Friday, October 09, 2015

From The Archives (2010)-In Honor Of Jack Kerouac-Writer's Corner- Jack Kerouac's "Visions Of Cody" -On The Road-Redux

Book Review

Visions Of Cody, Jack Kerouac, Viking Press, New York, 1973


The first three paragraphs are taken from a previous review about Jack Kerouac and his leading role in establishing the literary ethos of the "beat" generation. Those comments aptly apply in reviewing "Visions Of Cody" as well:

"As I have explained in another entry in this space in reviewing the DVD of “The Life And Times Of Allen Ginsberg”, recently I have been in a “beat” generation literary frame of mind. I mentioned there, as well, and I think it helps to set the mood for commenting on Jack Kerouac’s seminal ‘travelogue’, “On The Road”, that it all started last summer when I happened to be in Lowell, Massachusetts on some personal business. Although I have more than a few old time connections with that now worn out mill town I had not been there for some time. While walking in the downtown area I found myself crossing a small park adjacent to the site of a well-known mill museum and restored textile factory space.

Needless to say, at least for any reader with a sense of literary history, at that park I found some very interesting memorial stones inscribed with excerpts from a number of his better known works dedicated to Lowell’s “bad boy”, the “king of the 1950s beat writers, Jack Kerouac. And, just as naturally, when one thinks of Kerouac then Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Gregory Corso, Neal Cassady and a whole ragtag assortment of poets, hangers-on, groupies and genuine madmen and madwomen come to mind. They all show up, one way or another (under fictional names of course), in this book. So that is why we today are under the sign of “On The Road”.

To appreciate Kerouac and understand his mad drive for adventure and to write about it, speedily but precisely, you have to start with “On The Road”. There have been a fair number of ‘searches' for the meaning of the American experience starting, I believe, with Whitman. However, each generation that takes on that task needs a spokesperson and Jack Kerouac, in the literary realm at least, filled that bill not only for his own generation that came of age in the immediate post World War II era, but mine as well that came of age in the 1960s (and, perhaps, later generations but I can only speculate on that idea here)."

That said, “Visions Of Cody” is an extension of that “On The Road” story line that made Kerouac famous, although "Visions" is more diffuse and much more concerned with literary imager than with the storyline developed in the earlier Kerouac/Paradise narrative. Here Jack as Dulouz and Neal Cassady as Cody Pomeray do more running around on the road, partying, reflecting on the nature of the universe, partying, speculating on the nature of the American experience, partying and… well, you get the drift. In some places the descriptive language is stronger than “On The Road”, reflecting Kerouac’s greater ease with his spontaneous writing style in the early 1950s when this was written (although not widely published until after his death.).

Additionally, included here is a long series of taped interviews between Jack and Neal over several days and, presumably, while both were on a running drug “high”. These tapes reflect very nicely the very existential nature of 1950s “beat”, or at least one interpretation of that term. They produce all the madness, genius, gaffs, gaps, whimsy and pure foolishness that come from an extended drug experience. Despite all reports to the contrary not everything observed until the “influence” comes out pure literary gold, and that is true here as well. But there is a lot of good stuff nevertheless, although here it could have been cut in half and we still would have gotten that “beat” beat.

Maine Peace Walk Pot Luck Supper & Program Schedule -October 9 to 24

Maine Peace Walk Pot Luck Supper & Program Schedule -October 9 to 24 

peacewalk banner
                                                                                                                                 Art work by Russell Wray
 
  • Day 1 (Ellsworth) Friday, October 9 -   Ellsworth Unitarian Church (121 Bucksport Rd) Evening potluck and kick-off program at 6:00 pm. Homestays needed.    Host: Starr Gilmartin 667-2421
  • Day 2 (Orland) Saturday, October 10 - Potluck supper 6:00 pm and program at H.O.M.E (90 School House Rd.) Sleep at H.O.M.E.  Host: Starr Gilmartin 667-2421 or Lawrence 415-565-9867
  • Day 3 (Belfast) Sunday, October 11 - First Church UCC (104 Church St) Pot luck supper (unadvertised) 6:00 pm, public program 7:00 pm.    Home stays needed & sleep at church: Cathy Mink 323-5160 & Bev Roxby 669-2903.      Host: Joel 338-2282 or 323-0940 at the UCC Church
  • Day 4 (Camden) Monday, October 12 - Our Lady of Good Hope Catholic Church (7 Union St) Pot luck supper and program at 6:00 pm. Home stays needed. Host: Maureen Kehoe-Ostensen 763-4062
  • Day 5 (Rockland) Tuesday, October 13 - Potluck supper and program at Unitarian church (345 Broadway) at 6:00 pm. Homestays needed.  Host: Midcoast Citizens for P & J (Steve Burke 691-0322)
  • Day 6 (Damariscotta) Wednesday, October 14 - Friends Meeting House (77 Belvedere Rd) Potluck Supper and program at 6:00 pm. Sleep at Meeting House.  Host: Friends Meeting (Sue Rockwood 570-854-4458)
  • Day 7 (Bath) Thursday, October 15 - UCC Neighborhood Church (corner of Washington & Centre) Potluck supper and program at 6:00 pm. Homestays needed.  Host: Bruce Gagnon 904-501-4494 & Karen Wainberg 371-8190
  • Day 8 (Day off) in Bath Friday, October 16 - Stay at same homestays again this night. Potluck supper at Addams-Melman House (212 Centre St) at 6:00 pm. Host: Bruce Gagnon 904-501-4494 & Karen Wainberg 371-8190
  • Day 9 (Brunswick) Saturday, October 17 - Pot luck supper at Sternlieb home (21 McKeen St) at 6:00 pm. Walker music program. Home stays needed in Brunswick. Host: Selma Sternlieb 725-7675
  • Day 10 (Freeport) Sunday, October 18 - Pot luck supper at First Parish Congregation Church (on US 1) at 6:00 pm and program. Sleep at church. Host: Paula O’Brien 865-6022 & Sukie Rice 318-8531 & Cheryl Avery 865-0916
  • Day 11 ( Portland) Monday, October 19 - State Street Church-UCC (159 State St.) Pot luck supper & program at 6:00 pm.  Homestays needed. Host: Grace Braley 774-1995
  • Day 12 (Saco) Tuesday, October 20 - First Parish Congregation Church on corner of Beech & Maine. Pot luck supper and program at 6:00 pm. Home stays needed.  Host: Tom Kircher 282-7530
  • Day 13 (Kennebunk) Wednesday, Oct 21 - New School (38 York Street). Pot luck supper and program at 6:00 pm. Sleep at school.  Host: Olive Hight 207-590-9505
  • Day 14  (York Beach) Thursday, October 22 - York Beach (52 Freeman St) Supper, music program & sleeping spot at 6:00 pm. Host: Pat Scanlon 978-474-9195 & Smedley Butler Brigade of Boston-area VFP
  • Day 15 (Portsmouth) Friday, October 23 - Supper and program at St. John’s Episcopal Church (100 Chapel St) at 6:00 pm.  Home stays needed, Host: Doug Bogen 603-617-6243
  • Day 16 (Finale in Portsmouth) Saturday, October 24 - Meet at Market Square 10:00 am. Walk thru downtown and back over bridge to Kittery. Rally & speakers at shipyard gate (deliver letter). Walk back to Market Square for final closing circle around noon. Host: Doug Bogen 603-617-6243
 
~ The walk is being sponsored by Maine Veterans for Peace; PeaceWorks; CodePink Maine; Citizens Opposing Active Sonar Threats (COAST); Peace Action Maine; Veterans for Peace Smedley Butler Brigade (Greater Boston); Seacoast Peace Response (Portsmouth); Maine Green Independent Party; and Global Network Against Weapons & Nuclear Power in Space.
 
For full walk route schedule details see http://vfpmaine.org/walk%20for%20peace%202015.html 

Obama Abandons Scheme to Train Nonexistent Syrian Moderates

Obama Abandons Scheme to Train Nonexistent Syrian Moderates
Obama Abandons Scheme to Train Nonexistent Syrian Moderates

by Stephen Lendman

On Friday, Defense Department publication Stars and Stripes (S&P) headlined “Pentagon plans new approach to train Syrian rebels.” More on this below.

Fact: None exist. Anti-Assad forces are virtually all imported death squads from scores of other countries - US armed, funded, trained and directed, including ISIS, Al Qaeda, and Jabhat Al Nursa elements among others, used as proxy foot soldiers to terrorize Syrians, part of Washington’s scheme to replace Assad with a pro-Western puppet.

S&P lied claiming the Pentagon plans “a new approach to equip Syrian rebels…relying more on…Kurdish forces in” northern Syria.

“The work we’ve done with the Kurds in northern Syria is an example of an effective approach. We have a group that is capable and motivated on the ground,” Defense Secretary Carter claimed.

“So that is exactly the kind of example we’d like to pursue with other groups in other parts of Syria going forward.”

Carter and Pentagon commanders have no effective strategy to counter Russia’s intervention against ISIS and other terrorist groups. Effective blitzkrieg continues destroying their weapons, munitions, and facilities, as well as decimating their ranks.

Thousands fled cross-border for safety or took refuge in residential communities. They’re no match against powerful Russian weapons, sophisticated technology and Putin’s determination to crush them, a righteous undertaking the entire free world applauds.

BBC News reported Saudi Arabia intends sending more weapons to beleaguered “rebel” groups - aka ISIS and other terrorist ones despite Riyadh claiming otherwise. 

After one week of operations, Russia’s Defense Ministry said it launched 120 combat sorties, hitting 110 targets, destroying:

  • 71 armored vehicles

  • 30 other vehicles

  • 19 command facilities

  • 2 communications centers

  • 23 fuel and ammunition depots

  • 6 facilities for making IEDs, including car bombs

  • several artillery pieces, and

  • several training camps

Escalated activities in the last 24 hours included 67 sorties, targeting 60 terrorist facilities with devastating force - killing two senior ISIS commanders and hundreds of fighters, Russia’s Defense Ministry reported.

Riyadh can supply weapons but not the will to fight. Most terrorists will stay the course to win, not die from Russia’s devastating onslaught, including powerful bunker-buster bombs able to destroy underground facilities, no longer safe havens.

On Friday, Russian General Staff Deputy Chief Lt. Gen. Igor Makushev said “(m)ilitants are sustaining substantial losses under the strikes of Russian aircraft and have to change their tactics, to scatter their forces, to carefully disguise and hide in settlements.”

“In these circumstances the Russian Aerospace Forces continue systematic air strikes and increase their intensity to effectively destroy the targets.”

Claims of civilian casualties are fabricated, part of Washington-led anti-Russian propaganda. Moscow has photographic evidence of each target struck, no civilian ones or near them.

Washington’s so-called rebel-training program was a complete hoax, $500 million wasted, maybe $1 billion or more.  Pentagon officials notoriously conceal waste, fraud and abuse - trillions of dollars unaccounted for post-9/11 alone. 

Expect continued US support for ISIS and other terrorist groups to continue. Recruiting may not be as easy with Russia involved.

Stephen Lendman lives in Chicago. He can be reached at lendmanstephen@sbcglobal.net. 

His new book as editor and contributor is titled "Flashpoint in Ukraine: US Drive for Hegemony Risks WW III."

http://www.claritypress.com/LendmanIII.html

Visit his blog site at sjlendman.blogspot.com. 

Listen to cutting-edge discussions with distinguished guests on the Progressive Radio News Hour on the Progressive Radio Network.


It airs three times weekly: live on Sundays at 1PM Central time plus two prerecorded archived programs. 

Down And Out In America-With Stephen Foster’s Hard Times Come Again No More In Mind.


Down And Out In America-With Stephen Foster’s Hard Times Come Again No More In Mind.  

 






“We used to eat white bread with a little cheapjack Karo syrup on it to ease the hungers,” said Grandpa Eaton to his youngest grandson Sam, “and that stuff was supposed to be used in baking stuff with not as a topping spread for a sandwich. But by Jesus it did cut the hungers for a few hours. I don’t think I have had any since unless it was hidden in some ingredient your grandmother used to make her lovely desserts. Ah, I can still taste those cherry tarts and banana crème pies, bless her soul.” All this faux culinary talk by Grandpa was in response to a question Sam had about what it was like back in the Great Depression of the 1930s to try to get along with very little in most households.

 

That was certainly the case with the Eaton family whose livelihood for a few generations including Grandpa, his father and Sam’s own father< Prescott, was conditioned by life in the bogs, the cranberry bogs for which the town of Carver was then famous. But in a depression, or hell in any serious economic downturn nobody but Mayfair swells, and there were never enough of them, bothers with the luxury of cranberry sauce, not when the Thanksgiving dinner was going to be something like a few slices of fatty bacon and maybe a poached egg (poached to get the most yolk protein out of the damn egg). So Grandpa and his family, including Sam’s father when the time came did what Grandpa called “the best they could.” Grandpa continued, “We used to send your father and your uncle Jason out after the coal trucks when they were out making their deliveries around town early in the morning and you know those old trucks would rattle around on the old streets before they were fully paved with asphalt in the early 1950s and they would drop a few pieces of coal which the kids would scoop up and bring home to keep us warm for a minute. Here is where your father was a knucklehead though. He decided that such labor should be recognized and so in school he bragged about how he and Jason got the coal. The next morning there were about fifty young kids out trying to outdo each other, including punches, to get a few rotten pieces of coal. Yeah, times were bad.”

 

Sam had to laugh as he saw the image of his father fighting off some big hooligan for the measly coal but he also had a twinge of conscious about how he had been ashamed to mention to anyone his father’s profession as a bogger, at the low end of the town social structure just above the poor people who lived on the county farm. He resolved to think better of his father who after all had to leave school and go into the bogs before he graduated in order to help out the family and he never went back because World War II came around and he enlisted right after Pearl Harbor. So his father never got any real benefit out of the GI Bill that lots of fathers did although he did try to go to some electronics school in Boston but he was either too tired to pursue his studies with five growing kids, Sam and four daughters, or just not smart enough to pick up what the instructors were trying to teach him. Yeah, he would think better of the man from here on in.                                

 

Grandpa Eaton said he was getting tired but he did have one more story to tell. Tell about those terrible times. Not about the hard times since his story about the Karo syrup and the fight for coal told even a running nose kid like Sam that times were tough but about the time that he got some of the boggers together and had a big dinner and dance out at Fred Brown’s old run down red barn over by Route 3. He started, “It was around Thanksgiving time in 1939, maybe around the 15th, before Congress proclaimed the specific day on the fourth Thursday of November in 1941 and I was talking to some other boggers who like me were only working part time since demand was down and rather than each family having something like tuna fish sandwiches if they were lucky or peanut butter if times were really tough we decided to all pool whatever we had, which wasn’t much and have a shindig at Fred’s old barn. And we did, although even with the resources of some twenty families we wound up having ham instead of the prized turkey the swells were having. I don’t think I had turkey at all in the 1930s and probably not until the war started but that was neither here nor there since it wasn’t the meal that made the day special.

 

Different guys around town had instruments, you know, fiddles, guitars, a bass, no drums that I recall and so after dinner as the sun went down and we men had had a couple of shots of cheapjack Johnny Walker whiskey the assembled make-shift band started playing. Your father was one of them on a kazoo or something, don’t laugh. Then he got up in front of the crowd and started singing, at first Brother, Can You Spare a Dime, always a hit despite the hard times it portrays, a couple of Irving Berlin tunes I forget which ones, Bing Crosby stuff which was real popular too but the one I remember because Grandma welled up and maybe I did too was a new song, If I Didn’t Care which kind of capped the evening. I was proud of Prescott that night. The next day we were back to Karo syrup or some such thing but that was life back then that was our lives.” Sam thought, thought hard for a sixteen year old kid, that yes indeed those where hard times, and hard times come again no more.                

Lowell Celebrates Jack Kerouac-October 8-12

Lowell Celebrates Jack Kerouac-October 8-12

Lowell Celebrates Kerouac!

Lowell Celebrates Kerouac Festival

2015 LOWELL CELEBRATES KEROUAC FESTIVAL, OCTOBER 8-12, 2015
"October is always a great time for me (knock on wood),
's why I always talk about it so much..."
Jack Kerouac. Desolation Angels
"Everybody goes home in October"
Jack Kerouac. On the Road
Download a poster:

Pre-LCK Festival Events at UMass Lowell

Monday, October 5

3:30 pm: Readings by Beat Poet and Author Michael McClure. Allen House. UML South Campus 61 Wilder Street.

Thursday, October 8

3:00 p.m.: Exhibit Opening: "Kerouac Retrieved--Items from the John Sampas Collection. Allen House. UML South Campus
3:30 pm: Panel Discussion--Race, Ethnicity, and the American Hipster Panelists: Jean-Christophe Cloutier, Tim Z. Hernandez, D. Quentin Miller, Keith Mitchell. Allen House. UML South Campus

Friday, October 9

3:30 pm: Jean-Christophe Cloutier--A Discussion About Working in Literary Archives. Allen House. UML South Campus
For more details go to: UMass Lowell Kerouac Center Events, Fall 2015

Lowell Celebrates Kerouac Festival

Thursday, October 8

6:00-8:00 pm: Traditional Kerouac Pubs Tour. Old Worthen, 141 Worthen St., to Ricardo’s to Ward Eight to Cappy’s Copper Kettle. Meet leaders at the Worthen.
8:30 pm: Traditional LCK Kick-off: Music-and-Readings. Cappy’s Copper Kettle, 245 Central St. Alan Crane, Colleen Nicholas, and friends, and local musicians will perform with David Amram. Hosted by John McDermott. Readers of Kerouac passages will do the interludes. Always a kick!

Friday, October 9

9:30 am: The Annual Jack Kerouac Poetry & Prose Competition. Held at Jack Kerouac’s alma mater, Lowell High School. Students will read their poems and prose entries. David Amram will share his memories of collaborating with Jack Kerouac. Note: This event is not open to the public--students and invited guests only. Lowell High School Theater, 50 Father Morissette Blvd.
2:30 pm: Talking Jack. Readings and discussion. The shop is open—come with whatever Kerouac related topic or idea you’d like to have some conversation about. UML Inn & Conference Center Lobby, 50 Warren Court. Look for the LCK group by the fireplace or on the patio, depending on the weather. Led by Kurt Phaneuf.
4:00-6:30 pm: Opening Art Reception: In My Own Words—Images from Kerouac Interviews. From the book "Safe in Heaven Dead", edited by Michael White. A solo exhibition by Barbara Gagel with black and white conceptual images in the encaustic medium. Using the early 1930s Underwood typeface Barbara evokes Kerouac’s meaning and mood, "tossing words into the void." Ayer Lofts Gallery, 172 Middle Street.
8:00 pm: Kerouac and Jazz. A chronological musical presentation of Kerouac’s favorite jazz compositions performed by musicians MIke Payette, Dan Webster, Chuck Langford, Steve Clements, and singer Lesley Richardson. Readings with music gives insight as to how jazz influenced Kerouac’s writings. The New Uncharted Gallery. 103 Market Street.

Saturday, October 10

9:30 am. Commemorative at the Commemorative. French and Bridge Streets. Topic: "Jack’s Bridges—Lowell and Beyond." Lowell’s many bridges, over the Merrimack and Concord Rivers, fare prominently in Kerouac’s Lowell-based novels. They also serve as a metaphor for the many bridges Jack created in his literary life. One example: His essay "I’m a Bippie in the Middle" in which he sees himself as a bridge between the Beats and the Hippies. This is the theme to be explored in this year’s Commemorative at the Commemorative.
10:15 am. "Kerouac’s Lowell" Birthplace-to-Gravesite Bus Tour. Visiting his homes and other important Kerouac sites, finishing at gravesite. Led by Roger Brunelle. Leaves from Commemorative. $10 Donation. Reservations at 978-970-5000.
11:00 am. Stories from the Road. An exhibition at the Zeitgeist Gallery. Selected artists have been asked to display creative works of art illustrating the stated theme. Artists will give a brief talk about their work, accompanied by David Amram. Hosted by Judith Bessette. The Zeitgeist Gallery is located at 167 Market Street.
2:00 pm. Annual Parker Lecture with Dr. Tim Z. Hernandez. "Searching for the Real Mexican Girl." In 2010 author Tim Z. Hernandez located the real woman behind Jack Kerouac’s "Terry" from On the Road. At age 92 Bea Franco (now deceased) was living in relative obscurity in Fresno, California. In this presentation Hernandez will share his journey from research to writing of his award winning book, Mañana Means Heaven (University of Arizona Press, 2013), as well as the choices one must make when writing a counter-narrative to Kerouac’s portrayal of California’s Mexican communities in the late 1940s.
Dr. Tim Z. Hernandez in an award winning author, research scholar, and performance artist. He is the recipient of an American Book Award for poetry, the Premio Aztlan Prize for fiction, the Colorado Book Award, and the International Latino Book Award for historical fiction. In 2011 the Poetry Society of America named him one of sixteen New American Poets; and he was a finalist for his work on locating the victims of the 1948 plane wreck at Los Gatos Canyon as recalled in Woody Guthrie’s song "Deportee." The Lowell National Historical Visitors Park Visitors Center Theater. 246 Market Street.
3:30 pm. Kerouac’s Library Haunts and Hooky Tour. Led by Bill Walsh, Pollard Memorial Library, 401 Merrimack St. Meet at the Merrimack Street entrance.
4:30 pm: Open Mike at the Old Worthen Upstairs. 141 Worthen Street. Poets, musicians, and readers are welcome! Emceed by Cliff Whalen.
6:00-8:00 Chamber Music Presentation with David Amram and Local Musicians. Classical saxophonist and soloist with the Boston Pops and New York Philharmonic Ken Radnofsky, pianist Damien Francoeur-Krzyzek, and violist Consuelo Sherba are confirmed for an evening performing Amram's classical chamber music, in addition to Amram speaking, reading from his three books and leading programs related to his collaborations with Jack Kerouac which will include locals artists all performing together. Cake will be served for David Amram's 85th birthday after the concert. Selections Include:
  • I. The Wind and the Rain for Viola and Piano (1964)
  • II. Finale from Ode to Lord Buckey A Concerto for Saxophone and Piano (1981)
  • III. Prologue for Scherzo for Unaccompanied Saxophone (1999)
  • IV. Greenwich Village Portraits for Saxophone and Piano (2014)
    • a. McDougal Street (for Arthur Miller)
    • b. Bleecker Street (for Odetta)
    • c. Christopher Street (for Frank McCourt)
St. Anne’s Church. Corner of Kirk and Merrimack Streets
8:30: Woodstock Poets Andy Clausen and Pamela Twinning Accompanied by Local Musicians. The Old Court Pub—Upstairs. 29-31 Central Street. A $10.00 dollar donation requested.

Sunday, October 11

10:30 am: Mystic Jack Tour. Led by Roger Brunelle. Visit the church, school, and home that were so important in his early years as described in "Visions of Gerard." Meet in front of St. Louis Church, 221 W. 6th St. $10.00 donation requested.
1:30-4:00 pm: Annual Amram Jam! Our annual event featuring David Amram performing with a cast of many volunteer readers, poets, and musicians. You can feel the spirit of Kerouac moving here! Cake will be served for David Amram's 85th birthday after the event at 4:30. Lowell Beerworks, 203 Cabot St.
5:00-6:00 pm: Saxophonist Jeff Robinson and Musicians. Reading San Francisco Blues. Lowell Beer Works.
6:30-8:00 pm: Michele and Bernie Choiniere. French Canadian Traditional Folk Music. Lowell Beer Works.
8:30 pm: Ghosts of the Pawtucketville Night Tour. Led by Roger Brunelle. Visit Kerouac sites in Pawtucketville neighborhood and possibly the mystical Grotto. Group leaves from Cumnock Hall—University of Massachusetts, Lowell, North Campus. 1 University Avenue. $10.00 donation requested.

Monday, October 12

10:00 am: LCK Kerouac Loop Walk from the Kerouac Commemorative. Bridge St., to St. Louis church, W. 6th St., Centralville.
12-4 pm: Walking Jack: Continuing the Kerouac Loop Walk. From St. Louis School past Kerouac homes and landmarks in Centralville and Pawtucketville, finishing at Old Worthen Tavern for toasting to Jack.

Thanks to Our Supporters

The Enterprise Bank of Lowell
The Moses Greeley Parker Lecture Series
The University of Massachusetts at Lowell English Department
The Annual Donors to Lowell Celebrates Kerouac
The Old Worthen Tavern and the Lowell Telecommunications Corp. for providing LCK with meeting space throughout the year.
Our thanks to Darrell’s Music Hall of Nashua, New Hampshire for providing the keyboard for David Amram.
Lowell Celebrates Kerouac offers a very special thanks and appreciation to Mr. James Irsay of Indianapolis, Indiana for his generous support of LCK!
A big “LCK Thank You” as well to all the Lowell venues hosting our 2015 Events:
Cappy’s Copper Kettle, The Ward Eight Pub, Ricardo’s Cafe Trattoria, The Old Worthen, Lowell High School, The New UnchARTed Gallery, The Lowell National Historical Park, The Pollard Memorial Library, St. Anne’s Church, The Old Court Pub, St. Louis de France Church, The Lowell Beer Works, The University of Massachusetts at Lowell

Thursday, October 08, 2015

Buffy Sainte-Marie - Until it's Time for You to Go


Howling At The Moon-When Howlin’ Wolf Held Forth

Howling At The Moon-When Howlin’ Wolf Held Forth  

 

 

 From The Pen Of Bart Webber

One night when Sam Eaton and Ralph Morris were sitting in Johnny D’s over in Somerville, over near the Davis Square monster Redline MBTA stop sipping a couple of Anchor Steam beers, a taste acquired by Sam out in Frisco town in the old days on hot nights like that one waiting for the show to begin Ralph mentioned that some music you acquired naturally, you know like kids’ songs learned in school. (The Farmer in the Dell, which forced you a city kid although you might not have designated yourself as such at that age to learn a little about the dying profession of family farmer and about farm machinery, Old MacDonald, ditto on the family farmer stuff and as a bonus the animals of the farm kingdom, Humpty Dumpty, a silly overweight goof who couldn’t maintain his balance come hell or high water although you might not have thought of that expression or used it in the high Roman Catholic Morris household out in Troy, New York where Ralph grew up and still lives, Jack and Jill and their ill-fated hill adventure looking for water like they couldn’t have gone to the family kitchen sink tap for their needs showing indeed whether you designated yourself as a city kid or not you were one of the brethren, etc. in case you have forgotten.) Music embedded in the back of your mind, coming forth sometimes out of the blue even fifty years later (and maybe relating to other memory difficulties among the AARP-worthy but we shall skip over that since this is about the blues, the musical blues and not the day to day getting old blues).

Or as in the case of music in junior high school as Sam chimed in with his opinion as he thought about switching over to a high-shelf whiskey, his natural drink of late, despite the hot night and hot room beginning to fill up with blues aficionados who have come to listen to the “second coming,” the blues of James Montgomery and his back-up blues band. That “second coming” referring to guys, now greying guys, who picked up the blues, especially the citified electric blues after discovering the likes of Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, Magic Slim and James Cotton back in their 1960s youth, made a decent living out of it and were still playing small clubs and other venues to keep the tradition alive and to pass it on to the kids who were not even born when the first wave guys came out of the hell-hole Delta south of Mister James Crow sometime around or after World War II and plugged  their guitars into the next gin mill electric outlet in places off of Maxwell Street in Chicago, nursing their acts, honing their skills.  

Yeah, that hormonal bust out junior high weekly music class with Mr. Dasher which made Sam chuckle a bit, maybe that third  bottle of beer sipping getting him tipsy a little, as he thought about the old refrain, “Don’t be a masher, Mister Dasher” which all the kids hung on him that time when the rhyming simon craze was going through the nation’s schools. Thinking just then that today if some teacher or school administrator was astute enough to bother to listen to what teenage kids say amongst themselves, an admittedly hard task for an adult, in an excess of caution old Mister Dasher might be in a peck of trouble if anyone wanted to be nasty about the implication of that innocent rhyme.  Yeah, Mr. Dasher, the mad monk music teacher, who wanted his charges to have a well-versed knowledge of the American and world songbooks so you were forced to remember such songs as The Mexican Hat Dance and Home On The Range under penalty of being sent up to the front of the room songbook in hand and sing the damn things. Yes, you will remember such songs unto death. (Sam and his corner boys at Doc’s Drugstore found out later that he was motivated by a desperate rear-guard action to wean his charges away from rock and roll, away from the devil’s music although he would not have called it that because he was too cool to say stuff like that, a struggle in which he was both woefully overmatched by Elvis, Jerry Lee, Chuck, Bo, and the crowd and wasting his breathe as they all lived for rock and roll at Doc’s Drugstore after school where he had a jukebox at his soda fountain.)  

Ralph agreed running through his own junior high school litany with Miss Hunt (although a few years older than Sam he had not run through the rhyming simon craze so had no moniker for the old witch although now he wished he had and it would not be nice either). He added that some of the remembered music  reflected the time period when you were growing up but were too young to call the music your own like the music that ran around in the background of your growing up house on the mother housewife radio or evening record player which in Ralph’s case was the music that got his parents through his father’s soldierly slogging on unpronounceable Pacific islands kicking ass and mother anxiously waiting at home for the other shoe to fall or the dreaded military officer coming up to her door telling her the bad news World War II. You know, Frank (Sinatra, the chairman of the board, that all the bobbysoxer girls, the future mothers of Sam’s and Ralph’s generation swooned over), The Andrew Sisters  and their rums and coca colas, Peggy Lee fronting for Benny Goodman and looking, looking hard for some Johnny to do right, finally do right by her, etc. Other music, the music of their own generation, classic rock and rock came more naturally since that is what they wanted to hear when they had their transistor radios to their ear up in their bedrooms.

That mention of transistor radios got them yakking about that old instrument which got them through many a hard teenage angst and alienation night. That yakking reflecting their both getting mellow on the sweet beer and thinking that they had best switch to Tennessee sipping whisky when the wait person came by again if they were to make it through both sets that night. This transistor thing by the way for the young was small enough to put in your pocket and put up to your ear like an iPod or MP3 except you couldn’t download or anything like that. Primitive technology okay but life-saving nevertheless. Just flip the dial although the only station that mattered was WJDA, the local rock station (which had previously strictly only played the music that got all of our parents through their war before the rock break-out made somebody at the station realize that you could made more advertising revenue selling ads for stuff like records, drive-in movies, drive-in restaurants, and cool clothes and accessories than refrigerators and stoves to adults).

Oh yeah, and the beauty of the transistor you could take it up to your bedroom and shut out that aforementioned parents’ music without hassles. Nice, right. So yeah, they could hear Elvis sounding all sexy according to one girl Sam knew even over the radio and who drove all the girls crazy once they got a look at him on television, Chuck telling our parents’ world that Mr. Beethoven and his crowd, Frank’s too, that they all had to move over, Bo asking a very candid question about who put the rock in rock and roll and offering himself up as a candidate, Buddy crooning against all hope for his Peggy Sue (or was it Betty Lou), Jerry Lee inflaming all with his raucous High School Confidential  from the back of a flatbed truck, etc. again.

The blues though, the rarified country and electric urban blues of the likes of Son House, Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, James Cotton, and Howlin’ Wolf was an acquired taste. Acquired by Sam through listening to folk music programs on that very same transistor radio in the early 1960s after flipping the dial one Sunday night once he got tired of what they claimed was rock music on WJDA and caught a Boston station. The main focus was on other types of roots music but when the show would take a break from down home mountain music, western swing ballads, and urban protest music the DJ would play some cuts of country or electric blues. See all the big folkies, Dylan, Tom Rush, Dave Van Ronk, people like that were wild to cover the blues in the search for serious roots music from the American songbook. So somebody, Sam didn’t know who, figured if everybody who was anybody was covering the blues in that folk minute then it made sense to play the real stuff.  (Sam later carried Ralph along on the genre after they had met down in Washington, D.C. in 1971, had been arrested and held in detention at RFK Stadium for trying to shut down the government if it did not shut the Vietnam War, had become life-long friends and Ralph began to dig the blues when he came to Cambridge to visit).

The real stuff having been around for a while, having been produced by the likes of Muddy and Howlin’ Wolf going back to the 1940s big time black migration to the industrial plants of the Midwest during World War II when there were plenty of jobs just waiting. But also having been pushed to the background, way to the background with the rise of rock and roll (although parts of rock make no sense, don’t work at all without kudos to blues chords, check it out). So it took that combination of folk minute and that well-hidden from view electric blues some time to filter through Sam’s brain.

What did not take a long time to do once Sam got “religion” was going crazy over Howlin’ Wolf when he saw him perform. Once Sam had seen him practically eat that harmonica when he was playing that instrument on How Many More Years. There the Wolf was all sweating, running to high form and serious professionalism (just ask the Stones about that polished professionalism when he showed them how to really play Little Red Rooster which they had covered early on in their career as they had covered many other Chess Records blues numbers, as had in an ironic twist a whole generation English rockers in the 1960s) and moving that big body to and fro to beat the band and playing like god’s own avenging angel, if those angels played the harmonica, and if they could play as well as he did. They both hoped that greying James Montgomery, master harmonica player in his own right, blew the roof off of the house as they spied the wait person coming their way and James moving onto the stage getting ready to burn up the microphone. Yes, that blues calling is an acquired taste and a lasting one.    
 

Where Have All The Flowers Gone- With Legendary Folk-Singer Pete Seeger In Mind

Where Have All The Flowers Gone- With Legendary Folk-Singer Pete Seeger In Mind

 


A while back, a few months ago now I think I mentioned in a sketch about how I came to learn about the music of Woody Guthrie I noted that it was hard to pin just exactly when I first heard his music since it pre-dated my coming to the folk minute of the 1960s where the name Woody Guthrie had been imprinted on lots of work by the then “new breed” protest/social commentary troubadour folk singers like Bob Dylan (who actually spent time in Woody’s hospital room with him when he first came East from Hibbing out of Dinktown in Minneapolis and wrote an early paean called Song To Woody on his first or second album), Ramblin’ Jack Elliott (who made a very nice career out of being a true Woody acolyte and had expected Dylan who had subsequently moved on, moved very far on to more lyrical work to do the same), and Stubby Tatum, probably the truest acolyte since he was instrumental in putting a lot of Woody’s unpublished poems and art work out for public inspection and specialized in Woody songs, first around Harvard Square and then wherever he could get a gig, which to say the least were not among the most well know or well thought out of Woody’s works. After some thought I pinpointed the first time I heard a Woody song to a seventh grade music class, Mr. Dasher’s class whom we innocently then called Dasher the Flasher just for rhyming purposes but which with today’s sensibilities about the young would not play very well and would probably have him up before some board of inquiry just because a bunch of moody, alienated hormonally-crazed seventh graders were into a rhyming fad that lasted until the next fad a few weeks or months later, when he in an effort to have us appreciate various genre of the world music songbook made us learn Woody’s This Land Is Your Land. Little did we know until a few years later when some former student confronted him about why we were made to learn all those silly songs he made us memorize and he told that student that he had done so in order to, fruitlessly as it turned out, break us from our undying devotion to rock and roll, you know, Elvis, Chuck, Jerry Lee, Wanda, Brenda, Bo, Buddy, the Big Bopper and every single doo wop group, male or female. If anybody wants to create a board of inquiry over that Mister Dasher indiscretion complete with a jury of still irate "rock and roll will never die" aficionados you have my support.   

In thinking about Woody the obvious subsequent question of when I first heard the late Pete Seeger sing, a man who acted as the transmission belt between generations, I came up against that same quandary since I know I didn’t associate him with the first time, the first wave of performers, I heard as I connected with the emerging folk minute of the early 1960s. That folk minute start which I do clearly remember the details of got going one Sunday night when tired of the vanilla rock and roll music that was being play in the fall of 1962 on the Boston stations I began flipping the small dial on my transistor radio settling in on this startling gravelly voice which sounded like some old-time mountain man, some old time Jehovah cometh Calvinist avenging angel, singing Come All You Fair And Tender Ladies (who turned out to be folk historian and seminal folk revival figure Dave Von Ronk, who as far as I know later from his politics had no particular religious bent,if any, but who sure sounded like he was heralding the second coming). I listened to a few more songs on what turned out to be a folk music program put on every Sunday evening between seven and nine at the request of some college kids in the area who were going crazy for roots music according to the DJ.          

After thinking about it for a while I realized that I had heard Pete not in solo performance but when he was with The Weavers and they made a hit out of the old Lead Belly tune, Good Night, Irene (a song that in the true oral tradition has many versions and depending on the pedigree fewer or more verses, Lead Belly’s being comparatively short). In those days, in the early 1950s I think, the Weavers were trying to break into the popular music sphere and were proceeding very well until the Cold War night descended upon them and they, or individual members including Pete were tarred with the red scare brush.

Still you cannot keep a good man down, a man with a flame-throwing banjo, with folk music DNA in his blood since he was the son of the well-known folk musicologist Charles Seeger who along with the father and son Lomaxes  did so much to record the old time roots music out on location in the hills and hollows of the South, and with something to say to those who were interested in looking back into the roots of American music before it got commercialized (although now much of that early commercial music makes up the key folk anthology put together by Harry Smith and which every self-respecting folkie performer in the early 1960s treated like a bible). Pete put a lot of it together, a lot of interests. Got the young interested in going back to the time when old cowboys would sing themselves to sleep around the camp fire out in the prairies, when sweat hard-working black share-croppers and plantation workers down South would get out a Saturday jug and head to the juke joint to chase the blues away, and when the people of the hills and hollows down in Appalachia would Saturday night get out the jug and run over to Bill Preston’s old seen better days red-painted barn and dance that last dance waltz to that weeping mountain fiddle.

Stuff like that, lots of stuff like that to fill out the American songbook. But Pete also put his pen to paper to write some searing contemporary lyrics just like those “new breed” protest folk singers he helped nurture and probably the most famous to come out of that period, asking a very good question then, a question still be asked now if more desperately than even then, Where Have All The Flowers Gone.  Now a new generation looks like it too is ready to pick up the torch after the long “night of the long knives” we have faced since those days. The music is there to greet them in their new titanic struggles. 



I’d Rather Be With The Devil That To Be That Man’s Woman- With Skip James In Mind

I’d Rather Be With The Devil That To Be That Man’s Woman- With Skip James In Mind 

 
 
 
 
 
 

Even when a thing, a fling, okay an affair is over there is always, always some residue, some flash back point that gets the blood boiling especially when a guy takes the walk on you, leave’s you flat. Josie Davis certainly had been down that road ever since she left the friendly confines of her family’s New York City apartment and had chosen to go to the wilds of Madison, Wisconsin and go to the university there (friendly in that she hardly went out of the house to face any heartbreak, and went to Hunter College High where she was a nose-to-the-grindstone drudge).

In the space of a few short months she, tutored by her Chicago born roommate Susan Phillips, had gone from drudge to an aficionado of the budding folk scene that had heated up and replaced the be-bop “beat” scene that had dominated the big city café life until that faded out in places like the Village, North Beach, Harvard Square about 1960 or so. That introduction to folk had led to her first serious dates, dates with one Jack Kiley, her own blue-eyed blonde Irishman from Boston who also was the first to take her to bed, to show her the niceties of sex (the dates with the one-size-fits-all with nice Jewish boys form the city or from Long Island picked by her mother or the same picked by some classmate don’t count since she could see that they were nowhere, nowhere now that she was a woman). But Jack had left her high and dry, no, not really high and dry but had left school to “find himself” out in the 1960s cultural wilderness. She had hoped he would come back but the new Josie, now that she was that woman she claimed for herself was not going to wait.

Enter one James Prescott from Racine, a guy she had met one night at the Dusty Dog, the local coffeehouse hang-out for budding sophomores (the class structure, school class, and in effect social order class, would baffle any half-bright sociologist since Freshmen hung at The Grog, Sophs at the Dog, Juniors at the Hungry Hawk, and Seniors at The Club Algiers and while there were no obvious roadblocks for anyone to enter any of those establishments without the appropriate escort it wasn’t worth the hassle or the evil eyes which bore into the offender stuff that would not go down in big city life but was tolerated in campus towns). He had spied her (and she him) knowing each other slightly from American History class (along with about two hundred other students filling the big hall) since he had a running battle with the professor conducting the class about George Washington’s place in the American pantheon and she had congratulated him on his efforts after one class. So they talked a bit, or rather he talked a lot since he was hot that night on the subject of country blues from down South, down in the Delta in Mississippi now that folk-singers or archivist had gone down there and “discovered” a bunch of old black guys who were famous and influences on the development of the blues, electric blues that everybody knew about. Guys down south that everybody was going crazy over. Guys like Sleepy John Estes, Mississippi John Hurt, Bukka White, Son House and James’ favorite, Skip James.              

And so their thing started although Josie was a little put off by James’ habit of cutting her off before she was finished with her thought, and more put off by his singing which was pretty bad for a guy who knew some of the most esoteric information about folk and blues music she had ever heard. Put off because he would sing at the drop of a hat even in the streets which embarrassed her. Especially when he tried to do a falsetto version of Skip James’ most famous, or infamous song “I’d rather be with the devil than be that woman’s man.” She assumed everybody would think that he meant her, the gal he was walking with. So they went along for a while until she tired of his ways, tired of being treated like some rag doll with no opinions of her own.

After she had given him his walking papers she found herself for a while humming that Skip James’ song except she would sing-“I’d rather be with the devil than be that man’s woman.” Yeah, two could play that game but she sorely wished that Jack Kiley would find himself soon and come clutter up her doorway.