June 29, 2007
June 28, 2007
STEP THREE
reconfigure guitar rig.
sixty watts of clean, quiet power...
...
June 27, 2007
June 26, 2007
STEP ONE
you know how it is, that right before you vacuum the rug, you need to pick up the old dirty socks and toss them in the hamper? that was today.
...
...
June 22, 2007
REMAKE / REMODEL
This web site is due for a new look and will probably be morphing to a new, non-blogging functionality over the next few months. Significant changes are happening in my personal life, and will likely be manifested here in some form or another. At this stage, I'm tentatively planning to place more emphasis on my original music and writing (actual written pieces, not thumbnail sketches rattled off quickly over morning coffee or lunch, which is what most of my blogging amounts to anyway). When it comes to politics and opinion mongering, others do it full-time, and better, than I do. I leave the mission of saving our fragile planet to their attentive care...moreover, as I'd originally become a blogger almost by accident, and coincidentally just around the same time frame as when I'd decided to quit drinking, these random blasts of commentary served as a place to vent those little annoyances and petty grievances that I theorized would have been otherwise shared with some stumbling comrade, in a pub, whilst swilling down a long line of pints and celebrating the brilliance of my slurred analysis with a shot of jimmy and a borrowed smoke. and so I thank all of you, who return here on a regular basis, for serving as my imaginary drinking buddies...
but what I've learned is that recovery isn't about learning how to let off steam. that is, in fact, the easy part...[and let's face it: the downright narcissism of blogging fits that mindset so well--why should anyone assume that their whimsical opinions on godpoliticsmedia amounts to a goodgoddamn to anybody else? burp.]... the tough part is actually about attaining genuine empathy for fellow human beings, learning how to blunt one's kneejerk selfishness, withstanding the urge to take the lazy-minded negative view...even when it's hard. especially when it's hard. I'm still learning how to do this. I'm better than I was, but not as good as I need to be.
someone once said, "opinions are like assholes..." well, some of us who have developed an appreciation for assholes might take umbrage at that. but you won't be reading about it here.
have a great weekend. enjoy your summer. get well soon...
...
June 21, 2007
SUMMER
In honor of the first day of summer, I'm going to post some random bits on this celebrated season...lyrics & poetry mostly...for those of you who haven't heard the songs these lyrics derive from, I strongly encourage you to seek them out (the poems too!)...one notices a certain commonality to these works that span several centuries--the impulse of humanity to identify our own mortality in the the fleeting nature of climactic beauty...perhaps spring can really hang you up the most, but there is no deeper poignancy than when the world is in bloom...
"Summer" by Bill Janovitz (Buffalo Tom)
Sight unseen, sadder seas
Summer song sung all along
Dragged across the seven seas
To the beach come follow me
Summer's gone a summer song
You've wasted every day, every day
Cellophane, a grandma's town
Summer's letters on the ground
Seven pins, the fall begins
When the leaves burn, summer ends
Summer's gone a summer song
You've wasted every day, every day
Summer's gone, can't wipe it off my hands
Write it in the sand, in the sand
Where've my heroes gone today?
Mick and Keith and Willie Mays
Broken windows trails outside
I can take you for a ride
"Celebrated Summer" by Husker Du
Love and hate was in the air, like pollen from a flower
Somewhere in April time, they add another hour
I guess I'd better think up a way to spend my time
Just when I'm ready to sit inside, it's summer time
Should I go fishing or get a friend to hang around
It's back to summer, back to basics, hang around
Getting drunk out on the beach, or playing in a band
And getting out of school meant getting out of hand
Was this your celebrated summer? Was that your celebrated summer?
Then the sun disintegrates between a wall of clouds
I summer where I winter at, and no one is allowed there
Do you remember when the first snowfall fell
When summer barely had a snowball's chance in Hell
"Summertime" by George Gershwin
Summertime,
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry
One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky
But till that morning
There's a'nothing can harm you
With daddy and mamma standing by
Summertime,
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? (Sonnet 18)
by William Shakespeare
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Night of the south winds - night of the large few
stars!
Still nodding night - mad naked summer night.
—Walt Whitman
Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the
Stooks arise
Around; up above, what wind-walks! what
lovely behavior
Of silk-sack clouds! Has wilder, willful-waiver
Meal-drift molded ever and melted across skies?
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
My Mother on an Evening in Late Summer
by Mark Strand
1
When the moon appears
and a few wind-stricken barns stand out
in the low-domed hills
and shine with a light
that is veiled and dust-filled
and that floats upon the fields,
my mother, with her hair in a bun,
her face in shadow, and the smoke
from her cigarette coiling close
to the faint yellow sheen of her dress,
stands near the house
and watches the seepage of late light
down through the sedges,
the last gray islands of cloud
taken from view, and the wind
ruffling the moon's ash-colored coat
on the black bay.
2
Soon the house, with its shades drawn closed, will send
small carpets of lampglow
into the haze and the bay
will begin its loud heaving
and the pines, frayed finials
climbing the hill, will seem to graze
the dim cinders of heaven.
And my mother will stare into the starlanes,
the endless tunnels of nothing,
and as she gazes,
under the hour's spell,
she will think how we yield each night
to the soundless storms of decay
that tear at the folding flesh,
and she will not know
why she is here
or what she is prisoner of
if not the conditions of love that brought her to this.
3
My mother will go indoors
and the fields, the bare stones
will drift in peace, small creatures --
the mouse and the swift -- will sleep
at opposite ends of the house.
Only the cricket will be up,
repeating its one shrill note
to the rotten boards of the porch,
to the rusted screens, to the air, to the rimless dark,
to the sea that keeps to itself.
Why should my mother awake?
The earth is not yet a garden
about to be turned. The stars
are not yet bells that ring
at night for the lost.
It is much too late.
The Warmth of the Sun by Brian Wilson (The Beach Boys)
What good is the dawn
That grows into day
The sunset at night
Or living this way
For I have the warmth of the sun
(warmth of the sun)
Within me at night
(within me at night)
The love of my life
She left me one day
I cried when she said
I dont feel the same way
Still I have the warmth of the sun
(warmth of the sun)
Within me tonight
(within me tonight)
Ill dreams of her arms
And though theyre not real
Just like shes still there
The way that I feel
I loved like the warmth of the sun
(warmth of the sun)
It wont ever die
(it wont ever die)
...
JUST BEING CHARITABLE
...hello I'm calling from the old timey sergeant's fleecing society...
Last night it was the cops. The night before that it was multiple sclerosis. a month ago we received at least a dozen calls from one of the cancer groups. when it comes to telemarketers for charity, the message is clear--once you give, you will be harrassed. again and again. forever.
we are on the "do not call" list. of course, this hasn't prevented the loophole of the electronic, pre-recorded calls, but those are easy enough to recognize and hang up on. what I don't understand is why the charities and the cops still continue to call and harrass, right when they know you're there--at dinnertime. one would think that a "legitimate" fundraising group would be aware of the legal restrictions (unless they've been led to believe that the FCC, busy with prosecuting bare breasts, is inclined to look the other way). and in this age, when fraud and confidence scams have achieved a scientific precision and effectiveness in bilking the simple-minded out of their savings, why would a policemen's group be using the con artists' number one tool? Why? Because they are running their own con game. It's those little stickers--the shiny emblems you stick on your car window, so when you get pulled over for speeding, the trooper sees that you've given at the office. As if this is the middle ages and you're buying an indulgence from the church. memo to the cops: I don't own a car. and my kid isn't playing in your little league. buzz off.
when the tsunami hit, we gave quite a bit of money, voluntarily. when katrina hit, same story--we gave. more than we needed to or probably should have, since it now appears that our money was probably wasted on some shelter that nobody ended up using, or for medicines that were never dispersed. but you can bet that we are now highlighted on the master list of suckers.
people like to help other people. witness the number of dollar bills handed out every day to junkies crying poverty on the subway. it's such a successful ploy that I see the same dude on my commuter train every friday, begging for money so he can "get home." same train, same time, same car. if the pattern of behavior weren't sufficient cause for skepticism, you'd think that the track marks on his arm might warrant some. but people want to think better of people, and I'm sure he receives sufficient funds to get high as a kite, because he knows where to go--he keeps coming back to the same place, over and over, harrassing the same pockets until no more jingle is produced. only then will he move on to a new car. in his way, he uses the exact same tactics as the multiple sclerosis and cancer people...
so, as much as I'd like to be looking out for my fellow man, and as much as I believe in doing charitable works (and will certainly continue--via internet or post), I can say definitively now that no matter what the cause--cops, cancer, save the world, pollsters, hucksters, chimney sweeps, home security companies, or the furthering of consumer marketing research in america, the answer is going to sound like this: "click"...
or else they will never, ever, ever leave me alone.
...
gee whiz...is there ANYBODY at the Bush DOJ (or in the entire administration for that matter) who isn't a complete and total scumbag?...
...
June 20, 2007
SOMETHING OF A FILM BUFF
I've long suspected that Scorcese's newfound fondness for Leonardo DiCaprio was somehow a by-product of a fallout with Robert Deniro. Or something to do with Deniro's desire to direct. or something...
who knows? All I know is that I've grown extremely disenchanted with Scorcese's output over the past few years...he managed to turn the classic tome "Gangs of New York" into a costume drama...Daniel Day-Lewis being the only thing that saved it from being truly useless...Cameron Diaz's "irish spring" brogue should be a featured exhibit in the museum of bad fake accents...and what of The Aviator? Does anybody really care about Howard Hughes? Anyone? Gee, he sure liked airplanes and women. Sounds like Citizen Kane II, right? wrong. Conversely, I found "The Departed" to be extremely compelling, with great performances, writing, etc. A fine film. I even thought DiCaprio was good. But let's face it, as good as Jack Nicholson was/is, that role should've been Bobby's...at least that's what I'd assume if you'd asked me to predict the casting beforehand.
So, this is good news for movie fans. Maybe I'll be a movie fan again someday too...
...
June 19, 2007
TELEMASTER
I got some nice feedback on yesterday's Television/Danny Gatton post, so I'm posting some links below, to some youtube videos of Mr. Gatton...
..this is an old clip (he's still playing the les paul, for one thing...) there's a little bit of Buddy Emmons at the end...this clip is solid evidence of the fact that the right hand, the picking hand, is where all the important stuff happens...
...this clip I hadn't seen before...some of his patented chicken pickin'/DC swing rubato playing before they settle into a blues...
...danny gatton's funhouse was basically the redneck jazz explosion with an added horn section...this one has some pretty good footage of buddy emmons doing his thing, before danny steps in and kicks it into another gear...
Youtube doesn't have the austin city limits clip, but dannygatton.com has it...how many of us can play better than this without a towel wrapped around the neck? in my opinion, this schtick is right up there with any guitar stunt (playing with teeth, behind head etc.) that hendrix or SRV ever did...and certainly with a larger dose of humor..."your brand could be here"...
of all the styles he played and mastered, my personal fave: rockabilly...
...
June 18, 2007
MUSICAL DIARY
...guitarist Richard Lloyd...
Television at Central Park Summerstage.
One of the great records from the first wave of the NYC punk scene was Television’s “Marquee Moon”…unlike most of what people think “punk” sounds like, this was a record of quirky pop songs, with extended guitar solos. In its way, it was very traditional. Television made a few records (in addition to MM, “Adventure” and the reissue of the live “The Blow Up” are all that I’ve ever heard) and disbanded a few years later. However, they have reunited over the years to play the odd one-off gig. Saturday’s free show was unbeknownst to me until the last minute, but once I learned it was happening, I was making my plans. Then I heard about Richard Lloyd, their great lead guitarist, being in the hospital with pneumonia since the beginning of the month…so we went anyway, hopeful that he’d recovered enough to make the gig. Alas, that was not meant to be…and since he’d posted on his own web site that this was to be his last Television gig (we’ll see, eh Richard?), it was somewhat bittersweet.
However, not as bittersweet as the opener, Apples in Stereo. Actually, make that just “sweet”…I was the one who ended up bitter. I won’t belabor this—I went in wanting to like them, truly, but c’mon….imagine taking billy corgan’s voice and applying it to a bunch of beatles covers…I swear, one of their tunes actually IS ‘fox on the run’…(we get it: you like bubblegum pop music; now let's all please move on...) also, it didn’t help that it was raining during their set, but at least I didn’t have to be surrounded by their fans…and by the by, who brings umbrellas to rock concerts? This new generation of kids are a bunch of pansies, with their little digitals and their little Marlboro lights and their soft video gaming bodies…not to get into high middle-age guy huff, but all these symptoms point to a reality that smarts—this band was terrible but nobody could tell the difference….that is, until…
Television hit the stage and after a quick remark dissing the sound system and city of new york, immediately got off to a slow start. First of all, no Richard Lloyd. But substitute guitarist Jimmy Ripp did a fine job, if a little light on the lead guitar interjecting bit. When the vibe kicked in, it kicked in and didn't let up...even at the end, when their extended run on the song "marquee moon" went over the time limit, and the stage manager started gesturing wildly for them to stop, with the classic finger-across-the-throat gesture...what a clueless asshole....in any case, Richard Lloyd’s contribution always had the feel of a musical fight, as he was inserting his guitar playing between Tom V’s song, his singing of it, and his own very remarkable guitar playing. Jimmy Ripp did perfectly OK filling in, but the aggro and the personal were clearly not his mission...
And that’s today’s story—Tom Verlaine is a motherfucker. I’d always thought that, for me, the musical influence from this band was Lloyd all the way, but I was mistaken. To backtrack: NYC has traditionally been, believe it or not, a single coil town—there is a big tradition here, whether you look for it in the early punk stuff, or in the no wave loft stuff, or even in the roots places that continue to die out (one upon a time it was the lone star, now it’s costume parties at don hill’s….*sigh*), New York has always boasted of a lot of strat/tele/jazzmaster players--the sorts of guitars you really need to fight to get a good sound out of. This band epitomized that—two fender guitars, in mid-strangulation, having a tense conversation about beauty and death. Two strats, both using identical amps (this time out it was two Vox AC30’s), creating a ‘weave’…lots of droning strings, slide, bent notes, devices designed to fill up the space without resorting to reverb or heavy distortion. The stereotypical word to describe this has always been “angular.” Well, I dig angular. And the guy in this combine who (I now realize) had the angular thing going on the most, was Tom Verlaine. So, I’ll be on the lookout for more from him, and catching up on what I’ve missed. And I hope that Richard Lloyd gets well soon. Were he there, I expect the added energy would have elevated a really good show to perhaps a really great show…but it was certainly no waste of my time. Unlike the opening band…
Danny Gatton reissues
One evening in 1994, the great DC-area master of the telecaster, Danny Gatton, after a family squabble, went out to his shed, put a .22 rifle into a stationary vice and blew a hole through his head. Thus ended the career of the “world’s greatest unknown guitarist”…I’ve been a huge fan of his for many years. There’s an interesting career track to witness here. This is a guy who started out as a machinist with world-class guitar chops…I mean ridiculous guitar chops. What he was playing out of the gate, as a young guy, was seemingly unobtainable to most of us humans (as is often the case with virtuosos)….his big influences, to my ears, are Les Paul and Charlie Christian and Cliff Gallup/Scotty Moore…and B3 organ players…and early rock n roll records…in other words, an amalgam of musical styles from the 1950s, with an emphasis on rockabilly and small group swing. This is my own theory—that he was so preternaturally gifted that the whole guitar playing thing became boring and unsatisfying after a time. His big passion was fixing up antique hot rod automobiles, not music. At one point, so I’ve read, he had another temper fit and put one of his hands through a plate glass window, severing tendons and putting himself out of guitar playing for a while…he was a slightly pudgy guy with a 50s sensibility, playing a telecaster, who rarely toured and put out very few “official” studio recordings, during the age of duran duran and flock of seagulls, he was a true misanthrope, with no MTV looks, and a stubborn refusal to play the game. Despite this, he remained frustrated by his relative lack of success or elevated profile. So, when he eventually did get a major label deal, it was all glossed up—Danny on the cover, glowering at us in his big sha na na hairdo, leaning on a hot rod (the story of how he traded his ’53 tele for a ’36 ford coupe is a minor legend in vintage guitar circles) in his leather finery, while clutching a tele, looked fake and no surprise--the record sounded it. all gloss and sheen (and yet another case of a guitarist who doesn't sing, hiring a singer with no appeal). And forget about it seeming artificial--the Gatton fashion sense was a 30-year old look! and Brian Setzer he was not...
And so it went—a guy whose specialty was getting up on stage and reinventing endless versions of classic tunes—deconstructing and performing via an unheard-of virtuosity, was asked to go into the studio and put down “definitive” takes. Apparently his takes of the solos ran into the hundreds, as he sat there, constantly proving to the engineer that he could always do better—and of course he could. But somebody (I dunno, a producer maybe?) should have been there to say “enough, that’s the take”…back in the era of analog tape, it’s a shame that so much of what he put down is now permanently lost. But despite that, I think it's safe to say that he won't be remembered for "cruisin' deuces" or "88 elmira st"...he'll be remembered for his amazing ability and the legendary gigs he played in the early days, starting with a "magic dingus box"-equipped les paul and soon adopting the telecaster as his weapon of choice...some of these recordings pre-date the telecaster, and his tone is chameleonic--with liberal use of leslie (he had no problem sounding just like a Hammond B3 when he felt like it) echoplex and other effects, which he didn't use so much once he took up the telecaster.
Why do I bring this up? Because he peaked early. Because his talents weren't suited to the music business circa 1980's, but his talents were/are impossible to ignore. Because he was one of the very best guitarists alive at that time and nobody knew who he was. Also, because Big Mo Records is doing a nice job of resurrecting old live tapes of his bands (the latest are the earliest—with “the redneck jazz explosion”) and putting them out. So, given that premise, this is actually the good stuff...I just got three more of them—live ’77 the humbler stakes his claim as well as the two volumes of the RJE…all recorded live, at the cellar door in DC. While my friends and I were digging on punk rock, this cat was re-inventing the American songbook with a completely unique approach—his bandmates included friend/mentor Dick Heintze (whose death, some say, was the beginning of Danny’s end) on B3 organ, and Buddy Emmons, the legendary pedal steel player whose specialty was playing jazz (check out his solo stuff--his version of "cherokee" kills)…so, for a taste of the late, great Danny Gatton, before the music business let him down, before he started treating the guitar as a contemptible nuisance to be brought out only when bills came due, before the darkness crept in for good, check out these releases. They are astonishing.
...
June 15, 2007
TOUS DE LES MATINS DU MONDE
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off,
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark.
Do not for ever with thy vailed lids
Seek for thy noble father in the dust:
Thou know'st 'tis common; all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.
--W. Shakespeare
My daughter’s love is the greatest drug I’ve ever encountered. I know of no human entity who can make me feel so cherished, needed, and indispensable. And it is terrifying to think that this connection, this special love, is so fragile and transient. Age, and mortality, and circumstance, creep in their petty pace, and even though our filial bonds remain, they are particularly precious as an existential, right-this-fucking-minute experience.
This subject is overwhelming. Many of us live our whole lives trying to ascertain a way to communicate effectively with our parents, or communicate effectively with our children. It is a life’s work, with no guarantee as to outcome—the degree to which children blossom, or adults mature, or with the passing of another decade, illusions dissolve and we finally, maybe, see clearly the people with whom we live and love. Nothing is predictable, and the stakes range from mortal tragedy to the purest exhilaration possible for human senses to experience.
And for this I need a holiday? I try to do right by the people in my family every day. I think we all should. And I don’t think any of us particularly needs to be thanked for it. If fathers don’t do what is needed, the result is no longer mysterious. It will be bad, for all concerned. But if my daughter arrives, Sunday morning, with her big beautiful eyes, and gives me a big hug, who am I to argue with this exact moment in time? I will, as all fathers should, melt into a puddle of grateful humility, at her very existence, at the very existence of her pure and loving heart.
Happy Father’s Day.
...
June 14, 2007
WALNUTS
...as the world adjusts to the idea of life without The Sopranos, I'll say goodbye to my favorite character on the show, Paulie "Walnuts" Gaultieri, by featuring a very enjoyable youtube retrospective...only one question--where's part II?
...
June 13, 2007
SAY IT DON'T SPRAY IT
The radical novelty of modern science lies precisely in the rejection of
the belief ... that the forces which move the stars and atoms are
contingent upon the preferences of the human heart. -Walter Lippman,
journalist (1889-1974)
A mature person is one who does not think only in absolutes, who is able to
be objective even when deeply stirred emotionally, who has learned that
there is both good and bad in all people and in all things, and who walks
humbly and deals charitably with the circumstances of life, knowing that in
this world no one is all knowing and therefore all of us need both love and
charity. -Eleanor Roosevelt, diplomat and writer (1884-1962)
He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a
monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into
you. -Friedrich Nietzsche, philosopher (1844-1900)
Power always has to be kept in check; power exercised in secret, especially
under the cloak of national security, is doubly dangerous. -William
Proxmire, US senator, reformer (1915-2005)
When you think of the long and gloomy history of man, you will find more
hideous crimes have been committed in the name of obedience than have ever
been committed in the name of rebellion. -C.P. Snow, scientist and writer
(1905-1980)
The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change;
the realist adjusts the sails. -William Arthur Ward, college administrator,
writer (1921-1994)
Whenever people say 'We mustn't be sentimental,' you can take it they are
about to do something cruel. And if they add 'We must be realistic,' they
mean they are going to make money out of it. -Brigid Brophy, writer
(1929-1995)
As long as a man stands in his own way, everything seems to be in his way.
-Ralph Waldo Emerson, American writer and philosopher (1803-1882)
There is not such a cradle of democracy upon the earth as the Free Public
Library, this republic of letters, where neither rank, office, nor wealth
receives the slightest consideration. -Andrew Carnegie, industrialist
(1835-1919)
Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life:
the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the
suffering of mankind. -Bertrand Russell, philosopher, mathematician, and
author (1872-1970)
We are never more discontented with others than when we are discontented
with ourselves. -Henri Frederic Amiel, philosopher and writer (1821-1881)
A mass of Latin words falls upon the facts like soft snow, blurring the
outline and covering up all the details. The great enemy of clear language
is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared
aims, one turns as it were instinctively to long words and exhausted
idioms, like a cuttlefish spurting out ink. In our age there is no such
thing as "keeping out of politics". All issues are political issues, and
politics itself is a mass of lies, evasions, folly, hatred, and
schizophrenia. When the general atmosphere is bad, language must suffer.
-George Orwell, writer (1903-1950)
We have in fact, two kinds of morality, side by side: one which we preach,
but do not practice, and another which we practice, but seldom preach.
-Bertrand Russell, philosopher, mathematician, author, Nobel laureate
(1872-1970)
I don't trust a man who uses the word evil eighteen times in ten minutes.
If you're half evil, nothing soothes you more than to think the person you
are opposed to is totally evil. -Norman Mailer, author (1923- )
My kind of loyalty was loyalty to one's country, not to its institutions or
its officeholders. -Mark Twain, author and humorist (1835-1910)
Many are concerned about the monuments of the West and the East- to know
who built them. For my part, I should like to know who in those days did
not build them- who were above such trifling. -Henry David Thoreau,
naturalist and author (1817-1862)
There is wisdom in turning as often as possible from the familiar to the
unfamiliar: it keeps the mind nimble, it kills prejudice, and it fosters
humor. -George Santayana, philosopher (1863-1952)
This is my living faith, an active faith, a faith of verbs: to question,
explore, experiment, experience, walk, run, dance, play, eat, love, learn,
dare, taste, touch, smell, listen, argue, speak, write, read, draw,
provoke, emote, scream, sin, repent, cry, kneel, pray, bow, rise, stand,
look, laugh, cajole, create, confront, confound, walk back, walk forward,
circle, hide, and seek. To seek: to embrace the questions, be wary of
answers. -Terry Tempest Williams, naturalist and author (1955- )
Only enemies speak the truth; friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in
the web of duty. -Stephen King, novelist (1947- )
True remorse is never just a regret over consequences; it is a regret over
motive. -Mignon McLaughlin, author (1915-)
Modern technology / Owes ecology / An apology. -Alan M. Eddison
Patriotism is a kind of religion; it is the egg from which wars are
hatched. -Guy de Maupassant, short story writer and novelist (1850-1893)
An epoch will come when people disclaim kinship with us as we disclaim
kinship with the monkeys. -Kahlil Gibran, mystic, poet, and artist
(1883-1931)
Do I believe God is going to take away my illness when he turned an
entirely deaf ear to the six million Jews who went into the gas chambers?
-Karen Armstrong, author (1944- )
Lots of people think they're charitable if they give away their old clothes
and things they don't want. It isn't charity to give away things you want
to get rid of and it isn't a sacrifice to do things you don't mind doing.
-Myrtle Reed, author (1874-1911)
Atheist n A person to be pitied in that he is
unable to believe things for which there is
no evidence, and who has thus deprived himself of
a convenient means of feeling superior to others.
—Chaz Bufe, The American Heretic’s Dictionary
The crucial disadvantage of aggression, competitiveness, and skepticism as
national characteristics is that these qualities cannot be turned off at
five o'clock. -Margaret Halsey, novelist (1910-1997)
The hardest-learned lesson: that people have only their kind of love to
give, not our kind. -Mignon McLaughlin, journalist and author (1913-1983)
I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town.
A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself. -Emily Bronte,
novelist (1818-1848)
What religion a man shall have is a historical accident, quite as much as
what language he shall speak. -George Santayana, philosopher (1863-1952)
If any question why we died, Tell them, because our fathers lied. -Rudyard
Kipling, author, Nobel laureate (1865-1936)
What loneliness is more lonely than distrust? -George Eliot (Mary Ann
Evans), novelist (1819-1880)
Whatever people in general do not understand, they are always prepared to
dislike; the incomprehensible is always the obnoxious. -Letitia E. Landon,
author (1802-1838)
The only man I know who behaves sensibly is my tailor; he takes my
measurements anew each time he sees me. The rest go on with their old
measurements and expect me to fit them. -George Bernard Shaw, writer, Nobel
laureate (1856-1950)
It's like, at the end, there's this surprise quiz: Am I proud of me? I gave
my life to become the person I am right now. Was it worth what I paid?
-Richard Bach, writer (1936- )
...
Happy 142nd Birthday to the great one, William Butler Yeats...
...
June 12, 2007
ROCK N ROLL
...me likey...
G.A.S. = gear acquisition syndrome
I've been a sufferer ever since I first peeped Jimmy Page rocking a 'burst lp standard in 'the song remains the same' a feature I was yanked out of (during the opening song, ironically titled "rock n roll") by my father, whose ignorance of rock n roll (still intact btw--he's never once seen me perform in said genre), and abject hatred of anything from which I derived enjoyment, was a theme of my teenage years, so I knew I just had to have me one of those...imagine! the power to frighten and intimidate a grown man! (years later, I actually ended up with a black lp custom...)
and now, just as I've assembled a room full of fine rock guitar products, capable of crumpling a roomful of pedantic parents, wouldn't you know it but the discipline shifts to something more traditional (and quieter)--jazz music. archtops and solid state amplification. tailored clothes. sight-reading. paid gigs (hopefully)...[check out "trio recordings" over there on the right]
and new guitars to covet. new styles of instruments to fuss over. and most distressingly--a new price point. these instruments use classical instrument-building techniques, just like violin makers use. the arch in archtop isn't a joke or marketing ploy--it's an arched piece of resonant wood. this sort of labor, involving hand-tooling, a lengthy curing and glueing process, and all sorts of measurements and fine tuning, adds up to cost levels that turn these highly utilitarian objects into what some would call investments...
pictured is my latest crush...smaller than the usual trad archtop (14 inches across the lower bout), it was designed in concert with bill frisell by this andersen fellow. says it has a spruce top so you get more of a flattop sustain and projection. sounds good to me! I like the name too: little archie.
still: seven large. that's a lot of drachmas for one guitar. for that much jingle I could nab several exceptional instruments...and an amp...
so I'll just have to enjoy the eye candy and head back to the barn for some jazz studies on my "rock n roll" les paul custom...'cuz it's been a long time been a long time been a long ... lonely lonely lonely lonely lonely ... time.
...
June 11, 2007
WE GOT WHACKED
...my kingdom for a horse...
I watched. Sure I watched. It's been a great show, and we were looking forward to how it would all turn out. And now we know. It goes on.
By now I've seen/heard a few comments on the ending, and already my brain is tired. So much dissatisfaction! So much need for "closure," which in today's parlance simply means something which is not taxing on one's brain. Uncomplicated. Shiny and sugary with a hollow center, like a reality show, or a porn site. This is the vox populi of a people who don't read books. No sense of story structure, no sense that the rules thereof are made to be broken, and that it's an old tradition to break these rules creatively in search of new ways of telling a story.
Throughout this show's history, we've been asked to watch all manner of humans meeting their various ends, usually by force but sometimes, in the case of Livia Soprano, via real life cancer and old lady CGI. Regardless of style, however, the depiction of death, whether by assassination or hospital bed, inevitably leads us to contemplate how it will be when our own number is up. Couldn't it be just like last night's ending? A prosaic setting--a family sits down to eat--and one second the conversation is percolating, the music is playing, and the next: nothing. oblivion. not even the black screen we were left with on our televisions.
It's the great cosmic question, isn't it? Millions of people the world over are arguing and killing each other because they think they have the best answer to this question, and now a few thousand Sopranos fans will have their own little battles over the correct interpretation thereof, and complain loudly that it doesn't fit into any of the neat little conclusions they'd envisioned--a death, an arrest, some sort of action.
But no. We don't get to see how the story ends either. Just like Big Pussy, Christ'pher, Adrianna, Ralphie, Richie, or the pre-Barbaro era equine martyr Pie O' My, we didn't see how the end would come. But end it did. It's over. Without an overture and without warning. And just like the dead, the story goes on without you. You don't get to find out what happens to those who are left behind. Finito. You're done. All black.
Still, that's a tough crowd to be hanging around with for seven years. What, you thought you were safe?
...
as a postscript, I did allow myself to follow along with the programmer's lead in and watch the debut episode of the new HBO series, "John from Cincinnati"...The show's creator, David Milch, basically pulled the plug on the excellent "Deadwood" to work exclusively on this, and if the first 40 minutes (all I could stomach) of episode one is any indication, this counts as a MAJOR career mistake. Maybe I'm less impressed by surfers, or surfing footage, having grown up by the beach myself, but away from the water, we have a story of an old surfer guy with a junkie son, and some rain man-type guy enters the story, uttering non-sequitirs like "some things I know and some things I don't"...there is some yelling, some seriousness, a puzzling scene of the head surfer dude levitating a bit, but mostly it's just dialogue in search of a story.
But hey, maybe I'm jumping to a conclusion. Perhaps Mr. Milch has some surprises in store for us in coming weeks. Like a story. Or acting that doesn't resemble emoting drills from drama camp. Or characters we can give a shit about (like on, you know, Deadwood...). Lacking these particulars, I am left to guess as to why HBO would choose to debut a surfing show in the summer...
I can tell you from experience that it is a far, far greater thing to ride a wave, than to watch someone else ride a wave....
So I've decided that I'm not going to watch the show, but I do hope that somebody is able to rescure Mr. Milch from that dark and lonely room he's locked himself into...and if they succeed in doing so, I want them to mutter a single word into his ear, with all the urgency they can muster: Swearingen!
...
June 10, 2007
June 08, 2007
SKY BLUE SKY
...you can never hold back spring...
pretty sure I've found my 2007 summer chill-out record. Wilco's "Sky Blue Sky" is easily their best effort since the over-discussed "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot"...but to my ears it more resembles a grownup Uncle Tupelo record than a modern Wilco effort (and that's a good thing). And it's a little ironic that, after years of sonic wankery with YHT and the more recent (and completely forgettable) "A Ghost is Born" it took a revamped lineup with avant-jazz experimentalist Nels Cline to steer the ship back toward rootsier waters--the first-position acoustic guitar strum is back!...still, I can hear the little touches that a jazz vocab gently suggests here and there...the way the second guitar expands on the voicings, the unhurried (and uncliched) approach to the guitar solos...and since I know Nels Cline to be a one-guitar guy (he's particularly loyal to an early 60s model), his contribution seems to be songs in the key of fender jazzmaster...sometimes the key to variety is exploring the various strengths of just one tool, rather than exploiting every piece of hardware in the shop...
it's a fine record, and after several months of listening to nothing but swing and bebop, it's the pop record (I think) I needed...to all the folks over the years who have persisted in inquiring as to why oh WHY don't I care for Dave Matthews, here's one possible explanation (actually more than one: songwriting, singing, arrangements, musicianship, etc.) ...the next time you feel the need to explore the nexus of violin/saxophone, or are somehow compelled to peep the musings of a thinned-pate caucasian wearing pajamas and exercising an idiosyncratic strumming style with a vocal range of three notes....
oh never mind. let those ski club kids have their fun. the after-party at the yacht club will proceed as planned (bring your hacky-sack)....the point: good records are good records. Jeff Tweedy writes beautiful melodies, and I love the way he sings them. and comparative criticism, as thus demonstrated, is typically odious. simplified: dig this one, and watch how quickly those other CDs in your car's speed rack gather dust this summer...
"maybe the sun will shine today..." indeed.
...
postscript: I'd half expected to be let down by this one and in fact much more inspired by the new release from Richard Thompson, "Sweet Warrior"...but as of yet, it hasn't sunk in. His last one was solo acoustic, and this return to a band format is uneven at best. the not-so-good songs seem drearier than usual, and the better tunes require a few listenings to gain any traction...who knows? maybe in a few days I'll be shouting its praises from the hilltops (wouldn't be the first time)...but thus far I'm rather underwhelmed...
...
June 06, 2007
ELEKTRA MADE ME BLIND
...a recent visit to the doc's yielded this fascinating cranial x-ray...
The intimidating sound
of these voices
we must separately find
can and shall be vanquished:
Days and Distance disarrayed again
and gone
both for good and from the gentle battleground.
from Argument
Elizabeth Bishop, The Complete Poems, 1927-1979
hat tip: delancey place
...
THE LAST JUST WAR
...
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
"America" by Allen Ginsberg
...Omaha Beach, present day...
...
I just heard that the NHL Hockey Finals are still going on. Guys, I’m no hockey fan, but I do have a little bit of experience with marketing. I think it’s fair to say that most of us don’t really care about an ice skating sport in June…and since not even hockey fans care about the early season (I’m always offered free seats by my vendors during the early going), why not back up the schedule to, oh I don’t know, August? (and how many freaking regular season hockey games are really necessary? 300?) That way you’ll be able to keep the interest up and award the Stanley Cup to your very favorite group of skating-around-in-circles-people before folks start taking their summer vacations…(and I hereby repeat my offer to Canada: if you give us back our baseball, in the form of the disbanded Toronto Blue Jays, we'll let you have back the entire sport of hockey...deal? deal.)...
Ditto the NBA, but at least that’s an outdoor sport (sidebar: why are there indoor/outdoor venues for football and baseball, but not basketball? I’ve never understood why there are so many outdoor courts, yet no outdoor competitions, aside from street ball)…er, ok, let’s just say warm weather sport. I’ve never understood the logic here either: hey guys! Run this way! On no! let’s run the other way! Now watch in amazement at a 7-foot man putting a ball into a 10-foot hoop. Wow. Two points! Yay! Whatever…
…
Mini dresses are back! Damn those things are sexy. Legs legs legs as far as the eye can see…thank you gay male fashion designers of the world for finally doing something right when it comes to making women look hot…now you can take those wedges back, thanks…
…
This year the Mets rule and the Yankees suck. Please observe, all you who suspected me of being a fair weather fan back when it was a Yankees world series every year…I am suffering through this as you have before me. I still retain the flexibility to root for the Mets once in a while, as I did as a kid, but of course that doesn’t mean I have to go sit in Shea Stadium. If I want to experience the pre-verbal socializing of the awkward and ill-fed, I’ll just visit my daughter’s nursery school…
…
Call me once in a while. No not you, anonymous internet surfer (and welcome). The other ones, the ones who see me at parties and get-togethers and tell me how much you like reading the blog (which is nice, thanks). I’m starting to see that this blog has become a substitute for actual conversation. This isn’t the sum of me. Call. Email (those of you who know how)…get in touch (there is an email link under the red picture in the righthand column). And download some tunes! I put a hell of a lot more time and sweat into the mp3 section (righthand column) than I do into the daily posts. Check ‘em out!
…
out of the office tomorrow. you'll have to soldier on without me. go you huskies!
...
June 05, 2007
KILL YR IDOLS
...the late great joe strummer, doing his thing, not sitting on a big fucking cloud, not wearing doc marten's...
Well it turns out that I wasn't so crazy after all...the powers that be over at Doc Marten's have decided that those dead rock star ads are indeed offensive and they're pulling them. and they've reportedly fired the agency responsible.
first time for everything: courtney love and I are in accord. quick somebody buy a lottery ticket...
...
THIS IS FUNNY. ...in so many ways (and a little bit sad that the MSM reports this sort of thing with nary a whiff of skepticism). first of all, to imply that a devotion to "god" had anything to do with standing by her husband (POTUS at the time), and by proxy that her marriage had any sort of virtue or value, aside from the political convenience of enabling her easy ascension to the US Senate and then getting into gear for her '08 campaign, is laughable. as if. as if Bill Clinton would have nominated her to revise the entire healthcare system in the USA, were they not a "couple." as if their marriage has any value beyond its careerist enabling, be it the cover of matrimony which makes william jefferson appear to care for anyone but himself, or the excellent fundraising prospects that light up the board for Hilary '08 whenever her husband makes an appearance on her behalf. the crowning irony is that she cites "god" as the unifying force to this farce. god? really? what now? god is in the business of taking pity on poor misguided world leaders and helping them to hoard more power and riches for themselves? god is the enabler who allows a lifelong skirt-chaser to maintain his societal profile in a marriage of convenience while his ambition-at-all-costs wife gets her payback in the coin of political capital? is god so malleable as to be put to the purpose of cloaking the manifold sins of public hypocrites? well then thank god for god, who continues to enable public figures to appear thoughtful, and ever so grand. no need to be a fallible human anymore (how about "he cheated on me and I was hurt by it, and dealt with it--as so many do--on my own" ??), just find a microphone to tell the world about your superhuman, emotion-free powers that have been enabled by the great bearded one....oh, and be sure to explain that you're also one of those folks who distrust people who wear their "faith on their sleeves," even as you're doing that very thing...you know what? me too! I don't trust you!
but what's this? turns out that the garden of eden might just have an expiration date after all...we ought to ask old Hil to put in a good word...in case there's any space in heaven left over once she's secured spots for all her campaign contributors...
...
just learning now that Siberia closed. when I was playing guitar with Radio Ghost Town, we played there a bunch of times, the last of which was an opening slot for Drag the River, who coincidentally had a lead singer who had replaced our old pal Scott Reynolds in ALL...Scott was lead singer in our college band before moving to LA...anyway, it was a fun place to play. one night we came upstairs and Fox card reader Shepard Smith was drinking at the bar, smoking a cigarette...he was the rumpled version of his tv self, tie loosened, swilling whisky, and partaking of the toxic luxury that the rest of us had to step outside to enjoy...but he started talking about his ex-wife and I quickly lost interest, just another drunk. but that was siberia--a nice little dive bar option when away from downtown. and now it's joining the rest of the great places now relegated to the history books of NYC nightlife...
gee, you think there'll be ANY fun places left to go to by the time Mayor Mike is done turning the big apple into Toronto?
...
June 04, 2007
TALMADGE FARLOW
...the jimi hendrix of the jazz guitar...
All aspects were unlikely...he was a bebop guitarist from North Carolina, who learned his chords on a ukelele, then applied them to the guitar, which had two more strings than the uke, which he then used to add bass notes. His hands were huge. I mean, really big--he could grab both of those two low strings with his thumb at the same time as he grabbed an impossible-to-finger voicing on the high strings...all within the space of a single beat...his virtuosity at playing "false" harmonics was pioneering (check him out sharing notes on this with protege/harmonics master Lenny Breau in the excellent bio/doc "talmadge farlow") and inscrutable--I still don't know how he did it...and he had a first gear of plucking solos using just his thumb, the facility whereof most of us plectrum users would be perfectly happy to possess with our own velocity-enabling guitar picks...so when he goes to the pick himself, forget it--it flies by at the speed of thought, ringing swinging metallic horn lines...and his chord voicings, somewhat enabled by the large hands (ala the olympian diagrams in ted greene's 'chord chemistry'), were both beautiful to hear and ridiculously awkward for the mere mortal to finger...
and in the midst of a thriving career, playing in some of the nicer rooms in New York City, what does he do? he gets married, moves to Sea Bright, NJ and leaves the scene for a spell, supporting himself and mrs. farlow with his other vocation--sign painting. Here's some biographical background...
I just think he's the greatest. seems like he was a very humble guy as well. and I know I'd get along with him, since he and I were both fond of the same summer pastime--snapper fishing. you can see him fishing for baby blues from the dock near his house in the aforementioned film.
another film--Tal Farlow at Bowling Green State University--was recently delivered to me, and I spent a jaw-dropped evening this past weekend watching him play a set with a small quartet made up of some jazz professors from the school (all of whom acquitted themselves quite well)...along the way, he touches on a few standards that I myself have been struggling with lately (satin doll, autumn leaves, etc.)...it's the sort of DVD that I do my best to purchase when I see it available--the sort of DVD that I envision going out of print in the very near future...
Check out his stuff...great music...
...
June 01, 2007
THE MADNESS OF KING GEORGE
...this man needs a perp walk...
if nothing else, it has seemed lately that most of us have joined together with the simple conclusion that this president has been an unmitigated disaster, and we were mostly going to ride it out until the next one gets elected, and with little we say or do affecting what's happening in the war, we can only hope that US casualties will be minimal, and hopefully as few abu ghraib/katrina/gonzo disasters occur as possible (btw, happy hurricane season)...
but now this story emerges...
if true, it means rather unequivocally that mr. bush truly believes that his is an office of absolute power, beholden to no one, and that he can do or say pretty much whatever he wants (did the dems who voted for last week's appropriations bill think he'd act any differently?). the man who called his slim victory in 2004 a "mandate" ... the man who says he is in recovery but (I think disgracefully) hasn't devoted one second, one single sentence of his bully pulpit time to the issue of sobriety, the need for many americans to get help (makes me wonder--has he? has he really?)...this same guy who I think really believes all that "left behind" crap, and talks about "freedom" as if it's a religious issue (and you know what happens once a fundamentalist cloaks an issue in religious terms--there's only ever been one result historically: blood), now allegedly has said that he intends on making Iraq a permanent sacrificial altar to this 'freedom' he now espouses as a holy edict...
he's not exactly an aficianado of the components of freedom though, is he? probably the main component overall is representative democracy--the representative part being the most crucial. as in, doing the will of the people? and nearly 3/4 of the people want out of Iraq, so whose will is he enforcing? certainly not ours. he's not even listening. nope, he's working for the imaginary man in the sky.
just think of what a recruiting tool this story will be for al qaeda...or hamas...or any other of those poverty/religion-fueled guerrilla groups...hey guys, forget about surge-until-september, they're staying forever in yet another god vs god superstitition fight to the death...round up the kids!
something has to be done about this president. they could start by slapping a pair of handcuffs on him and charging him with breaking his oath to protect and defend the constitution...
I'm outta here at 1pm....gonna head home, break out the jazz box, hit the sun deck and get baked....
stratkitty has her first ballet recital tomorrow (she's 3)...all systems go!
...
...she would have been 81...
happy birthday, baby girl...
...
A-HA!!! so even though I was incorrect about Gonzo stepping down last Friday, it seems I was off by one week and one administration principal: the creepy on-camera bullshit artist dan bartlett is stepping down ...and he's going to disneyworld!!!...he's going to be rich...anybody who can obfuscate on a cosmic level like that is ready-made for corporate america...polish up those shoes, dan-o...and get ready for some surprises...you made your living by making up lies and saying it represents "the american people"...well, welcome back to the american people...better stick to the golf course, because the rest of us might have a bone to pick with you...
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