Michael Franti Isnot

Twisting and turning at Bonnaroo 2003 “I felt scared every second fire on your car, because I was there,” says a bare- they’re so paranoid of foot and shirtless Michael people surveilling for Franti, contorting his mid- car-bombing.” MICHAEL section on a stretch of In between twisting sun-soaked concrete. It’s himself like licorice, the a little before two o’clock dreadlocked Franti has in the afternoon and Franti been talking about waking FRANTI has just gotten up, having up the morning after the emerged from Spearhead’s invasion of Iraq, finding a tour bus for his daily yoga television and seeing session. After driving all- politicians and generals ISNOT night from yesterday’s stop discussing the political and at the All Good festival in economic costs of the West Virginia, the Big war, but never the human Summer Classic tour has cost. Right now, he’s talk- brought the band to the ing about his experience sprawling, evergreen making I Know I’m Not Blossom Music Center in Alone—the documentary Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. film he made while visit- ing Iraq, Israel, The West ALONE Bank and the Gaza Strip. He has a new album, a new film about the Middle East, and a new life “It was the most power- ful experience of my life,” after burying old ghosts (oh, and he’s still full of righteous rebellion) he says, sweat beading on his forehead. “That and In between yoga positions, having my sons.” by Wes Orshoski Franti is sharing memories Watching a rough cut of his trip to Iraq. It’s July of the film on the bus later, 2005, just over 13 months it’s easy to understand since he and a group of why: In it, Franti enters a filmmaker friends touched polluted Baghdad inhabit- down in Baghdad, and ed by people in need of the weather is almost water and electricity and identical: hot and sunny. littered with bombed-out “As soon as we got off cars, homes and hotels. the plane, the first thing He ducks into basements we encountered was two where now-jobless men cars that had been blown and their families hid for up within the past ten as long as 11 days in minutes. They were on fire, complete darkness during and bodies were hanging the initials bombings of out. Our drivers were like, Baghdad. He visits musi- ‘Keep your cameras down.’ cians and double-amputee Around the airport, it’s all children. And everywhere controlled by the U.S. he goes—from the streets military. You can’t shoot of Baghdad to a military anything. They’ll just open checkpoint along the barbed wall separating The West Bank and Israel—he brings his guitar, playing simple songs for children and protest songs before soldiers. Photo Danny Clinch Danny Photo www.relix.com 65 As Franti types away on his laptop, I watch him on the bus “Michael Franti is the most important artist monitor; he spreads smiles on the faces of hospitalized Iraqis, attracting throngs of children while strumming happy recording and touring today who has yet to chords to the word “habibi,” Arabic for “my beloved friend.” In occupied territories in Palestine and on the streets of reach the mass audience.” Baghdad, beaming children are bouncing up and down, chanting “Ha-bee-bee! Ha-bee-bee!” Old men standing —CHRIS BLACKWELL, founder, Island Records nearby grin and dance. I watch as Franti visits an Iraqi thrash- metal band and beatboxes with a Palestinian hip-hop group, before stepping into the rubble of homes bull- dozed by Israeli forces, evoking tears from an Israeli mother who lost her son in a suicide bombing. Watching the film, you feel the fear of which Franti speaks: During an interview with an on-duty U.S. soldier one night, a bomb explodes nearby and conversation immediately ends. As they walk through a Palestinian neighborhood one afternoon, gunfire sounds out, and everyone within the camera’s eye scatters. You also laugh, and feel joy and excitement, heartbreak and grief. Over 90 minutes, I Know I’m Not Alone illuminates the resilience of Ha-bee-bee! Ha-bee-bee! Franti in Hebron, The West Bank the human spirit, while offering different perspectives on the war, one gained from cab drivers and musicians, homesick soldiers and children. While political, Yell Fire! isn’t stiff. A big-hearted album “It’s really emotional to relive, and to see these people partially recorded in Jamaica—with riddim masters Sly that I met,” Franti says, looking up, and closing his com- Dunbar and Robbie Shakespeare—its songs are breezy puter. “Ya know, when I went to Ground Zero after and funky and punctuated with Jamaican toasting and September 11th, I was like, ‘This is so fucked. I don’t wish dub playfulness. While some songs are rooted in the dusty this upon anyone.’ And then to go and see face to face… streets of Baghdad, others, like the gem “One Step Closer Not only have we done that to people, but we continue to You” (featuring Jamaican DJ Squid Lee and subtle back- to do it every day. There’s gotta be a better way.” ing vocals from Pink—yep, that Pink), is a sweet, universal love song. With bassist Carl Young, guitarist Dave Shul, per- cussionist Roberto Quintana and drummer Manas Itiene, Franti has once again pulled off the rare trick of writing “Ever since September 11th, conscious music that people can—and will—dance to. Musically, Yell Fire! marks a new beginning for Franti. this administration and the media The disc was primarily written on guitar, which he plays throughout the album, on which he’s rarely heard rhyming. have done everything to convince us Gone is hype man/beatboxer Radioactive, a Spearhead staple since the late ‘90s. Radio’s role diminished as Franti that dissent is unpatriotic, when in fact increasingly explored more of a traditional troubadour path, one that’s a giant stylistic leap from his days as a it’s what this country was founded on.” street performer-turned-MC. The new songs find Franti evolving, but not at his audience’s expense. If his 2001 concept-album masterwork Stay Human marked his coming of age as an artist, Yell Fire! foreshadows a long, fruitful ut of his experiences in the Middle East, Franti career full of reinvention. wrote two albums. Yell Fire!, a collection of reggae- At 38, Franti is marking two decades as a professional soaked rock tracks, will be the first to see daylight. musician this year. And in those 20 years, he’s blossomed Cool Water, an introspective, acoustic album will as a musician and man, while amassing a fiercely credible follow. With titles like “It’s Time to Go catalog. The militant history lessons and Home” and “Sweet Little Lies,” Yell Fire! Hyping the 9/11 festival societal critiques he doled out as a member includes tracks heard throughout the at KGO San Francisco of The Beatnigs and Disposable Heroes of film and several previewed live, like the Hiphoprisy have given way to songs of Oanthemic title track and the roof-raiser “Every- peace and love, compassionate, witty poet- body Ona Move.” ry balanced with funk-injected party tracks. “It comes from that expression, ‘Don’t yell fire If Franti ripped his songs from the head- in a crowded theater,’” Franti says of the lines and rewrote history as a young artist, album’s title. “‘Don’t alarm people unnecessarily.’ on the eve of 40 he’s more interested in But I feel like right now we need to be yelling universal emotions and understanding. fire, because there’s an absence of dissent. “When I first started, every song was angry, Ever since September 11th, this administration every song was, like, “Fuck the system.’ and the media have done everything to convince Now I want to write songs that reflect the us that dissent is unpatriotic, when in fact it’s whole rainbow of human emotions.” Photos Wes Orshoski (Power, studio); Tina Tainui (kids) studio); Tina Tainui Orshoski (Power, Wes Photos what this country was founded on.” At the Seventh Annual 9/11 Power to the Peaceful Festival, Golden Gate Park, 9/10/05 Blossom Music Center, Cuyahoga Falls, OH, 7/17/05: hysically, Franti is an awesome presence. Without sandals or shoes, which he uses rarely, he towers “How you feeelin’?” above nearly everyone he meets. The hair on his “I don’t feel like any artist has a responsibility forehead is receding, but his dreads still fall far below his waist. Swirling, tribal designs inked into to be political. Their responsibility is to make arms and back, he’s rarely seen without the white spearhead hanging from a beaded necklace. His smile is magnetic, and can feel like a hug. In his actual great art, and get their kids to school on Pembrace, he swallows otherwise large men. As he walked around Blossom today, Franti was impossible time. But in order to make great art, you to miss, and fans approached immediately, with varying degrees of nervousness. When a tiny hippie girl neared, have to have some truth.” unable to muster more than a few words, he wrapped his arms around her and she utterly melted. “My friends and I With fans at Blossom, 7/17/05 play this drinking game when you’re onstage,” said a toasty red-haired twenty-something in a faded T-shirt and baseball cap. “Every time you say, ‘How you feeelin’,’ we Franti was born the son of Tom Hopkins, a black man, and take a shot,” he said, looking up at Franti—as everyone Mary Rodrick, who is white, in Oakland, California, on April does.

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