Mama Don't Allow

Note: If you're concerned about the lyrics of modern songs, and the negative impact they can have on society and morals, this is the post for you. I also long for the good old days, long ago, when an occasional reference to "hoochie koo" was the worst you'd hear.  Even then, it went over most people's heads, thinking it had something to do with sneezing.

A song that really gets my goat is a country song called "Mama Don't Allow." The key thing in this song is that the instrumentalists in the band have a chance to show off their chops. Seems pleasant enough until you listen closely to the lyrics. In each case, it has to do with disobedience to Mama, as it is clearly stated that she doesn't allow whatever-it-is, the dobro, guitar, piano, etc.

Mama don't allow no guitar pickin' 'round here,
Mama don't allow no guitar pickin' 'round here.
Well, we don't care what Mama don't allow,
We're gonna pick our guitar anyhow.
Mama don't allow no guitar pickin' 'round here.

At which point the guitar picker joyously takes the instrumental break, and I turn it off. Because, in my opinion, that's shameful. If you're just wantonly going against your Mama's wishes, you're flirting with the destruction of society and life as we know it. In my opinion, Mama's will, her desires for us are only good. And whereas it might not be immediately clear to us why Mama would disallow guitar pickin', the piano, the dobro, fiddle, and all the rest, she must have a good reason; it's not necessarily for us to know.

For me, that's the policy that's going to get us furthest in life, accepting Mama's will whether we understand it or not. I firmly believe that. Was I ever disobedient to Mama? I actually was, and I lived to regret it! One day she caught me at the lake, playing with salamanders, when I was clearly told that I should never visit the lake by myself. She was angry, I'm sure, but since her whole concern was for my well-being, I know she was mostly relieved. I hadn't drowned nor suffered salamander poisoning, which was very bad that year.

From that moment on -- and I suffered terrible dreams of being dangled over the fires of hell -- I resolved to treat Mama's word like inviolate law. She said it, and whether her reasons were crystal clear to my feeble mind or entirely inscrutable, that's the way it was. Which policy, incidentally, led to me to be the clearheaded, mentally strong, entirely wise person you know so well today.

But too many people, I'm afraid to say, haven't had those experiences or dreams. And so they've never taken the vow. And these are some of the ones singing this vile song, "Mama Don't Allow." They think they're just having a "good time," laughing it up. Maybe their Mama was broken down in spirit, and kept to herself in the other room, and twiddled her thumbs. If she did, I'm sure she had her reason, worried that her children had somehow tragically slipped her grasp. The other Mamas held her up as an example of what not to do.

Of course I understand life, I understand how it goes. The very nature of music is it appears to grant greater freedom to the soul, which quickly veers off into some dangerous territories. Because if it's received by someone without sense and maturity, they can fall off the deep end just like that. Mama comes running in, her dress up around her face, crying her eyes red, but nothing can bring her children back. The transgression is accomplished, and the foundation of society, at least in miniature, has collapsed.

Somehow, tragically, to will the good is not just in us; it's tough to know the difference. Even Mama, I'm guessing, had to learn it somewhere, probably from her Mama. She knows boundaries are important, that you want to screen yourself off from what is negative. Just like she doesn't want you running in to expose yourself to dangerous viruses and bacteria, so she wants your mental condition to be kept safe.

So, next time you hear some jug band, or acoustic combo, going strong on "Mama Don't Allow," and they're giving you that big old stupid grin like they're enjoying themselves wantonly flaunting their disobedience -- going strong and confident on the dobro, piano, guitar, harmonica, bass, or even drums -- just withdraw from the scene and save yourself. If you can pull a person or two aside and tell them what's really going on, that would be good. But for Mama's sake, don't allow yourself to be pulled back in!

We want to get back to a righteous standard. And we need more Mamas speaking up to their children and loved ones before it's too late. That's my desire in life, now that my own Mama has passed on. I can still remember, of course, and, besides, I'm getting about old enough, music isn't much of a temptation at this point. I hear it from a distance and hobble the opposite direction just as fast as I can.

New Tomorrow, New Today

Several days have passed. I've been in touch with several people from the country, including one I trust completely, Cousin Roto. I always wondered why he didn't invite me out to his place more often, and he confirmed to me that with changing times, the country had become a much more paranoid place, as they struggled to hold their own against what they took to be the encroaching moves of the city.

A lot of the pieces fell in place during our discussions. And in addition to visiting with Roto, who may very well come out of this sitting pretty, being related to me, I conferred with some of the underlings from the Grange Brotherhood, who wish to remain nameless for the present time. That fact alone shows the paranoia is running thick and deep out there. And they have other grievances, such things as there being very little movement in the ranks. Apparently once a tree sitter, always a tree sitter. So if I get the opportunity, I assured them I would grease the skids once in a while. I said this with a wink, and they got the idea.

I hate to say I'm making inroads, because I'm as a superstitious as they come about counting chickens. But I feel like I'm miles ahead from several days ago, the last dance now being a couple weeks ago. I sat and stewed, seeking guidance from within. Then I decided if the world was passing me by anyway, I may as well put forth an effort. What's the worst that could happen? That the world would continue passing me by? You can probably tell by my tone that I'm alive and kickin'. That's true!

Quite frankly I'm thinking we can make the country a showplace, something that will be the envy of the city. In limited ways, perhaps, we can open up vast areas of our great countryside and invite city folk out to it. I'm envisioning some loosening up of the paranoia -- not all the way, of course, just enough to make things better -- with the idea, at least, that there can be some exchange of ideas, even perhaps a free flow of trade.

The city has been dying for new blood. And the city could use our crops. As it is now, with the paranoia, our farmers have used government subsidies to feed their families. Yet they've continued to plant crops, not as something to sell and that might feed the world, but to serve as better hiding places, outposts to guard against encroachment. And with paranoia, it's all fed on itself, to the point that most people don't even know the country is there anymore!

Amid this flurry of activity, I've come up with a new motto for the country. And if I have the opportunity to serve, I want it to be on all our stationery, fliers, TV ads, to be on T-shirts, etc. The motto is "New Tomorrow, New Today." I think it really hits the spot, because city folk, to the extent that they think of country folk at all, relegate them to yesterday. But this motto shows that we'll be thinking of tomorrow (future), while renewing the present moment (today). What could be friendlier sounding than that?

Along with the motto, I'll be seeking the help of design experts, graphics artists, to come up with a lively graphic scheme, which I'm envisioning as something like the sun about 20% over the horizon and perhaps we can work in a weather vane somewhere. Drawn in the current style of such things as informally yet as lively as possible, something playful yet serious, something that shows we're open for business and willing to engage. I love it!

Then down the road -- who knows when? With time sped up it could be tomorrow, but I hope not, because I need to prepare for this stuff sometime -- I want to teach the country folk to embrace their lifestyle. It might be like that commercial where the family in the old truck takes their produce to Kansas City for the farmers' market. Birdseye? Don't be ashamed of your old battle axe truck. Paint it and go for the charm factor. City folk love pride, which is why they make their buildings so tall. Then they go up there and look out over the country with binoculars to see if the country is also proud. And so far all they've been seeing is a bunch of black hooded guys in trees, flashing signals that interlopers are within 10 miles. That's no good.

With my design sense -- impeccable -- and my knowledge of group dynamics -- flawless -- and my abilities to convey the finer points of human environmental science, or as I like to call it, "Lifestyle Science -- Taking Life From Theory To Practice" -- outstanding -- there's really nothing that the country can't achieve!

I'll be conferring with Roto on this, and some of the Brotherhood underlings promised to get me some connections higher up, so we'll go from there. Speaking of lifestyle science, I'm thinking if I wear earth tone clothes that'll make them comfortable, and if I make sure to start out sitting to their right (like they're driving), then over time shift myself over to the power position, they won't know what hit them...

Right now I'm on top of the world, the Country World and the City World. I'm literally pumping my fist as I type this! Try it sometime!

"New Tomorrow, New Today!" So great!