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Clean UpPicking up the pieces and reclaiming the gray matter

Last week, the music died. Or, rather, it was blown away by the shocking events in NY, in DC and in PA. Entertainment seemed frivolous, art seemed useless, the clubs were shuttered, the streets were mostly silent, people stayed home or visited a sacred space -- a church, a temple, a mosque or the even more precious outdoors -- and, regardless of whether you consciously chose to or not, the country quietly went into mourning. It was clear where everyone's thoughts were.

But life continues, as does this column, which focuses on so many overseas artists. Expect to see fewer of those transatlantic and transpacific artists and more tour cancellations if travel restrictions continue.

Which seems a damn shame and a major loss, especially if you made it to New Zealand rock pioneers the Clean's performance Friday, September 21 at Bottom of the Hill in SF. That's what sprang to mind when NY transplant Hamish Kilgour sang, "There's too much violence in your life," beating his borrowed drum kit with a primal ferocity, and his brother, guitarist David Kilgour, and bassist Robert Scott followed with an intuitive, slashing grace and an irresistible rhythmic drive. If there was any doubt about the power of music -- and art -- to heal, inspire, empower, those were wiped away by the Cleansters.

Of course, even amid the joyful Velvety ruckus on Friday, there were still those unsettling moments -- the kind that pop up when you least expect them. I reflexively brought a newspaper with me into the club, and while I was in the women's room, a friend asked to look at the front page, which was dominated by a photo of President Bush.

"Oh, God, he's awful," she blurted, just as any decent Nader-voting lefty immediately would. Still, my first reaction was shock. How could you criticize the commander in chief?

Later I was shocked that I was shocked. The hijackings were atrocities, but I had no idea that, in a way, my own head had been hijacked. I was unaware of how easy it was to fall into lockstep assumptions and start, after spending my adulthood questioning authority, unconsciously goose-stepping to a patriotic beat.