12 — OUT IN THE Mounrluns — Ocroeep. 1999

with llnalngies ta susannan Maudie

.CROW’S

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~6

CAWS

BY CROW COHEN

pond at the Northeast

Women’s Musical Retreat in
Marlboro, CT, which happens
every year on Labor Day. Come
to think of it, I actually wrote last
year’s October column from the
very same place, as a matter of
fact. I guess there’s something
magical about this pond after all.

I wasn’t going to come this
year, because my ego has been a
little fragile lately (it’s been a
rough year for me emotionally,
yet life goes on as they say). But
my Aunt Sadie is celebrating her
90th birthday not too far from

I’m writing this by the sweet

. here, so how can I avoid at least

dropping in and paying my
respects to a women’s festival that
has been alive (more or less) for
18 years?

For a few years, the NEWMR
plarmers couldn’t find a place to
hold the festival, even though
they’ve had money to purchase
property for a permanent site
since 1991. I guess they haven’t
found a suitable location.

Meanwhile, for the past few
years, they’ve held it at this 4-H
camp. Except for the old horse
manure lying around, it’s not a
bad place. The pond is private
enough for naked swimming, and
I found a patch of woods in which
to pitch my tent, where no one
else comes around — I can actual-
ly camp here, not just jam myself
into a tent city.

I like NEWMR because it’s
small, it’s close to Vermont (rela-
tively), and the night concerts are
indoors, which makes for a rowdy
nightclub atmosphere without the
booze, drugs, or cigarettes — per-
fect for me.

Sure, there’s a lot missing. The
food is wicked mediocre when
you consider how much the
women’s movement has figured
out about the politics of food.
(The Michigan festival’s fare is

nichivo.

nothin’ babq!

Placing a
non-commercial
classified in OITM
doesn’t cost

one red cent.

vastly superior, and they feed
over 5000 women every year!)
The workshop offerings were
pretty pathetic as well, from my
perspective. Most of them were
related to foot massage, tam-
borine banging, improving your
lovely home, managing your cap-
ital, or playing the newlywed
game — not a radical concept in
sight.

Oh well. It’s a damn good
thing I’ve lowered my expecta-
tions big time in terms of stimu-
lating political discussion, except
for the gig I’ve thrown together
with a couple of buddies for the
last 3 years — “Dyke Talk,” one of
those “add on” workshops.

Nevertheless, something
keeps drawing me back year
after year, feeding that tiny glow-
ing coal of hope deep within. I
figure if I hang around the rem-
nants of the movement long
enough, even when it’s hardly
recognizable, then something
will shift — maybe within, maybe
without — something small and

subtle, barely perceptible except.

to those who keep searching for
it. The trick is to be open to “it”
without expectation, with
patience, quietly stringing
together a bunch of ordinary

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days, which is where my deepest
joy comes from anyway.

This is exactly the opposite of
the stance I took back in the ‘70s,
when I tried to force the issue,
banging down doors, demanding
(with grandiose expectations) that
the revolution overturn the world
as we knew it right then on MY
terms, goddammitl Then I say to

myself, “Those days are long
gone, Crow. Who knows what it
will take nowadays? A marriage
reform law? A bunch of dykes
drumming instead of analyzing or
even singing lyrics? A gigantic
march on Washington driven by
big bucks?” What do I know? It
all feels out of my hands. It
always has been, but I was too
arrogant to notice back then.

I have to say, the spark is still
there for me at those wonderful
NEWMR concerts, though. Toshi
Reagon cranked up the energy
(and the decibels) until I was “one
with the noise,” as she recom-
mended. She has tremendous
integrity when it comes to

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acknowledging oppression from
the stage, and she’s not afraid of
letting her wild side out, backed
up by her African-American cul-
ture, which has been a tremen-
dous gift to the movement.

Cris Williamson is a bit self-
absorbed, but I have to admire her
tenacity. She has had an inspiring
love, respect and commitment for

women’s music for the past 20
years, and when Olivia Records
went out of business a couple of
years ago, she started her own
record label instead of selling out.
Good for her. I just wish she’d
acknowledge one or two oppres-
sions other than the sexism of the
music industry.

Jaime Anderson was a hoot — I
loved her song about women
learning to accept their bodies no
matter what size or shape, but
does» she have to wear those
frumpy dresses? I can’t figure out
if she’s just parodying ladies,
reclaiming her femme or just
thinking they’re, attractive. Give
me Cris’ t—shirts and shorts or

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Lucie Blue Tremblay’s black
jeans any day.

Do I sound a little looksist? It’s
not about body shape. It’s about
remembering that clothes can be a
bonding factor. Public figures
make statements whether they
intend to or not, so what’s Jaime
trying to say — that we have a right
to wear anything we like? Yeah,

I figure if I hang around the remnants of the movement
long enough, then something will shift.

and...? (I did enjoy her cream—col-
ored semi-sparkly shit kickers,
though.)

In general, those fabulous
women-only concerts give me a
dose of adrenaline that lasts a few
weeks anyway, and I’m glad they
still happen. Those signers for the
deaf during concerts are always an
added treat to women’s festivals.

Will I come next year?
Probably, whether I plan ahead or
not — one foot in front of the other,
god willing and the creek don’t
rise (not likely, given the ozone
droughts these days).

And now, time for a little skin-
ny dip before I head out to Aunt
Sadie’s birthday party. V

we

JEWISH WOMEN

INTERNATIONAL

xfiz DIALOGUE II for
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With Jyl Lynn Feldman
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More Than a Love Story

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1999

in affiliation with Brandeis Women's Studies Program,
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