MC5’s Wayne Kramer on Prison Rehab With a Beat

Jail Guitar Doors sends musicians into prisons with instruments of positive change.

Maxwell Williams

Nicole Weingart

Aug 30, 2012

By Maxwell Williams and Nicole Weingart

August 30, 2012

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Wayne Kramer, according Rolling Stone, is one of the top 100 guitarists in the world. Heck, Activision featured him in their Guitar Hero: World Tour video game. Starting in 1967 with the politically active MC5—aside from being Detroit’s most ripping proto-punk band, they were co-founders of the White Panthers—Kramer has been longstanding intermediate on the divide between music and politics, driving his involvement in the U.S. branch of Jail Guitar Doors, Billy Bragg’s initiative to provide new guitars to prisoners willing to find rehabilitation in music.

After MC5 disbanded, Kramer went into a tailspin, culminating in a three-year stint in a Kentucky “Narcotic Farm” prison (1976-78). There, he met Red Rodney, a member of the Charlie Parker Quintet, who took him under his wing, and Kramer found that music helped him rehabilitate into the world. Nowadays, Kramer is a career musician with 11 solo albums, scores to several films, television programs, and theme songs to his credit, but much of his time is devoted to Jail Guitar Doors.

Recently, Kramer made two trips to the California State Prison in Lancaster. One trip was to support Honor Yard, a program that inmates have organized themselves, eschewing gangs and drug use in exchange for the ability to study and play music, despite the prison’s shoddy equipment. Then, at the beginning of July, Kramer went with a cadre of musicians to perform for the prisoners, a project that was a few years in the making due to budget restraints—the prison couldn’t afford overtime for guards. GOOD chatted with Kramer about the state of the penal system, and what we can do to change it.

GOOD: Did you get blisters on your fingers from that solo for ‘Kick Out the Jams’?

WAYNE KRAMER: Not on the left hand, but on the right hand.

GOOD: You spent time at the Federal Correctional Institution at Lexington for dealing cocaine. You’ve said, “I wasn’t in prison when I was playing,” because you were in the clouds of bars and chord changes and melodies and rhythms. Do you still get transported when you’re playing?

KRAMER: I do. Playing music is one of the most CPU-intensive activities that humans do, way more than language or any physical activity, because music is so complex. First, you have to be conscious of what you’re playing, and what you’re going to be playing in a few seconds, and the timbre of your instrument, the chord progression, the melody, the harmony. You have to consider the other musicians. What are they playing? Your brain is processing how you’re interacting with them. And if you’re singing, you have to deal with the lyric, the timbre of your voice, the melody. There is nothing else in human experience that uses up that much brainpower.

GOOD: I agree that it’s really complex—I tried to play guitar when I was a kid and failed miserably. You had access to guitars when you were in prison. Did you find that there was less access in today’s prison system?

KRAMER: Without a doubt, but with some exceptions. In general, for the last 30 years, the focus in American corrections has been on punitive incapacitation, not on rehabilitation. When I arrived at the FCI at Lexington, the focus was on rehabilitation. The staff encouraged you to get involved in all the programs that they made available, things like RBT (Rational Behavior Training), or PMA (Positive Mental Attitude), or Transactional Analysis (they were featuring Dr. Berne’s ‘I’m OK, You’re OK’ as a therapeutic mode for insight into our anti-social behavior), encounter groups, group therapy, and college courses. I saw the programs go away during my almost three years at this facility. When I left, the place was filled with bunk beds in the hallways because of the escalating ‘war on drugs.’

If we don’t try to help someone to improve themselves while we have them, then we’re jeopardizing our own safety. If your car breaks down, you don’t beat your car; you fix your car. Maybe we could try that with human beings? The trouble is, they’ve spent all the money on building more/bigger/secure prisons, that they can’t afford rehabilitative programs. California’s prisons were at one point 200 percent over capacity. The courts have ordered them to lower it down to 110 percent, but they haven’t met that standard yet.

GOOD: You presumably see the prison system as completely messed up beyond repair.

KRAMER: People who deal with prisoners day in and day out understand that these are human beings, and that 95 percent of them will be released one day. There’s an institutional status quo that has to be fought against. There’s a component in the American psyche that is looking for revenge and retribution. It’s ugly. I’m not saying people shouldn’t be held accountable. I believe in the rule of law, but I don’t disagree with my brothers and sisters of Critical Resistance [an international movement that opposes prisons] that there probably is a better idea than prison.

GOOD: The penal system has fallen off the political radar. Why is it something you’ve glommed to?

KRAMER: Right now, there’s about 12 million ex-offenders alive in America, most of whom are disenfranchised, who cannot participate in the political process, who are barred from many jobs and licenses. It’s hard enough finding a job in the first place, let alone after being branded a convicted felon—who has paid his or her price—and continues to be segregated outside the mainstream.

GOOD: Music is one of the only fields that doesn’t discriminate against ex-convicts. You can really make your own way, and possibly even market yourself as the rehabilitated ex-convict.

KRAMER: I don’t disagree with you. But of all the careers that I would recommend to someone, there are many things that have fewer stumbling blocks than professional musician. Generally, most professional musicians do something else to supplement their income, because there are so many really accomplished musicians and so few jobs available. The idea of becoming rich and famous, I put the odds, realistically as 100,000 to one. Just about the same as your chances of becoming a wealthy professional athlete.

GOOD: What’s the best song you’ve heard come from a prisoner?

KRAMER: At the Northern Nevada Correctional Complex, they’ve got a program there for geriatric prisoners called ‘True Grit.’ True Grit has about nine bands on their yard, and one of the bands is a country band, and this fellow got up there and he sang this song he wrote called ‘Bottles and Cans’ about being a homeless guy, and how his life was reduced to collecting bottles and cans.

GOOD: How can musicians get involved with Jail Guitar Doors?

KRAMER: A local band that wanted to be of service could organize a benefit at a club in their district, get their friends in bands to all come and play, raise some money, buy their own guitars, and take them into their own local prisons where their friends and family are serving time. We can help with how to deal with authorities, how to buy the guitars, and we can give them key art.

GOOD: I’m sure some of the newer guitar players get blisters on their fingers. How do you tell them to get through it?

KRAMER: They actually go away after awhile. The nerve ends in your fingers adapt finally.

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Photo credit: Anna_Pustynnikova – A tasty sandwich

Culture, Media

In America’s sandwiches, the story of a nation

A nation’s story, stacked between slices.

Good Partner

6/25/2026

Paul Freedman

Andrew P. Haley

Imogene L. Lim

Ken Albala

Megan Elias

Everyone has a favorite sandwich, often prepared to an exacting degree of specification: Turkey or ham? Grilled or toasted? Mayo or mustard? White or whole wheat?

We reached out to five food historians and asked them to tell the story of a sandwich of their choosing. The responses included staples like peanut butter and jelly, as well as regional fare like New England’s chow mein sandwich.

Together, they show how the sandwiches we eat (or used to eat) do more than fill us up during our lunch breaks. In their stories are themes of immigration and globalization, of class and gender, and of resourcefulness and creativity.

A taste of home for working women

Megan Elias, Boston University

The tuna salad sandwich originated from an impulse to conserve, only to become a symbol of excess.

In the 19th century – before the era of supermarkets and cheap groceries – most Americans avoided wasting food. Scraps of chicken, ham or fish from supper would be mixed with mayonnaise and served on lettuce for lunch. Leftovers of celery, pickles and olives – served as supper “relishes” – would also be folded into the mix.

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The versions of these salads that incorporated fish tended to use salmon, white fish or trout. Most Americans didn’t cook (or even know of) tuna.

Around the end of the 19th century, middle-class women began to spend more time in public, patronizing department stores, lectures and museums. Since social conventions kept these women out of the saloons where men ate, lunch restaurants opened up to cater to this new clientele. They offered women exactly the kind of foods they had served each other at home: salads. While salads made at home often were composed of leftovers, those at lunch restaurants were made from scratch. Fish and shellfish salads were typical fare.

A 1949 ad in Ladies’ Home Journal announces a ‘Revolution in Tuna.’ Internet Archive Book Images

When further social and economic changes brought women into the public as office and department store workers, they found fish salads waiting for them at the affordable lunch counters patronized by busy urban workers. Unlike the ladies’ lunch, the office lunch hour had time limits. So lunch counters came up with the idea of offering the salads between two pieces of bread, which sped up table turnover and encouraged patrons to get lunch to go.

When canned tuna was introduced in the early 20th century, lunch counters and home cooks could skip the step of cooking a fish and go straight to the salad. But there was downside: The immense popularity of canned tuna led to the growth of a global industry that has severely depleted stocks and led to the unintended slaughter of millions of dolphins. A clever way to use dinner scraps has become a global crisis of conscience and capitalism.

I like mine on toasted rye.

East meets West in Fall River, Massachusetts

Imogene Lim, Vancouver Island University

“Gonna get a big dish of beef chow mein,” Warren Zevon sings in his 1978 hit “Werewolves of London,” a nod to the popular Chinese stir-fried noodle dish.

During that same decade, Alika and the Happy Samoans, the house band for a Chinese restaurant in Fall River, Massachusetts, also paid tribute to chow mein with a song titled “Chow Mein Sandwich.”

Chow mein in a sandwich? Is that a real thing?

I was first introduced to the chow mein sandwich while completing my doctorate at Brown University. Even as the child of a Chinatown restaurateur from Vancouver, I viewed the sandwich as something of a mystery. It led to a post-doctoral fellowship and a paper about Chinese entrepreneurship in New England.

The chow mein sandwich is the quintessential “East meets West” food, and it’s largely associated with New England’s Chinese restaurants – specifically, those of Fall River, a city crowded with textile mills near the Rhode Island border.

The sandwich became popular in the 1920s because it was filling and cheap: Workers munched on them in factory canteens, while their kids ate them for lunch in the parish schools, especially on meatless Fridays. It would go on to be available at some “five and dime” lunch counters, like Kresge’s and Woolworth – and even at Nathan’s in Coney Island.

Fall River’s famous chow mein sandwich. Roadfood

It’s exactly what it sounds like: a sandwich filled with chow mein (deep-fried, flat noodles, topped with a ladle of brown gravy, onions, celery and bean sprouts). If you want to make your own authentic sandwich at home, I recommend using Hoo Mee Chow Mein Mix, which is still made in Fall River. It can be served in a bun (à la sloppy joe) or between sliced white bread, much like a hot turkey sandwich with gravy. The classic meal includes the sandwich, french fries and orange soda.

For those who grew up in the Fall River area, the chow mein sandwich is a reminder of home. Just ask famous chef (and Fall River native) Emeril Lagasse, who came up with his own “Fall River chow mein” recipe.

And at one time, Fall River expats living in Los Angeles would hold a “Fall River Day.”

On the menu? Chow mein sandwiches, of course.

A snack for the elites

Paul Freedman, Yale University

Unlike many American food trends of the 1890s, such as the Waldorf salad and chafing dishes, the club sandwich has endured, immune to obsolescence.

The sandwich originated in the country’s stuffy gentlemen’s clubs, which are known – to this day – for a conservatism that includes loyalty to outdated cuisine. (The Wilmington Club in Delaware continues to serve terrapin, while the Philadelphia Club’s specialties include veal and ham pie.) So the club sandwich’s spread to the rest of the population, along with its lasting popularity, is a testament to its inventiveness and appeal.

A two-layer affair, the club sandwich calls for three pieces of toasted bread spread with mayonnaise and filled with chicken or turkey, bacon, lettuce and tomato. Usually the sandwich is cut into two triangles and held together with a toothpick stuck in each half.

Some believe it should be eaten with a fork and knife, and its blend of elegance and blandness make the club sandwich a permanent feature of country and city club cuisine.

The club sandwich: A perfect blend of elegance and blandness. Alena Haurylik

As far back as 1889, there are references to a Union Club sandwich of turkey or ham on toast. The Saratoga Club-House offered a club sandwich on its menu beginning in 1894.

Interestingly, until the 1920s, sandwiches were identified with ladies’ lunch places that served “dainty” food. The first club sandwich recipe comes from an 1899 book of “salads, sandwiches and chafing-dish dainties,” and its most famous proponent was Wallis Simpson, the American woman whom Edward VIII abdicated the throne of Great Britain to marry.

Nonetheless, an 1889 article from the New York Sun entitled “An Appetizing Sandwich: A Dainty Treat That Has Made a New York Chef Popular” describes the Union Club sandwich as appropriate for a post-theater supper, or something light to be eaten before a nightcap. This was one type of sandwich that men could indulge in, the article seemed to be saying – as long as it wasn’t eaten for lunch.

New York City’s Union Club served an early version of the club sandwich that was a hit. Gryffindor, CC BY-SA

‘The combination is delicious and original’

Ken Albala, University of the Pacific

While the peanut butter and jelly sandwich eventually became a staple of elementary school cafeterias, it actually has upper-crust origins.

In the late-19th century, at elegant ladies’ luncheons, a popular snack was small, crustless tea sandwiches with butter and cucumber, cold cuts or cheese. Around this time, health food advocates like John Harvey Kellogg started promoting peanut products as a replacement for animal-based foods (butter included). So for a vegetarian option at these luncheons, peanut butter simply replaced regular butter.

One of the earliest known recipes that suggested including jelly with peanut butter appeared in a 1901 issue of the Boston Cooking School Magazine.

“For variety,” author Julia Davis Chandler wrote, “some day try making little sandwiches, or bread fingers, of three very thin layers of bread and two of filling, one of peanut paste, whatever brand you prefer, and currant or crabapple jelly for the other. The combination is delicious, and so far as I know original.”

The sandwich moved from garden parties to lunchboxes in the 1920s, when peanut butter started to be mass produced with hydrogenated vegetable oil and sugar. Marketers of the Skippy brand targeted children as a potential new audience, and thus the association with school lunches was forged.

The classic version of the sandwich is made with soft, sliced white bread, creamy or chunky peanut butter and jelly. Outside of the United States, the peanut butter and jelly sandwich is rare – much of the world views the combination as repulsive.

These days, many try to avoid white bread and hydrogenated fats. Nonetheless, the sandwich has a nostalgic appeal for many Americans, and recipes for high-end versions – with freshly ground peanuts, artisanal bread or unusual jams – now circulate on the web.

The Daughters of the Confederacy get creative

Andrew P. Haley, University of Southern Mississippi

The Scotch woodcock is probably not Scottish. It’s arguably not even a sandwich. A favorite of Oxford students and members of Parliament until the mid-20th century, the dish is generally prepared by layering anchovy paste and eggs on toast.

Like its cheesier cousin, the Welsh rabbit (better known as rarebit), its name is fanciful. Perhaps there was something about the name, if not the ingredients, that sparked the imagination of Miss Frances Lusk of Jackson, Mississippi.

The United Daughters of the Confederacy cookbook features a take on the Scotch woodcock. McCain Library and Archives, The University of Southern Mississippi, CC BY-SA

Inspired to add a little British sophistication to her entertaining, she crafted her own version of the Scotch woodcock for a 1911 United Daughters of the Confederacy fundraising cookbook. Miss Lusk’s woodcock sandwich mixed strained tomatoes and melted cheese, added raw eggs, and slathered the paste between layers of bread (or biscuits).

As food historian Bee Wilson argues in her history of the sandwich, American sandwiches distinguished themselves from their British counterparts by the scale of their ambition. Imitating the rising skylines of American cities, many were towering affairs that celebrated abundance.

But those sandwiches were the sandwiches of urban lunchrooms and, later, diners. In the homes of southern clubwomen, the sandwich was a way to marry British sophistication to American creativity.

For example, the United Daughters of the Confederacy cookbook included “sweetbread sandwiches,” made by heating canned offal (animal trimmings) and slathering the mashed mixture between two pieces of toast. There’s also a “green pepper sandwich,” crafted from “very thin” slices of bread and “very thin” slices of green pepper.

Such creative combinations weren’t limited to the elites of Mississippi’s capital city. In the plantation homes of the Mississippi Delta, members of the Coahoma Woman’s Club served sandwiches of English walnuts, black walnuts and stuffed olives ground into a colorful paste. They also assembled “Friendship Sandwiches” from grated cucumbers, onions, celery and green peppers mixed with cottage cheese and mayonnaise. Meanwhile, the industrial elite of Laurel, Mississippi, served mashed bacon and eggs sandwiches and creamed sardine sandwiches.

Not all of these amalgamations were capped by a slice of bread, so purists might balk at calling them sandwiches. But these ladies did – and they proudly tied up their original creations with ribbons.

This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

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Photo credit: State Library of Queensland – State Library of Queensland

Culture, Fashion

Wool swimsuits used to be standard beachwear – is it time to bring them back?

Old-school swimwear gets a sustainable second look

Good Partner

6/25/2026

Lorinda Cramer

Woollen swimwear, popular a century ago, might soon make a splash on Australian beaches again.

In the 19th century, when natural fibres were the only option, beach-goers donned costumes made of wool or cotton. Swimsuits worn at the water’s edge or in the crashing waves transformed across the 20th century from natural fibres to sleek, high-performance synthetics.

But with concern mounting over microplastics and the search for sustainable options, the woollen swimsuits of the past could be the swimwear of the future.

Shifting (and shrinking) swimsuits

Plenty who enjoyed a day on the sand in the first decades of the 20th century did so fully clothed. It was not uncommon for men to dress for the beach in three-piece suits or for women to wear gowns that fell to their ankles.

At the beginning of the last century, people often went to the beach fully clothed. National Museum of Australia

But women who ventured into the water donned belted, knee-length bathing gowns that featured bloomers to conceal the legs. Men’s two-piece bathing costumes revealed a little more, with a top extending to the thighs paired with shorts to the knees.

In the space of a couple of decades, however, swimsuits radically changed. Styles altered as attitudes to the exposure of bodies relaxed, shifting ideas around public morality.

Both men and women were modestly dressed for swimming. State Library of Queensland

The 1930s witnessed a rise in topless bathing for men as they adopted trunks. Some had half skirts at the front, and many sported belts with buckles to keep them firmly on the waist.

Women’s swimwear now revealed the arms, legs and back – then even more when bikinis appeared on Australian beaches in 1950. Shock rippled across the sand.

Swimwear had reached body-baring new dimensions.

As the decades passed, bathing suits got smaller. Mark Strizic/State Library of Victoria

Wool on the beach

Knitted wool – rather than woven wool or cotton – fitted swimwear snugly to the body, helping it shrink in size.

For wearers of Foy & Gibson’s evocatively named wool suits in the late 1920s and early 1930s – “Sunnybeach”, “Sunbath”, “Seafit” and “Siren” among them – this knit offered comfort and freedom.

The Australian Women’s Weekly provided instructions to knit these bathers in 1938. Trove

Speedo’s knitted wool trucks in the late 1930s were made to streamline men’s figures, sparking the enticing slogan: “Next to your figure Speedo looks best!”

Those with knitting skills could make their own swimsuits that decade, using instructions like those given in the Australian Women’s Weekly.

With the introduction of “Lastex” – a rubber yarn – to woollen swimsuits in the 1930s, they transitioned to even more body-hugging fits. These exuded a new kind of glamorous appeal that elevated swimwear to a “sea-ductive” (as one newspaper columnist quipped) new height.

The synthetic swimsuit revolution

When synthetics burst onto the market, Australians embraced the new “modern” fibres. Wool was also in short supply, prioritised for uniforms and blankets for second world war troops.

Swimwear started to be made in the so-called “miracle” fibres: nylon in the 1940s, then polyester (known as “Terylene” in Australia) in the 1950s. From the 1960s, “Lycra” (also called elastane and spandex) was blended into swimsuits. These made sleeker, slimmer, more satin-like suits.

By the 1960s, bathing suits were more streamlined and made with synthetic fibres. H. Dacre Stubbs/State Library of Victoria, CC BY

Neoprene, a foam fabric, first appeared in wetsuits on Australia’s beaches in the late 1950s – increasing the possibilities for winter surfing. Wetsuits improved significantly in decades to follow, keeping their wearer warm by trapping a thin layer of water heated by the body.

In the pool, our Olympic swimmers tested more advanced fabrics. Those at the Sydney Games in 2000 wore the Speedo “fastskin”, with its compression fabric and replication of shark skin scales that streamlined the body in the water.

These full-body swimsuits worn at the 2000 Olympics were designed to be sleek in the water. AAP Photo/Dean Lewins

More recently, swimsuits made from recycled plastic – bottles, bags and other plastic waste – have emerged as an eco-friendly option. Some question, however, just how green these recycled swimmers truly are when reducing all plastic consumption is needed to make a difference.

Why wool, again?

We might dismiss woollen swimsuits from the 20th century’s first decades as unpleasant or uncomfortable to wear. Or we might see them as unflattering for the way they sagged when wet.

But new processes for working with wool suggest it is ideal to wear in the water. New merino boardshorts have been designed to dry in less than seven minutes. Wool is also thermo-regulating, helping the body maintain an even temperature.

It’s not just that wool options are increasingly available. As we buy and throw away clothing at alarming rates, some have embraced the natural fibre as a sustainable, renewable alternative to synthetics.

Today’s knitted bathers look quite different to these. Museums Victoria

Wool is biodegradable, naturally returning to and nourishing the earth, unlike synthetics that can take centuries to break down. Clothes in artificial fibres linger in landfill, with devastating consequences.

Our growing awareness of microplastics – tiny fibres released with washing that pollute marine (and other) environments – is also driving this shift.

So is it time to rethink wearing wool as you head to the beach this summer?

This article originally appeared on The Conversation. You can read it here.

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Photo credit: Canva – (left) A woman eats, (center) a woman walks, (right) a woman shops at a farmers market.

Culture, Media

Why ‘Main Character Energy’ videos are making everyday life feel extraordinary

“I’m 100% doing this tomorrow.”

Mark Wales

6/25/2026

A rapidly growing trend on TikTok encourages people to see themselves as the protagonist of their own lives. In “main character energy” videos, creators turn ordinary moments into cinema. Clips of people walking to work, grabbing coffee, or reading a book sometimes attract thousands of views after specialized music and stylized cuts are added.

The social media posts might look like just another aesthetic trend. But the reason people keep returning and liking them seems less about style and more about how they turn a regular day into something special.

What is “main character energy” all about?

“Main character energy” is Internet slang for seeing yourself as the central figure of your own story. Not in an inflated sense, but more in a way that turns ordinary routines into something a little more intentional.

TikTok creators have embraced the trend, creating an easily recognizable video that encourages self-focus and a playful, story-driven way of seeing themselves. Entire feeds are now filled with “main character walks” and similar clips of daily activities where nothing remarkable happens, but the attitude suggests it matters.

Making the ordinary feel extraordinary

People seem to really respond to the trend. Comment sections are filled with thoughts about their own “main character” moments. The video just above, posted by @chelsbol received over 15,000 comments.

“Me every time I walk home from Trader Joe’s”

“my newest coping tool has been: *make it an imaginary situation, you are now playing pretend, cosplaying even*

“this is gonna flip my mindset so much thank you.”

“Im 100% doing this tomorrow”

“Be your starring role in your own movie everyday!”

“Making the best out of any situation”

People generally move through their lives from one obligation to another. Work, errands, commuting, cooking, cleaning, and endless scrolling can make days blend in a blur. In that repeated normalcy, a video that slows down and has a little theatrical fun can feel surprisingly refreshing.

Balancing fun against narcissism

However, these unique videos may point to deeper underlying concerns. In a Psychology Today article, psychotherapist Duygu Balan warns that what begins as self-discovery can turn into content made primarily for clicks and likes. There’s a toxic risk when personal growth becomes something curated for an audience.

The same videos that encourage people to romanticize their own lives can also invite comparison. Videos carefully crafted to elicit audience engagement rarely project reality. A 2025 study in Frontiers in Psychology found that social comparison on social media can dramatically affect a person’s mental health. Viewers don’t always stop at appreciating someone else’s perspective. Sometimes they get lost in measuring their own lives against it.

Most successful “main character energy” creators focus on more ordinary moments than extraordinary ones. The appeal isn’t necessarily about having a better life. It’s more about finding a different way to approach the one you already have.

Whether people see the trend as a helpful mindset or just another social media trend, its popularity suggests viewers crave it. By framing routine differently, they invite the audience to craft a little more joy in the mundane of their own lives.

At their best, these videos aren’t about becoming the star of a movie. They propose finding meaning from the moments people often overlook. In a culture driven by productivity, infusing everyday life with a little lighthearted whimsy is a big reason people keep watching.

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