In contrast to Twitter, Kindle, the IPhone and IPod ,YouTube and all the other high tech applications eagerly consumed in search of entertainment and/or diversion, a live concert in front of a crowd seems quaint and archaic. Even more shocking, in respect to the Led Balloon Jug Band concert at Northfield -Mount Hermon's newly dedicated arts center last Saturday, was the fact that there were no amplifiers or electronic devices, no software to enhance the sound, no technical wizardry to cover up human error with the exception of a few microphones. Jug band music is, after all, a sound that originated on streetcorners during the late 1920s , raucous, funky, energetic and meant to be played loudly.
The Led Balloon Jug Band was the brainchild of musicologist/songwriter/performer/educator Bruce Burnside, inspired in part by the Jim Kweskin Jug Band "revival" in the mid 1960s. He assembled a diverse group of fellow NMH students including Chris Crosby (banjo, kazoo, vocals) , Will Melton (mandolin, vocals,special sound effects), "Max" Millard and James McBean (harmonicas), Craig Roche (washtub bass, guitar, mandolin, vocals) , "Sam" Schreiber (special guest vocalist) and yours truly (jug, mediocre humor). As the band developed a following, one of the LBJB's "Special Assistants" - Deborah Wiggin - suggested to Bruce that the band should cut an album, which happened in 1967.
Flash forward to 2009, the third time the Led Balloon has re-united for a special occasion concert. This time it was different in respect to the fact that Craig Roche was no longer part of the lineup; he passed away unexpectedly last November. In order to preserve his larger-than-life memory, the concert was dubbed For The Benefit of Mr. Kite , reflecting Craig's alter ego as Mr. Kite (and lifelong love of the Beatles!). The LBJB featured two new members: Matt Snyder - replacing Craig on washtub bass - and Susan Hessey on guitar and vocals.
Thanks to Bruce's talent for arranging our generally ragged - but enthusiastic- ensemble, the audience had no idea that the entire band had not actually all played together until that particular moment. Fortunately, the charter members - who have most of these songs permanently imprinted in their memory banks by now -and the newest additions pulled off respectable versions of "Jug Band Music", "Fishin", "Morning Blues", "Whoa Mule" , "KC Moan", "Mobile Line" as well as Sam Schreiber's still flawless vocals on "Richland Woman". Susan Hessey made her official debut as the LBJB's latest chanteuse, contributing a bluesy, tongue-in-cheek rendition of the Sippie Wallace classic "You Got To Know How" (Oh, my!)". The newer tunes included "Viola Lee Blues", featuring "Shade" Melton on vocals, the jug band classic "Stealin" and the Beatles' "When I'm 64". It was Mr. Kite's idea to adapt the song to a jug band format, but the LBJB turned it into a duet, with Sam Schrieber and yours truly adding a few "dinner theatre" routines.
Ironically, the band was supposed to be embracing new technology this time around - videotaping the performance and uploading it on YouTube - but there wasn't enough time to pull it off. The Led Balloon sold commemorative tee shirts celebrating Craig Roche's life and contribution to the band, as well as Led Balloon CDs - if any of you reading this are interested in a shirt or a CD, then just respond to this blog - there are a few left. Most importantly, the band was able to make a significant contribution to the school in Craig's memory.
The LBJB would never make it on "American Idol". We're not lounge lizards or aspiring megastars, just a collection of average people who enjoy playing together. As this point in our lives, the companionship and camaraderie are just as important as the music itself, the chance to catch up and compare notes, to relive the spark of creativity that ignited back when we were 17. Although the Led Balloon has no idea where or when its next performance will be, I'd venture to say that most of the band members are already looking forward to it.
Your comments are always welcome, like this one from "Shade " himself:
In the 19th century there were lots of ways in which we built community; in fact, there were few leisure activities that did not contribute to our sense of belonging. As for music, aside from occasional troubadours appearing at the local opera house, Americans' only exposure to music was what we made ourselves. Before the advent of radio, families often doubled as musical ensembles, singing hymns, playing fiddle tunes, entertaining after dinner on the piano or Estey organ. Now we barricade ourselves behind walls of speakers and solitary headphones. No wonder we are fragmenting. Those of us in Led Balloon formed a community, preserved on vinyl thanks to our recording date in April, 1967, and it's a meaningful connection for every one of us.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Back to the Future in Newport
A sea change of sorts is taking place for the 2009 Newport, RI Folk and Jazz Festivals with respect to the fact that newly minted corporate sponsors have pulled out (JVC sponsored the Jazz Festival, while Dunkin' Donuts sponsored the Folk Festival) to be replaced by the venerable George Wein, who started the two events. Ironically, besides returning to the original promoter, both venues are bringing legendary talent back to Rhode Island.
Headlining the Folk Festival from 7/31/09-8/2/09 for its 50th anniversary are four giants of the folk world. Pete Seeger returns to the concert he helped to create, underscoring his lifelong commitment to change the world for the better through his music. Joan Baez, Judy Collins and Arlo Guthrie will join Seeger in a nod to the Festival's traditions, evoking the earnest, unjaded quality of the protest movements that characterized the early 1960s, the forced complacency of the white middle class in the 50s fractured by racism, sexism and the other institutional barriers which the Boomers decided to decimate. The "pure" folk music of these particular artists was clean and respectful, suggesting that the need for change could be lifted out of the isolated "beatnik" cultural pockets of the era and injected into the mainstream without the scruffiness and anarchism; it was OK to protest even if you were a product of the prep school/Ivy League circuit. The groundswell of change that would topple the Patti Pages, Doris Days and Frankie Laines who lulled America into the musical coma of the 1940s-50s started at the Newport Folk Festivals.
George Wein's Jazz Festival turns 55 with Tony Bennett, Etta James, The Dave Brubeck Quartet and Branford Marsalis topping the bill at Fort Adams from 8/7/09-8/8/09. Bennett has become an American icon, the top "brand" of jazz influenced vocalists, his mellow phrasing and rich voice instantly recognizable. I don't think I've ever heard another blues/jazz singer who can infuse lyrics with more power than Etta James. She is able to mutate a song into a rich vocal tapestry, cajoling, demanding, lamenting and prying the mood out of the melody. Dave Brubeck looks like the quintessential 1950s geek, bespectacled, short-haired,well dressed and well spoken , the most unlikely portrait of a musical innovator. Yet he and Paul Desmond among others lifted jazz out of the inner city and dropped it in the nation's living rooms, a bridge between black music and the white middle class, similar in a way to the rise of Elvis Presley. Branford Marsalis brings a rich New Orleans traditional background to blend the past with the present, personalizing the style to insure it survives the 21st Century.
The overwhelming sense of irony is reflected in the Folk Festival lineup. Although the "folkies" have been pushed aside by age and their "quaint" form of protest music, the recent economic and social upheavals have revived some of that sentiment. You'd have to go to to Fort Adams in Newport this summer to see if that's true, if the quintessential "old" has become new again.
Headlining the Folk Festival from 7/31/09-8/2/09 for its 50th anniversary are four giants of the folk world. Pete Seeger returns to the concert he helped to create, underscoring his lifelong commitment to change the world for the better through his music. Joan Baez, Judy Collins and Arlo Guthrie will join Seeger in a nod to the Festival's traditions, evoking the earnest, unjaded quality of the protest movements that characterized the early 1960s, the forced complacency of the white middle class in the 50s fractured by racism, sexism and the other institutional barriers which the Boomers decided to decimate. The "pure" folk music of these particular artists was clean and respectful, suggesting that the need for change could be lifted out of the isolated "beatnik" cultural pockets of the era and injected into the mainstream without the scruffiness and anarchism; it was OK to protest even if you were a product of the prep school/Ivy League circuit. The groundswell of change that would topple the Patti Pages, Doris Days and Frankie Laines who lulled America into the musical coma of the 1940s-50s started at the Newport Folk Festivals.
George Wein's Jazz Festival turns 55 with Tony Bennett, Etta James, The Dave Brubeck Quartet and Branford Marsalis topping the bill at Fort Adams from 8/7/09-8/8/09. Bennett has become an American icon, the top "brand" of jazz influenced vocalists, his mellow phrasing and rich voice instantly recognizable. I don't think I've ever heard another blues/jazz singer who can infuse lyrics with more power than Etta James. She is able to mutate a song into a rich vocal tapestry, cajoling, demanding, lamenting and prying the mood out of the melody. Dave Brubeck looks like the quintessential 1950s geek, bespectacled, short-haired,well dressed and well spoken , the most unlikely portrait of a musical innovator. Yet he and Paul Desmond among others lifted jazz out of the inner city and dropped it in the nation's living rooms, a bridge between black music and the white middle class, similar in a way to the rise of Elvis Presley. Branford Marsalis brings a rich New Orleans traditional background to blend the past with the present, personalizing the style to insure it survives the 21st Century.
The overwhelming sense of irony is reflected in the Folk Festival lineup. Although the "folkies" have been pushed aside by age and their "quaint" form of protest music, the recent economic and social upheavals have revived some of that sentiment. You'd have to go to to Fort Adams in Newport this summer to see if that's true, if the quintessential "old" has become new again.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Happy Birthday Muddy
Although April is a popular month for blues birthdays - including Billie Holiday, Buddy Guy, and Albert King among others - the most significant date in the month is the 4th, because that's the day that McKinley Morganfield - better known as Muddy Waters - was born. The year was 1915 and the place was Clarksdale, Mississippi.
In the opening scenes of the late great film Cadillac Records, we see McKinley/Muddy sitting in front of a tiny shack dwarfed by a vast plain, cradling his guitar, an epic scene that personifies the Delta blues journey, using Muddy's character as the narrative line. A tanklike sedan appears in the distance, moving relentlessly across the sea of mud, in fact carrying blues historian Alan Lomax. Waters is mystified by the contraption Lomax pulls out of his trunk -a 1940s era vintage reel to reel tape recorder - which Lomax powers by using his car battery, but Muddy is even more amazed to hear himself on tape. The actual meeting happened in 1941, and the recording was called "I Be's Troubled". Waters was 26 years old, driving a tractor on the plantation.
By 1943, Waters leaves for Chicago, where, after trying unsuccessfully to play acoustic guitar on the streetcorner, he discovers a new sound - electric guitar, apparently suggested and/or inspired by Muddy's future wife Geneva. His popularity begins to climb based on Chicago club dates until Waters attracts the attention of Chess Records' owner/founder Leonard Chess. Together they cut a wide swath through the music industry, quickly recording and releasing "I Can't Be Satisfied", "Honeybee", "Mannish Boy", "Hoochie Coochie Man" and others. Waters finds blues harp virtuoso Little Walter Horton playing on a streetcorner,incorporating him into the band. Their partnership propels Muddy to new heights, with more songs - "40 Days and 40 Nights", "Got My Mojo Working", and a solo hit for Little Walter called "Juke" among many others.
Unfortunately, Muddy Waters' career is more or less eclipsed by rock and roll. Leonard Chess is depicted in the film as providing royalties to Waters even when he hadn't earned any, Muddy's music is relegated to smaller venues and clubs. Little Walter ends up a heroin addict and bad drunk, dying in Geneva Waters' arms, apparently an oblique reference to the harmonica player's lifelong "crush" on his best friend's wife.
Ironically, just when the blues seems to be on life support, the English rockers - Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, John Mayall, Mick Jagger - start listening to Waters' music and recording his songs. The aging blues legend is suddenly back in vogue, no one apparently more surprised than Muddy himself as he plays for crowds of infatuated young white fans overseas. Waters' musical revival leads to sessions with younger musicians, the best product of this association being a partnership with guitarist Johnny Winter. Waters dies in his sleep on April 30, 1983.
Ordinarily, McKinley Morganfield's life would have been just another footnote in American music were it not for a series of circumstances that bridged the gaps in his career. As depicted in "Cadillac Records" , Muddy Waters becomes a mythic figure, the personification of Delta blues adapting and changing to meet the demands of the urban environment, a pioneer who blazed a new trail to preserve and invigorate a true American art form.
In the opening scenes of the late great film Cadillac Records, we see McKinley/Muddy sitting in front of a tiny shack dwarfed by a vast plain, cradling his guitar, an epic scene that personifies the Delta blues journey, using Muddy's character as the narrative line. A tanklike sedan appears in the distance, moving relentlessly across the sea of mud, in fact carrying blues historian Alan Lomax. Waters is mystified by the contraption Lomax pulls out of his trunk -a 1940s era vintage reel to reel tape recorder - which Lomax powers by using his car battery, but Muddy is even more amazed to hear himself on tape. The actual meeting happened in 1941, and the recording was called "I Be's Troubled". Waters was 26 years old, driving a tractor on the plantation.
By 1943, Waters leaves for Chicago, where, after trying unsuccessfully to play acoustic guitar on the streetcorner, he discovers a new sound - electric guitar, apparently suggested and/or inspired by Muddy's future wife Geneva. His popularity begins to climb based on Chicago club dates until Waters attracts the attention of Chess Records' owner/founder Leonard Chess. Together they cut a wide swath through the music industry, quickly recording and releasing "I Can't Be Satisfied", "Honeybee", "Mannish Boy", "Hoochie Coochie Man" and others. Waters finds blues harp virtuoso Little Walter Horton playing on a streetcorner,incorporating him into the band. Their partnership propels Muddy to new heights, with more songs - "40 Days and 40 Nights", "Got My Mojo Working", and a solo hit for Little Walter called "Juke" among many others.
Unfortunately, Muddy Waters' career is more or less eclipsed by rock and roll. Leonard Chess is depicted in the film as providing royalties to Waters even when he hadn't earned any, Muddy's music is relegated to smaller venues and clubs. Little Walter ends up a heroin addict and bad drunk, dying in Geneva Waters' arms, apparently an oblique reference to the harmonica player's lifelong "crush" on his best friend's wife.
Ironically, just when the blues seems to be on life support, the English rockers - Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, John Mayall, Mick Jagger - start listening to Waters' music and recording his songs. The aging blues legend is suddenly back in vogue, no one apparently more surprised than Muddy himself as he plays for crowds of infatuated young white fans overseas. Waters' musical revival leads to sessions with younger musicians, the best product of this association being a partnership with guitarist Johnny Winter. Waters dies in his sleep on April 30, 1983.
Ordinarily, McKinley Morganfield's life would have been just another footnote in American music were it not for a series of circumstances that bridged the gaps in his career. As depicted in "Cadillac Records" , Muddy Waters becomes a mythic figure, the personification of Delta blues adapting and changing to meet the demands of the urban environment, a pioneer who blazed a new trail to preserve and invigorate a true American art form.
Friday, March 20, 2009
RIP Sonny Terry
One of the most surprising segments of a unique blues DVD I saw recently (Provided - of course - by the ubiquitous "Shade" Melton) shows harmonica virtuoso Sonny Terry and guitarist Brownie McGhee playing "Stranger Blues" to a crowd of eager listeners who are actually dancing - at one point - to Terry's solo harp playing, punctuated by Terry's whoops and hollers in place of percussion. What surprised me the most was that this single , rather diminutive instrument was creating as much sound as a dance band, but the clip is not so much a testament to the blues harp as it is to the talent of Sonny Terry who died during the month of March.
Saunders Terrell was born in Greensboro, North Carolina in 1911. Although I've always heard he was born blind, apparently (According to The BluesHarp Page: Legends) "Sonny" lost sight in one eye when he was 5 and the other when he was 18. Consequently, Terry's options for making a living were limited, so he began playing harmonica on streetcorners. This lead to a partnership with Blind Boy Fuller, ending with Fuller's death in 1941. At that point, Sonny Terry began a long-lasting partnership with Brownie McGhee.
Unlike numerous other blues musicians, the duo became an integral part of the folk movement of the late 1950s - early 1960s. Some of the songs specifically attributed to Terry include "Old Jabo", which recounts the story of a man who dies from a snake bite, the harmonica carrying the rthymn as well as the melody, producing an authentic "country blues" sound. One of my favorites is "Walk On", a tribute to the importance of never giving up, which features both McGhee and Terry harmonizing. The only solo Terry effort I've run across is an obscure instrumental called "Harmonica Hop", which is understandable, since it doesn't emphasize Terry's unique style - he just plays along. "Brownie's New Blues" , a cut on a CD collection of blues artists, features the duo in a new collaboration, abandoning their folk tradition to dabble in urban blues. The musicianship is excellent, but it rings hollow compared to the "pure folk" sound of "Old Jabo."
Sonny Terry's distinctive harmonica sound has been used for the soundtracks of several films, as well as commercials. Terry died in March of 1986, the same year he was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame. Unlike many other blues giants who struggled for recognition, Sonny Terry rose from a hardscrabble childhood and a serious handicap to achieve fame , fortune and praise.
Saunders Terrell was born in Greensboro, North Carolina in 1911. Although I've always heard he was born blind, apparently (According to The BluesHarp Page: Legends) "Sonny" lost sight in one eye when he was 5 and the other when he was 18. Consequently, Terry's options for making a living were limited, so he began playing harmonica on streetcorners. This lead to a partnership with Blind Boy Fuller, ending with Fuller's death in 1941. At that point, Sonny Terry began a long-lasting partnership with Brownie McGhee.
Unlike numerous other blues musicians, the duo became an integral part of the folk movement of the late 1950s - early 1960s. Some of the songs specifically attributed to Terry include "Old Jabo", which recounts the story of a man who dies from a snake bite, the harmonica carrying the rthymn as well as the melody, producing an authentic "country blues" sound. One of my favorites is "Walk On", a tribute to the importance of never giving up, which features both McGhee and Terry harmonizing. The only solo Terry effort I've run across is an obscure instrumental called "Harmonica Hop", which is understandable, since it doesn't emphasize Terry's unique style - he just plays along. "Brownie's New Blues" , a cut on a CD collection of blues artists, features the duo in a new collaboration, abandoning their folk tradition to dabble in urban blues. The musicianship is excellent, but it rings hollow compared to the "pure folk" sound of "Old Jabo."
Sonny Terry's distinctive harmonica sound has been used for the soundtracks of several films, as well as commercials. Terry died in March of 1986, the same year he was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame. Unlike many other blues giants who struggled for recognition, Sonny Terry rose from a hardscrabble childhood and a serious handicap to achieve fame , fortune and praise.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Obligatory St. Patrick's Day Irish Music Blog
Irish music is not my strong point. I don't mean U2, Van Morrison, Sinead O'Connor or The Hothouse Flowers - I mean Riverdance, Celtic Women and the other purveyors of "traditional" Irish music. I admire the precision, the technique, the desire to preserve a traditional culture - the content is what bothers me. I don't think I've ever heard a happy traditional Irish tune, with the exception of "Irish Eyes" - but even that isn't entirely upbeat. I always think of Irish music as being incredibly mournful, tales of lost loves and lost lives sung by long haired women with sad eyes playing harps. Jigs and reels are happy and upbeat, but I've heard more ballads than blowouts , which explains my built-in prejudice.
Besides , Saint Patrick's day isn't really a holiday - it's an opportunity to get wasted. which seems incredibly un -PC, not to mention the image it creates of the Emerald Isle. The schizophrenic nature of the annual whatever was amply illustrated during one forgettable period in my broadcasting career when I spent St. Pat's doing live "drops" from an Irish watering hole in scenic Framingham. No one wanted to be interviewed since they had blown off work and were afraid their bosses might recognize their voices. I couldn't drink with them since I had to stay alert, so I simply watched them get slowly trashed. The high point was interviewing one extremely wasted barfly who finally agreed to talk on the air only so she could unleash one of those words you're not supposed to say, thus earning me a blistering phone call from the station manager. The final indignity on that particular occasion happened a few minutes after my shift ended, pulling over to retch on the side of Route 9, the result of eating a free sandwich.
I'm not arguing about the nobility of suffering and the need for poetic expression through song; I'm just wondering why the dominant emotion has to be despair. Ironically, there is a definite parallel between the legacy of American blues music and my perception of Irish music - the same bleak view of romance, the feeling of being trapped by your unalterable circumstances. I'm reminded of a picture I saw on the wall of an excavation outside Williamsburg, Virginia, part of an exhibit documenting one of the earliest English settlements, which depicted a bug-eyed, long haired being identified as a wild Irishman. The captured Celts were imported from the Auld Sod as slaves to the colonists in the same way Africans were kidnapped to work on Southern plantations. Perhaps this is the link, the cross-cultural emotional core that links the two seemingly divergent forms, proof that suffering produces great art.
However, even though I am supposedly part Irish, I'm not about to let that wave of emotion wash me away this Saint Patrick's Day. Chances are better that I'll take a few swallows of (green) beer to remind myself that the glass is never half empty but in fact, half full.
Besides , Saint Patrick's day isn't really a holiday - it's an opportunity to get wasted. which seems incredibly un -PC, not to mention the image it creates of the Emerald Isle. The schizophrenic nature of the annual whatever was amply illustrated during one forgettable period in my broadcasting career when I spent St. Pat's doing live "drops" from an Irish watering hole in scenic Framingham. No one wanted to be interviewed since they had blown off work and were afraid their bosses might recognize their voices. I couldn't drink with them since I had to stay alert, so I simply watched them get slowly trashed. The high point was interviewing one extremely wasted barfly who finally agreed to talk on the air only so she could unleash one of those words you're not supposed to say, thus earning me a blistering phone call from the station manager. The final indignity on that particular occasion happened a few minutes after my shift ended, pulling over to retch on the side of Route 9, the result of eating a free sandwich.
I'm not arguing about the nobility of suffering and the need for poetic expression through song; I'm just wondering why the dominant emotion has to be despair. Ironically, there is a definite parallel between the legacy of American blues music and my perception of Irish music - the same bleak view of romance, the feeling of being trapped by your unalterable circumstances. I'm reminded of a picture I saw on the wall of an excavation outside Williamsburg, Virginia, part of an exhibit documenting one of the earliest English settlements, which depicted a bug-eyed, long haired being identified as a wild Irishman. The captured Celts were imported from the Auld Sod as slaves to the colonists in the same way Africans were kidnapped to work on Southern plantations. Perhaps this is the link, the cross-cultural emotional core that links the two seemingly divergent forms, proof that suffering produces great art.
However, even though I am supposedly part Irish, I'm not about to let that wave of emotion wash me away this Saint Patrick's Day. Chances are better that I'll take a few swallows of (green) beer to remind myself that the glass is never half empty but in fact, half full.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
The Clock is Ticking
Ever stop to consider the schizophrenic relationship that we have with time? When you're a teenager, you can hardly wait to turn old enough to drink or drive; when you're uncomfortably close to the big six - o, you would jump at the chance to lose a few decades. However disconcerting it may be, we all have to face the fact that - as Mick Jagger put it so succinctly - "Time waits for no one and it won't wait for me." Consequently, as I am acutely aware that time is running out for me and my alleged lifestyle, I've come up with a few "time" lines.
One of the great Sixties anthems is "Time" by the Chambers Brothers - who could forget the psychedelic impact of the group chanting: "Time! " as the clock ticks ominously in the background. Yet the message was: "Time has come today" , as in the moment is now, change is in the air, we can't turn back. From a different perspective - but approximately the same era - we have Tyrone Davis' soulful lyric (re-done by R Kelly) lamenting:"If I could turn back the hands of time," a more commonly accepted view of having the time back that you squandered so you can re-write the past. I've frequently wanted to join Jethro Tull "Living in the Past" - seriously,what's the point of being paralyzed by the wreckage in the stock market when you can delude yourself with visions of "Glory Days"?
Ray Charles' "Night Time is the Right Time" is another angle on when it's "time" to fall in love, as opposed to Dr. John's familiar (and oh-so-true refrain) : "I was in the right place/But it must have been the wrong time." However, as Pete Seeger and the Byrds remind us: "There is a time for every purpose under heaven" ("Turn,Turn,Turn"). There's always as a first time - as in Lou Gramm and Foreigner reminding us that: "It feels like the first time " - and there's always a last time - Jagger and the Stones pointing out: "This could be the last time - baby the last time - I don't know-oh no -no no no (etc)."
Mick and company win the BSRR Best Time Song for March,2009, mainly because they've managed to express the hope of us aging boomers that: "Time is on my side - yes it is."
One of the great Sixties anthems is "Time" by the Chambers Brothers - who could forget the psychedelic impact of the group chanting: "Time! " as the clock ticks ominously in the background. Yet the message was: "Time has come today" , as in the moment is now, change is in the air, we can't turn back. From a different perspective - but approximately the same era - we have Tyrone Davis' soulful lyric (re-done by R Kelly) lamenting:"If I could turn back the hands of time," a more commonly accepted view of having the time back that you squandered so you can re-write the past. I've frequently wanted to join Jethro Tull "Living in the Past" - seriously,what's the point of being paralyzed by the wreckage in the stock market when you can delude yourself with visions of "Glory Days"?
Ray Charles' "Night Time is the Right Time" is another angle on when it's "time" to fall in love, as opposed to Dr. John's familiar (and oh-so-true refrain) : "I was in the right place/But it must have been the wrong time." However, as Pete Seeger and the Byrds remind us: "There is a time for every purpose under heaven" ("Turn,Turn,Turn"). There's always as a first time - as in Lou Gramm and Foreigner reminding us that: "It feels like the first time " - and there's always a last time - Jagger and the Stones pointing out: "This could be the last time - baby the last time - I don't know-oh no -no no no (etc)."
Mick and company win the BSRR Best Time Song for March,2009, mainly because they've managed to express the hope of us aging boomers that: "Time is on my side - yes it is."
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Great Harmonica Crisis
It all started innocently enough. If you've read this blog more than once, then you may have picked up on my desire to play harmonica like Paul Butterfield or Rod Piazza. I did in fact play blues harp for the Phoenix Blues Band's brief rise and fall during one memorable Martha's Vineyard summer (1968? I think). My virtuosity consisted of playing any note that sounded vaguely appropriate as long as possible before risking the chance of switching to one that was obviously flat, and I destroyed quite a few Hohner Marine Bands. Since America doesn't seem to want me for anything serious right now, I thought I'd take it up again - who knows, maybe add a tin cup and a dancing monkey and viola! - head for the nearest street corner and show the recession who's boss. Consequently, I headed for a music store that I've driven past for years, walked inside and asked if they had any harmonicas.
You would have thought I asked the guy to donate a kidney. He immediately launched into a major lecture that incorporated floods and (I think) political unrest in Thailand , which meant that the reed farms had been flooded so that the supply of reeds from Southeast Asia had dried up, so that if I wanted a harmonica, it was AT LEAST a three week wait unless there was a coup in Bangkok - and not only that, but the new harmonica would set me back thirty five bucks. As I pondered the discovery that component parts for harmonicas are actually imported and subject to the vagaries of the global marketplace like most other products, I realized how naive I was, having not bought a Hohner since the 1960s and somehow being simple-minded enough to think the price was still five bucks. After more debate over the price and the delay, I beat a hasty retreat , surprised that I was shut out of the harmonica industry.
You would have thought I asked the guy to donate a kidney. He immediately launched into a major lecture that incorporated floods and (I think) political unrest in Thailand , which meant that the reed farms had been flooded so that the supply of reeds from Southeast Asia had dried up, so that if I wanted a harmonica, it was AT LEAST a three week wait unless there was a coup in Bangkok - and not only that, but the new harmonica would set me back thirty five bucks. As I pondered the discovery that component parts for harmonicas are actually imported and subject to the vagaries of the global marketplace like most other products, I realized how naive I was, having not bought a Hohner since the 1960s and somehow being simple-minded enough to think the price was still five bucks. After more debate over the price and the delay, I beat a hasty retreat , surprised that I was shut out of the harmonica industry.
Back home, I realized I couldn't give up that easily. Promises had been made, expectations had been raised - failure was not an option. Fortunately, in a charitable attempt to encourage my explorations on the mouth harp, "Shade" Melton provided me with a G, an A and an E. Thus fortified, I took the major step of actually spending my own money on one of those "learn at home" programs which, for only $19.99 ,promises to transform the average person into a world class player in 10 east lessons. I eagerly ripped open the CD when it arrived, grabbed my mouth harps, and proceeded to try and play along, until I realized that every tune in the lesson used a C harp. I began to understand why everything sounded off key.
My new career as a mouth harp master is at a crossroads. Do I ignore the recent political unrest and fly to Bangkok for my own supply of reeds, or continue to practice (and sound wretched) until I stumble upon a C? Only time and my own desire to actually learn how to do something musical will tell the final tale. Meanwhile, hang on to your harmonicas - you never can tell if there's going to be another coup attempt in Thailand.
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