David Alston: Band-forming Zen

I didn't know David Alston as well as I would have liked. The author of the Note I share below clearly knew him better than me. And the person he describes is so the Dave we knew in the Southern Village Weave. Dave, you will be missed:

"If you ever want to start a band ...

If you ever want to start a band, find yourself a Dave Alston.  He was perfect.  

We had a great dynamic, the four of us.  John and I were the erratic ones.  Enthusiastic, but "limited" in guitar playing and singing abilities.  Jon and Dave were fucking solid.  There is no way Sticky would’ve made it beyond a couple gigs if we didn’t have a rhythm section that stayed in the pocket, stayed in tune, and never (EVER) forgot a part or hit a wrong note.  There were clams aplenty between me and John.  We could write and sing, stumble through melodies and hooks, all the while knowing we didn’t have to think twice about Dave’s bass line or Jon’s drumming.

In the summer of 1993, I flaked out on being a high school social studies teacher and moved back to Boone to get a different degree and hopefully start a band.  The first person I sought out was Dave.  I didn’t know him well, but I knew that I wanted the black guy in the Cure T-shirt in my band.  He had facial hair and smoked cigarettes.  He had a deep voice, an encyclopedic knowledge of music and pop culture.  He wrote for the student newspaper.  Is it fair to say that Dave was sort of famous?  It seemed like it.  He was cool and aloof.  And get this: HE PLAYED BASS.  Are you kidding me?   Getting him to be a part of Sticky was like getting the most popular girl in school to go to the prom with me.  A coup.

After starting the band, he moved into a duplex with me and Derrick Swing.  We paid $100 a month each for the next four years for this glorious squalor a few blocks off of King St.   He was such a character.  He watched Kurosawa films.  He listened to Brian Eno, Can, Richard Hell and the Voidoids.    He read One Hundred Years of Solitude when I was reading Spin.  

He was an odd bird. That, as much as his proficiency on the bass, made him a perfect band mate.  You want odd in your band.  There’s not enough odd in my life these days.  He once abandoned a car on King Street and never went to check on it.  “Dave, what happened to your car?”  In that Dave voice we all know: “Ah, yes, I need to check on that.”  He seemed so Zen. 

We spent so much time together, yet he wouldn’t let us get too close.  I remember once, the four of us lying in bed in some fleabag motel, Jon said “Dave, if you ever have anything you want to tell us….you know you can, right?”   Again, in that Dave voice:  “Go to sleep Jon.”  Perfect.

With all due appreciation for the joys of getting older/wiser, having kids, and living this life I’ve chosen to live…..I will always reflect on my years with Dave and with Sticky as my default ‘happy place.’  I can still see the piles and piles of small newspaper clippings that he cut out and assembled into collages.  I can still smell the incense Dave burned.  I can hear Marquee Moon.  And I can hear Dave’s un-amplified bass as he sat there on the couch and played along to every fucking note. 

So yeah, if you ever want to start a band, go find yourself a Dave Alston.   But good luck, I’m pretty sure there was only one.

With all my love, brother.   Rest in peace."

Patrick David Alston - RIP

David Alston was one of the bravest people I know. Why is it always the gentle people, the good people, the most deserving, who are chosen by life to teach the rest of us how to stay upbeat in the face of the most debilitating illness?

I was blessed to be permitted to drive David home many an evening from the co-op we both loved. I can't say as we solved any of the world's problems as we chatted the few minutes we spent in each other's company. But I had the privilege of experiencing how much joy one can derive from the quality of a wonderful person's mere presence.

David loved life. He fought to hold on. And he left this world with dignity and courage. I hope he is now enjoying the peace he so richly deserves. And has found a choir which truly appreciates his bass. Thank you for your friendship, David. RIP.

Why I Am A Patriot

A word which I am sure will be much tossed about in coming days is 'patriot.' For me, you are a 'patriot' when you strive to make our country a better nation, in its dealings at home and abroad.

We are not behaving as a 'good' nation when we forget one of our central purposes, as inscribed on the base of the Statue of Liberty. To welcome to our shores the poor and huddled masses of the world. Not some of them. All of them.

We are not behaving as a 'good' nation when we spy on our citizens, when we constantly interfere with their freedom and when we get the balance between security and freedom wrong.

We are not behaving as a 'good' nation when we feel we have the right to tramp around the world, seizing the raw materials we wish, and when we offer violence to any who complain.

We are not behaving as a 'good' nation when we support leaders of other countries in their efforts to suppress their citizens with tyranny and inhumanity.

When folks finally decide they have had enough of the yoke (as the Colonists did in 1776), and rise up to secure their freedom and independence, they often turn on those they believe have been responsible for their oppression. With disastrous and tragic consequences.

I do not support violence of any form. I hope that all of those responsible for Boston are brought to proper justice.

But just as I decry individual violence and terror, I am opposed to it when it is organized, not least by the state.

I trust that in the coming weeks we will all become true 'patriots,' and learn that securing our borders, our homes, our families and our friends is not merely about having the bigger gun, it also about having the bigger conscience.

Why I Am A Progressive

Like almost everyone else online and in the US at the moment, I have been following the situation in Boston, a town about which I know a little, since I used to live down the road, in Providence, Rhode Island.

I would have to be brain-dead not to have a reaction. We are all of us experiencing feelings. Most of them knee-jerk. And there really is no point in holding them in.

The sum total of my immediate reaction is this. No amount of security restriction, digital intelligence, intrusion in our lives, arming of citizenry, shutting down borders, isolationism, bombing or invasion of other countries. In short, no act of schoolyard bullyism, at home, or abroad, could stop what has happened and is happening.

Hate does not halt hate. It merely begets more.

Much will be discussed in the days and weeks to come about new or extended protocols to protect our shores from enemies within and from outside who wish to bring hate to our communities. There is only one protocol that will count. That will make any difference. And that is, stop doing the things that make people hate.

But surely, this episode confirms the need to tighten immigration? How so? What reasonable immigration controls, in place, or sensibly propounded, would have prevented these young boys living in the US?

But surely, this episode confirms the need to tighten gun controls? How so? What reasonable gun control measures, in place, or sensibly propounded, would have prevented these young boys using the weaponry they have been using to devastating effect this past week? Would they have prevented them building and placing the bombs?

Which community in Chechnya do we drone-bomb, to make Boston safer? Which longstanding Muslim community in the US do we evict? What new ID? What new military equipment for our Police?

Leaving aside those who are genuinely mentally-challenged, and whom a caring society would never leave on the streets in the first place (but that is an argument for another time), when we are faced with young men who hate enough to want to kill their fellow men and women, the only question we should be asking, which has any long-term value is, what did we do to make them hate so much, and what can we do to stop them hating?

And that, I guess, is what defines me as a progressive, and not as a Republican.

Dead Men Don't Eat Lunch

After 10 years of research and investigation, getting shot at in a Glaswegian underground car park, told England was no longer a safe place for me, after a further 10 years of writing and re-writing, sweating blood, cursing my own ignorance of the English language, and 7 bloody years of rejection, for the very first time, a British Literary Agent has offered to represent me, and find an editor and publisher for my book exposing the links between Margaret Thatcher and kickbacks from UK arms sales. He even sent me a Contract.

It is one of the very few times in my life I find myself laughing and crying at the same time. I am very humbled. And grateful to more people I have the good manners to recall - just now. Forgive me.

In case any of you have been living in a cave in the Antarctic, and you don't know what The Book is about, it goes something like this:

Ever since the Eighties, it has been a well-known secret that the-then British Conservative Government, led by Margaret Thatcher, was heavily involved in corruption surrounding international arms deals.

For all the talk of the Savoy Mafia, Denis and Mark Thatcher, Wafic Said, Mohammed al-Fayed (the father of Princess Di's last boyfriend, the one who died with her in the Paris tunnel) and backchannels, no-one could find the money trail leading from arms' kickbacks to the Conservatives, and more specifically, to Margaret Thatcher.

And that is because no-one could find the money launderer who constructed that money trail. Except me.

My book, Dead Men Don't Eat Lunch, chronicles my 10-year hunt for the truth about the money-launderer, the money trail and the pipeline of kickbacks which corrupted not only the Conservative Party and Government in the Eighties, but every British Government since then. Corruption which continues into the current UK LibCon Coalition Government of David Cameron and Nick Clegg.

The book is no dry recitation of facts. It is a rollercoaster ride through the dangerous and clandestine world of intelligence, arms sales and international intrigue. As I face down the CIA, meet with shady Israeli Intelligence officers, am shot at during a high-speed car chase in Glasgow, Scotland. And painstakingly uncover the money trail of arms' kickbacks leading eventually to Margaret Thatcher.

Robin Ramsay, one of Britain's leading Intelligence investigative journalists, says this of "Dead Men Don't Eat Lunch": '...the parade of the military-political characters from the Thatcher years, an almost palpable smell of the growing British arms industry in the period...kept me going...right to the end. The author may be correct and has uncovered a significant and hitherto unknown set of SIS [British Intelligence] ops in the Middle East in support of US policy in the 1980s.'

So. Why no luck with Literary Agents before now? Well. Thing is this. When she was alive, Maggie had a legal machine which was as formidable as ... well, I was trying to think of a good British sporting reference ... but do we have any British sports teams with good offenses any more?

Montenegro, Montegero, Montenegro ...

Anyways. You published so much as the recipe for the duck she had the previous evening, and you gots sued. So. Although quite a few UK Literary Agents liked The Book (back in 1996, and again in 2006), none would touch it with David Beckham's exfoliated underwear.

Now, however, Maggie is gone. And you can be pretty sure that her primary heir, Sir Mark Thatcher, won't be spending spoondocks on suing anyone. He wants all that lolly for himself. So, Literary Agents are nibbling.

Now, it's not a done deal yet. But I'd say I have a better chance of signing with a Literary Agent than a new Weaver Street Market has of being built in Fuquay-Varina. And an odds-on chance of having a book deal before there's a second WSM in Chapel Hill. Oops. Am I being tendentious again? Wash my mouth. Or write a book ...

*****

UPDATE: The interested Literary Agents all returned to me to tell me that the shadow of Thatcher is longer than we thought. No mainstream UK publisher will go near MT. So. It's back to self-publishing. However. I did take the opportunity to carve a smaller book out of Dead Men. One that focuses entirely on the MT aspect of Dead Men. I call this smaller, fast-paced page-turner Cast Iron: The Arms Trail To Margaret Thatcher. So. You now have a choice. Kitchen sink number = Dead Men. Thatcher-sepcific = Cast Iron. Happy trails. Geddit?! Trai ... oh, why do I bother?? Anyways, the new book has its own web-site, too.

Happy Employees (3)

Continuing my commentary on the leaflet that the WSM corporate office management team attached to the employee Market Messenger this past week, the one that said it is the responsibility of employees to make themselves happy at work.

Here is an article stating quite baldly that it is the job of those we choose to manage and govern us in a democratic and equal co-op, it is their job to create conditions that make employees feel respected and fulfilled.

Hmm. Must be written by a bunch of nutters? Why no. It is the Consulting Group WSM has used to advise our Board of Directors, one of whom used to be a Consultant with said Group. Well, imagine that.

Maybe our elders/betters/those with more Easter chocolate than the rest of us (take your pick) should pay attention to those they hire at great cost (our cost, by the way) to advise them? Er. Leaving aside the fact that said elders could probably get more sensible answers about what we workers want to fulfill us by simply asking us.

At the same time as they sack the bloody Mystery Shop firm, which just annoys us. Maybe?

Happy Employees (2)

The WSM corporate office management team last week sent all employees a memo reminding us that happy employees are those who treat each other with respect.

Hmm. With respect guys (and gals), happy employees are those who are treated with respect by those we choose (in our supposedly equal and democratic co-op) to manage us.

I'm not stupid. I get that we all want happy customers. And that happy customers are the consequence of happy employees. But you don't get happy employees just because someone in a carpet-lined office demands it. You have to earn it.

It's really very simple. If those whom we have granted the privilege of managing us would only design processes that fully empower us to make the decisions that affect us, and then reward us meaningfully, instead of wasting our hard-earned profits on useless vanity projects, then we would respond willingly and happily with fantastic productivity and excellent customer service.

I'm No Longer Working At WSM ...

I know it's sudden. I only heard this past Friday. The news was embargoed until noon today. President Obama has appointed me his Special Envoy to the Court of St. James, with the specific responsibility of determining why it's called the United Kingdom, when she's a Queen ...

Happy Employees (1)

Attached to this week's WSM "Market Messenger," the 'employee' newsletter which the WSM corporate office management team send to all WSM employees with their paycheck, is a leaflet reminding us that happiness is created in our workplace when we employee minions are respectful to each other.

I searched and searched, but could not find the obvious exemption which applies to interaction where the in-store College Basketball Bracket Competition is concerned ...

POP VOX - A Journey Through Time ...

Since my first two gigs, which you guys (and gals) made such a huge success, I’ve been wrestling with how to make future gigs as fulfilling as possible for all of us – you and me, together.

Oh. And by the way. Mark the calendars. The next episode in this adventure in Reality Interactive Beach Party will be taking place on Saturday, June 1, back at The Cave. This time beginning at a more grandfatherly … I mean, amenable, 10.00pm.

So. Fulfilling. Wrestle. As of 10.00am this morning, my thinking was, I need to make the sound bigger, the act bigger, the whole impact bigger. For why? Because how can I be ‘credible,’ unless POP VOX is superlative musicianship, fantastic dancers, electrifying backing singers, and so on, and so on, blah, blah, blah.

But then, after a fascinating discussion with a workmate and fellow honky-tonk, I had me an epiphany. Mind you, after a couple of glasses of water, and a visit to the bathroom, that passed. And made way for an idea. The Idea.

The answer is actually in the struggle. And it’s been there all along.

It began when my head filled with tunes years ago. And I had no idea how to get them out, because I don’t play an instrument. It evolved as, over those same years, I was told time and again that my songs were all fine and dandy for the masses, but would never appeal to the poperazzi because they weren’t in this or that appropriate idiom. And it finally came to fruition when you and I together created magic down at The Cave. I just missed it.

POP VOX isn’t me. It’s us.

Maybe there was a reason that The Great Tulip put a bunch of catchy tunes in the head of a musical ignorant. Maybe there was purpose when that same head decided to call the act POP VOX. Voice of the People. Maybe it was no accident that I have wanted all along to get you folks as involved as possible.

Why do I need to surround myself with musicians, when you are the instrument? When you sing-a-long? When you perform the choruses as much as me? Why have backing dancers? When you do the dancing? And you come up on stage to do it. Who needs this so-called fuller sound, when you fill the venue with the loudest and most joyous sound imaginable? You.

This is an evolving concept. It most likely always will be. But I have the germ of a thought today. I will take the advice of me fellow honky-tonk. And the advice all the rest of you have been giving me over the past few months. And for which I am so grateful. And will remain grateful. Because I want you to continue offering it. Because this is not just my journey. It is our journey.

And that thought is this: I am a non-musician. I play no musical instrument. I have been blessed with a box of tricks which allows me backing tracks for the tunes in my head. Which I then use to allow others to give expression to the music, to the magic inside them.

POP VOX will be about giving that expression. Not about giving expression to me, on some remote stage, cut off from you. Not about making the best, most symphonic music possible. A music which excludes by making it exclusive only to the very ‘best’ dancers, singers and instrumentalists. But a music which includes by inviting inclusion with whatever you have to offer. Music which gives expression, not to me. Or to you. But to us.

It used to be called folk art. Art which required no skill other than the magic within finding a way to come out. That is what I want POP VOX to be. And I will strive to keep it as minimalist as possible. Me and my box of tricks, giving you the widest and most welcome permission to make magic together, in any way you see fit.

Now, that is not to say that I am not open to ideas to make our music more engaging. I am. But I will strive, as hard as I can, and you will need to keep me on track. I will strive to keep the resulting experience one that changes only to become more engaging.

And there are alls sorts of possibilities. Ok. For now. We have sing-a-long. And dance-a-long. Even “Missed Connections,” where I call out the dance steps. Which is really not all that original, when you think about Contra.

But what about ways for you to design the action? The set? You choose songs? Or verses? You come up and provide backing singing? You create dances? If “Harlem Shakes” can produce a 30-second App, which allows you to viral your own dance, why can’t we do this with “Kisses”?

When venues get a bit bigger, what about screens with the words? Karaoke-style? What about our own App, where you vote on what comes next, as we go along? Where you write the words as we’re singing? Where you submit tunes?

What about having instruments available for you to play? Not just ‘specialized’ instruments. But ones we can all play? Tambourines? Bongo’s? Castanets? A Kazoo or three? Frankly, the way my mind is thinking, I’m going, you may not be able to play the guitar, but you can play your iPhone. So let’s make it an ‘instrument’ of inclusion.

The essence here is that life found away for me to get my music out of me. A non-musician. I want to give back by helping all of us find a way to join in. Whether we are musicians or not. It should be about magic, not just skill.

And I think that requires me, for my part, to continue to keep it simple upfront. Not look for ways to become more ‘professional.’ Whatever the music industry may say. This is our adventure. Not theirs. Well. It can be theirs. But not until I see Paul McCartney on Kazoo, doing the “Kisses” dance.

I know I’m going on a bit. But I do. When I get excited. And I have a vision.

It’s Rio. It’s 2016. It’s the Olympics. We’ve got on a bit. POP VOX is going to do Copacabana Beach. As part of the Olympic celebrations. 3 million folks, from all round the world (that was the number at the last Copacabana Rolling Stones gig). Singing-a-long to “Caribbean Sunrise.” Performing the steps to “Missed Connections.”

It’ll take some logistics. The Beach is several miles long. People are going to see, before they hear. How to keep ‘em all together. Plus, folks will necessarily separate into their own ‘communities.’ How do we honor that safety of separation, while allowing all to feel they are part of a common experience?

But that’s one night. What about the remainder of the two to four weeks? What of those who cannot get there? What of those who cannot afford?

Rio has some of the most extensive slums in the world. There is probably a more appropriate word for them. Shanties? But I say it like I see it. The mountains which backdrop Rio are carpeted with layers of favela, which the pop world passes by, save for the radio.

I want to perform with them also.

How can I, if I have listened to a music industry which tells me I can only spread my magic by having a gazillion dollars worth of sound equipment, and the massed ranks of a thousand musicians, dancers and technical personnel?

I’ll tell you how. Because POP VOX will still be able to pack up the Casio and a mike, hop into a car, set up on a barrio street corner, borrow a speaker, and put on a show after siesta. Where the moms play the Kazoo. The kids do the “Kisses” dance. And Pops never misses a beat to the “Missed Connections” jig. That’s how.

I want to do it every night. On a different street corner. All through the Olympics. And the Paralympics. In addition to Copacabana Beach. I don’t want ever to lose that immediacy. That access. I want to make POP VOX available to everyone. Not just the initial few at The Cave. And not just the exclusive few, with the bucks.

Why should that not be possible? Why? What is wrong with that as a dream? As an ambition? What?

Work with me, my friends. My fellow popsters and popsicles! Please. Keep the interaction alive. In which regard, as rude as I think it sometimes can be, I have Facemailed a bunch of you, to encourage that interaction. Let me know what you think. And please forgive me if I am being too intrusive. Or outlandish.

We’re either at the beginning of something new. Well, maybe not so new. It used to be called vaudeville. But something different for our times. Something exciting and inclusive. Or, that chocolate ice cream will settle. And I’ll learn to play the acoustic guitar, instead …

The New Sensibility ??

I’m bound to say I’m curious about the seemingly honest, unrestrained and intense interest in my music. Delighted. But curious.

Most of my songs have been written at stolen moments throughout my life. And owe no special allegiance to any style or idiom.

Because of which, or indeed in spite of which, they are adaptable (and are adapted) to any and all idioms, ranging from electro to rock, from latin to pop, from dance to indy-acoustic – and back again!

I wish I could claim to be a slave to the keyboard. Sweating angst, as the nobility of my purist enterprise flows like life’s blood, drip, drop, onto the music sheet of my soul.

Er. Nope. Tunes appear in my head, like a precious gift. And the only angst has been to work out how to move them from brain to soundbox, since the only instrument I play is the drums. Enter the Casio 3800.

I am blessed. Yeah. I know it’s old-fashioned to say that. But that is actually the essence of this Saturday morning’s offering. Not my music. Per se. But old-fashioned.

So. I’m blessed. The tunes that enter my head are fully-formed when they arrive. And they arrive naturally catchy and lyrical. Folks seem to remember them and hum them. And that appears to give pleasure. The magic I’ve been given, allows others to create their own magic. And share it, in turn.

When I ask those who have attended my gigs, friends who range across the spectrum in age and musical taste, why they like what we produce together (the emphasis being on interaction, not solo performance), the answer comes, well, we get to leave our hang-ups and our musical tastes at the door, and just enjoy and have fun, dancing and singing-along.

Hmm. I’m actually seeing quite a lot of this as I look around. Well, not so much the dancing and singing-along. But a new yearning for comfort and safety, as opposed to challenge or irony.

We’ve spent the past 30 years and more breaking down social barriers, recreating political norms, exploring financial excess, testing all manner of styles and idiom.

So much so that, a few years ago, nostalgic irony became the accepted meme of the hipster generation: we’ve tried all there is to try; now we just make fun of all that has gone before.

I think The Great Recession brought an end to our toying with nostalgia as irony. We now no longer have time to make fun, either of ourselves or others. We need comfort. We long for certainty. The touch of material that is safe. A sound that soothes, rather than grates. A taste that brings back fond memories.

We don’t want to be clever. We simply want not to want. Not to have a great gaping hole in our psyche. Not to be sad and alone. But rather, to be with others, sharing a common experience. Able to associate with what is going on around us, by being a part of it.

We want a culture that we can understand. Not one that confuses us. So now, we don’t make fun of the past. We embrace it.

We’re scared of the reality of the modern austerity. So, we no longer scoff at that which allows us to imagine more than bare boards and empty pockets. We don’t wear the unicorn T-shirt as irony. We wear it because we want to believe.

We’re finding we like the old and the trusted. We see sense in traditional. And I’m not talking the faux values of the arch right. I’m talking grandma’s kitchen table common sense.

Suddenly, fashion isn’t what’s new. It’s what works. What looks good. Sounds fun. Treats people fairly. Involves them. Let’s them participate. Be it the clothes we wear. The co-op we work in. The political system we’re reforming. Or the music we pay to listen to at a gig.

I don’t ascribe any special nonsense to myself. I’m not one for airs and graces. I’m just grateful that someone put some tunes in my head. That others seem to enjoy them. That something, somewhere, put me in a particular place, at a particular time. Which allows me and you to create magic together.

A magic which is real. And fun. And honest. And intense. Which cares not a wit abut idiom. Or place. Or time. Which was old when it was written. And is still modern today. Because we like it. It’s as simple as that. And I’m truly grateful …

2013: My Candidacy for the WSM Board of Directors

After eight years of working with the co-op I love, Weaver Street Market/Panzanella Co-operative, and trying to make its governance structure more responsive to the workers and consumers who are supposed to own and run it, I have discovered that there is an immense gulf between the promise and the implementation. Especially when it comes to meaningful communication, interaction and empowerment.

It is for this reason that I have decided to put on the ruby red slippers, dust off this co-op blog and stand again for the WSM Board of Directors this coming Fall, as a Worker-Owner Candidate.

For example, last evening, some workers and owners had a quite useful discussion with the WSM Board, before its regularly scheduled monthly Board Meeting, about Goal 4 of the corporate office-proposed WSM Vision 2020 – zero waste and zero net energy consumption.

All fine and dandy. Up to a point. Because, as always, the proof will be if any of our ideas and suggestions ever see the light of day. Amy Lorang, Kristina Janson and others have made a wonderful start in our Food House with their Sustainability Committee. But the sadness is that this is a terribly isolated instance of genuine empowerment.

Especially when it comes to really expensive and far-reaching proposals like 2020 Goal 2 – the suggestion from the corporate office management team that we build three more stores, at a time when we are struggling to cope with the last expansion from 2007/2008, and when we are still paying off $6 million in debt from that expansion (on which we have to pay $500,000 in bank interest each and every year).

Year after year, I hear that those in ‘authority’ within our co-op fully intend to devolve, empower, include, interact and communicate. And year after year, the center accrues more power to itself, as it hides away behind a combination lock in the carpet-lined corporate offices in Hillsborough.

I have written at length on my co-op blog about how WSM could be more efficient, profitable and successful, not to mention happy, joyous and a place we would merrily skip down the Yellow Brick Road to every day, if only we behaved more like a co-op, and lived up to the admonishment of the International Co-operative Alliance, that, like all other authentic co-ops, we be democratically controlled by our owners and workers, and to our own WSM Mission Statement that we be Inclusive, Interactive and Empowering.

But, at the end of the day, you don’t need lectures from me, any more than you need presentations from Ruffin. You all know. We all know. Deep in our hearts. That we do not behave like a real co-op. We are not empowered. And we want to be. On both counts. Because that’s why we work and shop here. And not at Wal-Mart or Whole Foods. It’s as simple as that.

So. I am standing for the Board of Directors. First, to explain, on all of our behalves, why we want more democracy within our co-op, and how we can introduce it, in a way that does not diminish our profitability. And secondly, and more immediately, to request that we hold a vote of all workers and owners before we move any further forward with plans for new stores.

Um. It’s as simple as that. More to follow …