Prior to joining Mother Jones as an editorial fellow, Maggie was a wearer of many hats at several weekly newspapers in Connecticut, most recently serving as editor of the Greenwich Post.
Just nine days after Connecticut passed its genetically-engineered food labeling law, Maine lawmakers approved their own legislation requiring food manufacturers to reveal genetically engineered ingredients on products' packaging. The governors in both New England states are expected to sign the bills into law soon.
Last week, Paul Towers, a spokesman for the Pesticide Action Network, described Connecticut's bill as "important" but also "cautious." Both it and the Maine bill include stipulations requiring other states—including at least one border state—to pass their own GMO labeling laws before they go into effect—so Maine's bill, for example, does nothing unless New Hampshire and a few other states pass similar bills. Still, members of the Right To Know movement consider the bills a victory—especially after last November's narrow defeat of California's GMO labeling bill Prop. 37.
The February 21 gig at Christ the Savior Cathedral didn't exactly go according to plan. In rehearsals, the women of Pussy Riot had crafted their neon outfits, assigned each other verses, and coordinated their kicks for the chorus. But at the event, they'd barely begun to sing before church security was on them, confiscating their amplifier and strong-arming the women away from the alter. The band's guitarist wasn't even able to plug in before a guard ushered her toward the door. As they were escorted out, the band members' cries of "It's God shit!" echoed awkwardly and mostly incoherently through the vast cathedral. The show was sloppy, amateurish and over in about a minute: the perfect punk rock moment.
Their now famous 2012 performance would land the women in a world of trouble. The church and the government denounced their act as an attack on the Russian Orthodox religion; the authorities arrested three band members, holding them without bail for months in advance of a trial that would gain international attention, exposing to the world the flaws of the Russian courts and the growing resentment many Russian citizens hold toward Vladimir Putin's regime. Debuting tonight, HBO's new documentary Pussy Riot: A Punk Prayer, offers a primer on the country's recent history and an explainer on the trial of Nadia, Masha, and Katia—the three young artists at the center of the storm. Here's the trailer:
Pussy Riot was formed as a punk-rock art collective in response to Putin's return to the presidency for a third term. While the Russian constitution sets limits for consecutive terms, Putin was able to retain power by serving an interim term as prime minister (and puppet master) while President Dmitry Medvedev kept his seat warm. Putin is notorious for repression of political competition. Among other things, he has detained opposition leader Alexei Navalny, threatened human rights groups, and marginalized what he called "unreliable elements" in government. But arguably his biggest PR debacle in the past year (besides, maybe, his divorce) were the brash, young feminists who set out to agitate the status quo and challenge the patriarchy with their righteous and rebellious performance art.
On June 3, the Connecticut legislature passed a bipartisan GMO labeling bill, making it the first state to require food manufacturers to reveal whether their products include genetically engineered ingredients. The bill passed both chambers by a landslide, and right-to-know activists have declared it a major victory. But the bill comes with a catch. Before it goes into effect, similar legislation must be adopted in at least four other states, including one that borders Connecticut, and those states must have an aggregate population of at least 20 million residents.
In other words, the Nutmeg State will continue to do nothing on GMOs until New York, Massachusetts or Rhode Island and some combination of other states also decide to take on Big Ag and Big Biotech. This trigger clause was meant to protect Connecticut businesses from being put at a competitive disadvantage and to keep the state from "going it alone," says Paul Towers of Pesticide Action Network. Towers called it "a cautious but important step."
With a population of 3.5 million, Connecticut doesn't hold the same sway as a large population state like New York or California that, just by acting alone, could force GMO labeling nationwide. (Since so much of their product is sold in those states, if one of them passed a labeling bill, food manufacturers would most likely just label all of the products they sell in the US, for the sake of efficiency.) That's why the biotech and food industries dropped $46 million last year against California's Prop. 37, out-spending right-to-know supporters 5 to 1 and ultimately defeating the measure.
Even with Connecticut's trigger clause, advocates are optimistic. Tara Cook-Littman, the head of GMO Free CT, said her group fought against the clause throughout the legislative session. But ultimately, she said, the group felt that the integrity of the bill wasn't compromised by its inclusion. "The truth is we really think we have nothing to fear from the trigger clause," Cook-Littman told Mother Jones. "We're hoping that the clause will end up being a catalyst to encourage other states to join us."
The King of Bling before it was a thing Alan Light/Flickr
When I met Liberace in 1986, I tried to eat his diamond rings. He was making an appearance at Caldors in Riverside, Connecticut, promoting a coffee table book of photos of one of his fantastic homes. My mom tells me he held me in his famously bejeweled hands and we exchanged grins. I was two.
"He was an absolute sweetheart," Mom recalled the other day. "Beautiful in his ermine sweater. Big dimples, big diamonds."
I don't remember the encounter, but as an "older millennial" I have an awareness of who Liberace was: a flamboyant pianist with a taste for furs and jewels who was the butt of many a terrible late-show joke. Wladziu (Lee) Liberace was a child prodigy born of humble Midwestern roots who gained fame by combining exceptional musical talent with personal charm and a flair for showmanship.
While the jury is out over whether guitar rock is enjoying a renaissance or fading from relevance, the guitar's little brother, the ukulele, has entered the zeitgeist in a big way. With it's small body, four strings, and a range of just two octaves, the uke is among the humblest of instruments. But in the past few years, the uke has popped up in the hands of artists from Taylor Swift and Jason Mraz to Paul McCartney and Jack Johnson. In 2011, Eddie Vedder put out an entire album of quavering love songs that sound like the brooding inner monolog of a heartbroken surfer. With Zooey Deschanel as their queen, the cutie-girl set has made the ukulele nearly as ubiquitous as bird tattoos.
Much its recent popularity, though, is owed to Japanese-American virtuoso Jake Shimabukuro who in several ways resembles the instrument he has mastered: charming, unassuming, Hawaiian. But in Shimabukuro's hands, as he breaks out experimental jazz, lays down a steady blues train, or shreds on rock anthems, this little jumping flea becomes a melodic monster.
Through the late-'90s and early aughts, Shimabukuro carved out a respectable living as a touring artist, but his career exploded in 2006 after a video of him performing While My Guitar Gently Weeps became one of the first YouTube videos to go viral. Forget what the internet says about the overuse of the word "epic." This performance defines it:
Soon after, late night TV shows began knocking on his doors. He was invited to play duets with the likes of Bette Midler and Jimmy Buffett. And now his existence is the subject of Jake Shimabukuro: Life on Four Strings, a documentary airing May 10 on PBS. Through intimate conversations and inspiring performances, the film offers of portrait of the man and his instrument. I caught up with Shimabukuro recently to talk about his dream collaboration, meeting the Queen of England, and what it's like to go viral.
