for best original song; both its music and lyrics are his. Not even music and lyrics great Cole Porter, four times nominated for the best original song award, could bring home that bacon. “Jai Hoi” draws together the optimistic and comforting strains of the soundtrack as a whole into a final burst of euphoria. The lyrics are a jumble of sentimental images like “I counted the stars till my finger burned.” The music , too, is a heart-warming mix of world music flourishes, disco energy, buoyant synthesizer countermelodies, and full-throated crooning above yearning harmonic shifts. The final number is not simply a generic nod to Indian film traditions, and the fact that the filmmakers use the credits as a cover for what might superficially seem to be a sudden escape from the supposed imperatives of believability cannot disguise the truth about this movie and its music. The finale confirms what the screen has been telling our eyes and the music our ears for two hours: that even miserable poverty can be overcome by a bright lights and a techno beat and that redemption is always only one high-tech hymn away. David Yearsley teaches at Cornell University. A long-time contributor to the Anderson Valley Advertiser, he is author of Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint His latest CD, “All Your Cares Beguile: Songs and Sonatas from Baroque London”, has just been released by Musica Omnia. He can be reached at dgy2@cornell.edu |
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