Powerful Message Despite Technical Flaws

We Shall Go Forth, by Margie Adam.

By Alice

I thought that Margie Adam's newest album, "We Shall Go Forth," would bring me miles of understanding of her style and thinking after witnessing her delightful-and delighting-Kent State concert in the spring...

Well, I was wrong—and right!

"We Shall Go Forth" might well have been a product of the Kent State event. It's eleven songs of the Kent State repertoire, without the monologue an visual life of that evening, although the record

envelope has some of Adam's introductory comments before each 'song text. Nothing seems new in presentation, if that's required by those who saw the show.

The recording as a phenomenon of the very act of documenting-fixing in time-one performance presents some problems. I heard in Margie's Kent performance some musically exceptional piano work but relatively unremarkable singing. This opinion I find confirmed in "We Shall Go Forth". The piano. background is sensitive and assured, but the singing gives problems. Most of the melodies stay low in her range, but when she moves up to mid-range or higher, her tendency is to move vowels into a hard,

Medicine from an Insider

A Woman in Residence, by Michelle Harrison, M.D.

By Julie Gress

As a pre-med student interested in obstetrics and gynecology, I was very excited to read Michelle Harrison's book A Woinan in Residence. Here she describes how she came to the conclusion that mainstream medicine, especially in the area of women's health, is not all it's cracked up to be.

Harrison begins her story by sharing with us her background as a 35-year-old single parent who, as a family doctor for eight years, had long attended, and vocally advocated, home births. She describes herself as an ardent feminist committed to improving women's health. Toward this end, Harrison began a 4-year OB/GYN residency program at Beth Israel Hospital in Boston, a hospital renowned for its progressive approach to medical care. She uses the pseudonym "Doctors Hospital" located in "Everytown" as she believes Beth Israel is no worse than any hospital in the United States, if not better than most. Harrison accepted the residency position with open eyes, eager to learn the socially acceptable techniques used in treating "women's ailments," including pregnancy.

What impressed her at first was the residency program's inhumanity toward the physicians themselves-the combination of long hours and the large number of patients to be seen in a small amount of time. These time constraints lead to an over-emphasis on the patients' vital signs (blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature) rather than their mental and emotional states or physical comfort. As a result, patients become merely objects needing a specified medical treatment.

This hardcore approach to dealing with people who are depending on the doctor for physical attention and comfort puts a fantastic pressure on the residents to put in storage any ideals which they might have had to be true healers of the minds and bodies of their patients. Harrison learned there is just no time for human compassion and empathy when you have to see 30 people in the next two hours:

Harrison goes on to relate her outrage and frustration at finding what "advanced, technological medicine" is really about. This runs from attitudes toward natural events, such as childbirth, to unnecessary surgery to remedy a symptom the doctor cannot diagnose or to prevent the ailment from possibly occurring (i.e. the "let's remove her ovary now so she can't develop ovarian cancer later" approach to medicine). Harrison describes how a modern hospital childbirth is nothing but a surgical procedure. This includes, an episiotomy (the procedure whereby the tissue between the vagina and rectum is cut to allow more room for the baby to

*Page 6/What She Wants/September, 1982 994\atno ak tedW VSC),TEISINIS

emerge) as opposed to perineal massage (where the muscle is massaged and allowed to expand naturally). Also part of the scheme is hormone-induced labor, in which hormones are used to speed up delivery or to trigger labor if the baby is overdue.

A hospital delivery usually includes the use of a fetal distress monitor, where electrodes are placed in the baby's scalp to monitor its heartbeat, and the use' of anaesthetic drugs to paralyze the woman from her waist down. (Note: The baby is naturally affected by any medication its mother receives. Ironically, if doctors believe the baby is under such a risk of developing fetal distress that it would require the placement of fetal monitors on the child, you'd think they would be more cautious in administering drugs (continued on page 13)

tight throaty production. The result is harsh and dry, an unfortunate effect in many places where the lyrics cry out for just the opposite.

The problem of vocal tension exists in just about every song in the album. It's a vocal production problem, a technical flaw, not a matter of expressive device, and in its immutable state as recorded performance, where Margie's own presence and Visual effects don't enter into the experience as they would in live concert, the sound of this tension dominates the aural image far too much. Fortunately this is a correctible problem, given proper coaching, and I hope Margie will take some time soon to investigate reliable ways to open up that upper part of her range: there's a lot of color in that part of her voice that ought to be used, and used well.

The first side of this new album, particularly the first: three cuts, struck me as somewhat monochromatic. That is, "Sweet Friend(s) of Mine" (the printed lyrics use the intimate singular, the performance, has the public plural), "Who Among Us?", "Letting Go," "Babychild" and "Life Is Telling Me" seemed to be quite similar in melodic style and range, with not much in the way of interesting changes in range or wide intervals in the melody, and relatively undifferentiated accompanying patterns, particularly in the first three songs.

The variety of Side Two, though, is commendable: "Tender Lady" (the. most musically evocative and satisfying work in this album, in my opinion), 'Honor the Time," "Dare To Struggle," "Have a Little Compassion," "I'm Not a Service Station," and:We Shall Go Forth".

Unrelieved negativism is by no means the only (continued on page 10)

A Very Comic Consciousness

Getting Back at Dad, by Deanne Stillman. Wideview Books, 1981. $8.95

血

By Pat Randle

Deanne Stillman is a very funny woman. Co-editor of Titters and a Cleveland native daughter, Stillman is on the loose again, and the world's a better place for it.

With Getting Back at Dad, she takes on assorted banes of the eighties and comes up a winner. Coping. with Reagan, "feminist Inlish,' advice columnists: 2 and popular "women's" novels, as well as cultural icons from Clint Eastwood to Lillian Hellman, alt fall under the attack of Stillman's well-honed pen.

Stillman's essays are wickedly funny. She's so deft: with her humor that it's hard to take offense even when she's destroying the subject most sacrosanct to you.

The very best pieces present real-life finds that: aren't intentionally humorous but are excruciatingly funny: ""found humor" rather in the manner of "found art".

She skewers menu language, musing on the heavy use of musical terms (as in "medley" and “symphony") in describing fruit salads, and abuses of French (a la "House dressing a la maison"). In

"How to Become a Rock Critic in Seven Easy

poem that begins, "Time.flies it flies timelessly/into a page of nothingness...." This and other excerpts of celebrity-penned poems are interwoven with equally revealing quotes from the stars themselves. The result is more effective than laughing gas.

Another high point is Stillman's essay on "Feminish", She creates new non-sexist terms such as woperone" (because wo-man contains "man" and wo-person would still contain the male-ish "son"?) and shuttlegenital (from "shuttlecock"). It's a barbed attack but clever enough to make even the womyn who spells women "wimmin" laugh.

Stillman's Ten Most Unwanted List" recalls those annoying acquaintances you want to flee at parties.. Like Stillman, I've had enough of the Frank Voids, one of that legion who offers an endless Teplay of Saturday Night Live routines, from the coneheads to samurai doctor, in place of a personali-

Comedy is hit-or-miss venture, and I found some of the essays off-target. "The Etiquette of Getting High" goes for cheap mention-drugs-and-I'll-laugh humor-and the subject's been handled better elsewhere. "The Last Survey," a piece on that prime subject for satire, the omnipresent opinion poll, is a disappointment. Stillman's approach is too heavyhanded, and a wonderful topic goes to waste.

Lessons," she manages to devastate not only rock. But the remarkable thing about Getting Back at

magazine critics, but the "How-To" genre in one easy swoop.

My favorite in the "found humor" category—and in the book as a whole-is "Do You Type in the.. Nude?", a look at the celebrity poet. There are a few -comedy routines as sublime as the Richard Harris.

Dad is that so much of it is funny. It's full of memorable quips. and wonderful observations. Stillman's comic consciousness combines with consummate craft-she really can write-to create a book of essays that leaves you laughing--and waiting . for more.