By Jonnie Dames Rio and SoDak
What does it mean to tell a story? To entertain? Especially in a world in which craftsmanship is disappearing? This is the position of a self-described “cowboy in drag,” a cobbler, a mechanic, a potter, a painter, just about anyone, living in an age where they are not appreciated. Here stands Willi Carlisle, a sincere musician, a traveling poet, a romantic with a radical acceptance of other human beings for who they are. With guitar held high, almost as if it is part of his voice, he tours the country to share songs about those who are lost, who are struggling, who strive to foster love in a cold world where crude economic logic dominates and determines worth. Willi cuts through the bullshit, presenting what is real, what is immediately before us, and what we often ignore or miss. In doing so, he carries on a tradition of thought and sentiment passed down through other significant “Willis”—such as William Faulkner and William Morris. Carlisle’s song, “Tulsa’s Last Magician,” is a reminder that the past, which, as Faulkner observed, is never dead, and, as Morris noted, is a reminder of elements of humanity that have been lost over time, serves as an inspiration for what we can become again.
“Tulsa’s Last Magician” presents the disenchantment of the world where “making numbers that sing” is valued at the expense of skill and guile. When hearing Willi contrast the experience of the magician performing in Tampa, blowing everybody’s mind, to working with computers and impressing his boss with numbers, he evokes something that we all experience, whether we realize it or not. Who among us has taken the time, dedicated ourselves to learning the art of labor, only to be met with lack of interest and appreciation? Yet, when we go to our jobs, satisfy arbitrary quotas through a process we have no real control over, we are celebrated. This is the inverted world of capitalism, where our dehumanization is the source of profit. Our world is seemingly one where craftsmanship, our creative endeavors that enrich our lives, does not count for much anymore. However, as Willi sings, that does not mean what you do isn’t meaningful:
So friend if you’re the kind that thinks
No one quite gets quite what you are
Like you’re cobbler or mechanic in this age of flying cars
If you think that you see right behind what’s right before our eyes
You might be a small town’s last magician in disguise.
Willi’s sense of class and class consciousness is greatly illuminating, as he depicts the challenges of the young magician struggling to scratch together resources to learn card tricks. As an adult, the magician moved from city to city, performing for drunks and tourists. His skills, knowledge, and craft were treasures that held meaning, expanded his capacity, and generated awe. Nevertheless, these pursuits were often seen as quaint in the modern world. They ended up being the mere means of survival, as the magician struggled to make do on tips, gifts, and the generosity of strangers. One person after another demanded explanations ignoring the magician’s abilities. Willi remarkably captures the power and beauty of a craft, while at the same time revealing the hardship and disappointment where such skills are readily deemed relics of another age. The constant tensions of this life are depicted in the following lines: “he’d practice all his worst mistakes in a dirty bathroom mirror. And when his mother drank, he learned to disappear”; “but he had this grand finale they refused to understand, it’s hard to tell the whole truth of a family sawed in half, and that’s why Tulsa’s last magician left his home so fast”; “turnin’ tricks on Los Sueñeros out in the Californ-i-ay, they pushed him up against a wall, said buddy get a grip, so he learned to set himself on fire on the Las Vegas strip.”
Although perhaps not intentional, to us, Willi presents an understanding of the world similar to another “Willi” from more than 100 years ago—William Morris. As a political radical with Romantic sensibilities, Morris brought a revolutionary and historical approach to art and labor. Similar to Willi Carlisle, Morris observed, in his lecture “Arts and Its Producers,” a related dynamic of alienation, calling out the changes of our world today, whereby “life is divorced from the subject-matter of his labor…. Work has become ‘employment,’ that is, merely the opportunity of earning a livelihood at the will of someone else. Whatever interest still clings to the production of wares under this system has wholly left the ordinary workman, and attaches only to the organizers of his labor; and that interest commonly has little to do with the production of wares, as things to be handled, looked at…used in short, but simply as counters in the great game of the world market.” Here, there is an insightful recognition of something being lost, when craftsmanship becomes alienated in the wage-labor system of capitalism and our work no longer serves as the basis that determines our needs and the means for fulfillment. This same lament is present all throughout “Tulsa’s Last Magician.”
And the crowd all thought him funny, and good at sleight of hand
But he had this grand finale they refused to understand
They demanded explanation when the card pulled was their own
And that’s why Tulsa’s last magician lost his faith and headed home.
In time, the magician gave up the performance, and applied his skills to computers and investments. All the “rabbits that were livin’ in his hat” became “free-range,” while he worked his magic making “the numbers sing” as decades of his life disappeared yelling at the news and punching a time clock.
William Faulkner’s sentiment that “the past is never dead, it’s not even past” runs throughout Carlisle’s song. It is fascinating how these three Willis are entangled. For Morris, workers, craftspeople, were “continuers of history.” The “lost” arts and knowledge of artisans should not become some bygone relic, a reminder of a way of life that is no longer lived. Morris insisted that “what romance means is the capacity for a true conception of history, a power of making the past part of the present.” All of the Willis are romantics, striving to create meaning and connection in an inverted world. These dying arts demonstrate the qualities of humans beyond producing economic value. They are inspirations as to what we can be, a hope for the future. In a lecture, delivered in 1882, Morris invoked a sentiment captured by Carlisle, “If we have no hope for the future, I do not see how we can look back on the past with pleasure. If we are to be less than men in time to come, let us forget that we have ever been men.”
Willi Carlisle presents a fantastical story, focused on a magician who seems out of step, yet we quickly realize that we are also trapped in this situation, where the years are flying by working dehumanizing jobs, wishing we had time for our passions. The parallels between a magician and traveling musician are also evident. Willi captures our attention, presenting powerful stories that connect us to each other. He is a revolutionary, sharing potent songs that hold up a mirror to the world. Let us never forget that we have ever been human.
“Tulsa’s Last Magician” appears on Willi’s second record Peculiar, Missouri (2022).
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