January 19 - Get Ready for Trouble

Nothin' but Trouble that is...when this band plays it's nothing but a party!

Their repertoire includes Americana and roots music, but under it all is the blues! As Keith Richards said, "If you don't know the blues, there's no point in picking up the guitar and playing rock & roll or any other popular music."

And these four musicians KNOW the blues. So much so, that Nothin' But Trouble will represent the Baltimore Blues Society in the 2013 International Blues Challenge in Memphis, TN (Jan. 29 - Feb. 2). Of course, getting the band and the equipment to Memphis isn't cheap.

So on January 19, the Cat's Eye Pub will host a fundraiser to help the band defray some of those costs. From 4pm to closing, Nothin' But Trouble will be playing and having a jam session with a little help from their friends. I've written about the extraordinary brotherhood which exists among the musicians who play in Fells Point.  On this special Saturday, fellow players and bands will be on stage to help us get Nothin' But Trouble ready to rock'em in Memphis.

It's the Jam to Memphis on Saturday, January 19 at the Cat's Eye Pub in Fells Point from 4pm to close. Yes, the Cat's Eye Pub that was recently named on of Baltimore's 25 Best Bars by Baltimore Magazine.

Mark your calendars, come down, join the party and help the band! - as ever BB

"You got to help me/I can't do it all by myself/You got to help me, baby/I can't do it all by myself" - from Help Me by Sonny Boy Williamson II & Willie Dixon

Click here to hear the full song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rhlygCtJFSM

Decade of Assassinations

As a gift from a dear friend, I received a collection of short prose by Charles Bukowski. Written between the late 60s and early 70s, they were published in various small literary and underground  periodicals. One of the pieces, he used the phrase "decade of assassinations" to describe the 60s.

That got me thinking (always a dangerous endeavor) about what went on in the world during my formative years. I believe that eras don't follow decades. 1962 was much more akin to the 50s than what we think of as the turbulent 60s. 1972 was more analogous to the 60s than the stereotype of the polyester, disco 70s. What a surprise, I digress!


Here are the 60s big hits: 1961 - Patrice Lumumba, 1963 - Medgar Evers, 1963 - John F. Kennedy, 1965 - Malcolm X, 1967 - Che Guevara, 1968 - Martin Luther King & Robert F. Kennedy.

Add to that the Bay of Pigs, Cuban Missile Crisis, escalation of war in Southeast Asia, riots in Newark, Detroit and LA, the cultural revolution in China, civil wars in Africa, the Tlatelolco massacre in Mexico City, et. al.

So, during this special time of year what am I thankful for? I'm thankful that I'm not more demented than I am. I guess I'll chalk that up to good old rock & roll. As ever - BB



"The 60s ain't over till the fat lady gets high." - Ken Kesey

One Flew East

...one flew west and one flew over the cuckoo's nest"

Those words from a children's counting nursery rhyme provide the title of Ken Kesey's first novel. When he started his creative writing fellowship at Stanford, he was working on a book about San Francisco's North Beach scene called Zoo. However after volunteering for some experiments at a Menlo Park mental hospital (later through FOIA discovered to be the CIA MK-ULTRA project), Kesey began work on One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

On a side note, that was an extremely talented creative writing class. Other students included Larry McMurtry, Robert Stone, Ed McClanahan, Gurney Norman and Ken Babbs among others. If you're not familiar with their works, do yourself a favor and read some.

Eleven years ago this Saturday, Ken Kesey transcended our plane of existence. The image to the right shows his psychedelic casket being lowered into the grave on his farm in Oregon. The picture is courtesy of his son, Zane's website Key-Z Productions. Check it out. It's full of interesting works, t-shirts, and books.

One summer during my early teens, I read Hunter Thompson's The Hells Angels - A Strange and Terrible Saga, and Tom Wolfe's The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. These led me to reading Kerouac, Kesey and others in the Beat pantheon. Actually, as Kesey put it himself, he was too young for the Beats and too old for the Hippies. In 1966 - he was 31 and technically shouldn't have be trusted, but then you should never trust a prankster.

Did these books begin my trip into the weird and wild, or did my penchant for the offbeat attract me to these books? - my personal chicken or the egg conundrum.

After the promising young author phase, the heady acid tests' haze, the fugitive in Mexico days and the jail faze, Kesey settled down to concentrate on family and his Oregon farm. It's said that when the bus returned from Woodstock and the Dallas Pop Festival (where Hugh Romney received his sobriquet  Wavy Gravy) a sign on the gate to the Kesey farm said "NO".

He continued to write, perform and instigate craziness from his farm for many years. He and the pranksters would show up at various Grateful Dead shows and other concerts, do impromptu performances of his children story, Little Trickster the Squirrel Meets Big Double the Bear, and his millennia play, Twister. In 1999, the intrepid group shipped a new bus to England, drove around  England, watched the solar eclipse and searched for Merlin the Magician.


When technology advanced to the ether, Kesey and Babbs started and interesting website named IntrepidTrips.com. After his death, his son, Zane started Key-Z Productions and Babbs began skypilotclub.com. Both keep the lifeblood, spirit and creativity of the Merry Pranksters flowing.

After he died, the city of Eugene was graced with a statue of him telling a story to his three grandchildren. To quote his good friend and right hand man, Ken Babbs, Kesey's philosophy was "to treat others with kindness and if anyone does you dirt forgive that person right away. This goes beyond the art, the writing, the performances, even the bus. Right down to the bone." as ever - BB

"A man should have the right to be a big as he feels it's in him to be. " - Ken Kesey

Creature Double Feature

The older I get the more nostalgia rears its ugly mien. I battle those feelings. It is a natural human inclination to look back fondly. However time's rose-colored lens skew reminisces. As Finley Peter Dunne (late 19th/early 20th century humorist from Chicago) said, "The past always looks better than it was. It's only pleasant because it isn't here."

I spurn sentimentality's attempt to make a stooge of me. That being said, last night's airing of the 1963 American International film, The Raven, initiated waves of wistfulness. During a break in the movie, TCM ran an ad that provided impetus for today's blog.

Next Wednesday, October 24, select movie theaters in conjunction with Turner Classic Movies 
will show a double feature of the horror classics, Frankenstein and Bride of Frankenstein. The link below shows participating playhouses. 
http://www.fathomevents.com/upcoming/alllocations.aspx?eventid=1105

The opportunity to see these films in a cinema evokes memories of many rainy South Jersey afternoons of my youth. Parents would select one of their group to round up neighborhood children into the ubiquitous station wagon for a trip to the Westmont Theater. Hordes of hellions filled the movie house for a cartoon, selected short and feature film. On special days, a double feature played, so the cartoon and short were omitted.

Normally when the lights dimmed, the theater would erupt into a cacophony of cat-calls and bronx cheers as a barrage of spitballs and candy projectiles filled the air. The exception would be movies like the aforementioned double feature. By then these two classics were over three decades old, yet their power and cinematic splendor would awe the adolescent assembly into rapt silence.

Despite my curmudgeonly cynicism, memories of those afternoons awaken fond thoughts - as ever BB
"...Well, if I could discover just one of these things, what eternity is, for example, I wouldn't care if they did think I was crazy." - Dr. Frankenstein from 1931 film

Trivia Tidbit - Anyone planning to portray Frankenstein's monster on All Hallows' Eve take heed. In doing so, one must decide which monster to depict. (and yes the monster has no name; he is often called Frankenstein, but that is the creator's name, not his.) The picture above is the monster from the original film - notice the fashionable bangs.
The picture to the left is the monster from Bride, and following reputable sequels. (several of ill repute were made) Said bangs were singed off at the end of the original film in the castle's fire which caused the monster to fall through the fiery floor encasing him in the glacier under the castle until found by Igor.

Quadrennial Scam

In 1972 I turned 18-years-old. Being a upright, bright-eyed American boy, I fulfilled two civic duties - registering for the draft and registering to vote.

The former was ominous as the country was still embroiled in Southeast Asia. The latter was rousing as
I would be among the first group between the ages of 18 and 20 to vote in federal elections.

Not yet the jaded cynic who types these words, I actively campaigned for George McGovern hoping not to become another victim of "Uncle Sam's Blues." (A favorite Jefferson Airplane tune and Hot Tuna harbinger). Thus began my descent from idealistic activist to realistic curmudgeon, and my penchant for backing hopeless presidential candidates.

Ten presidential election cycles later, the prospect of another fills me with bile. My years in the gaming industry taught me to recognize a fixed game when I see one. This quadrennial flim-flam engineered by power-brokers and monied interests doesn't even display the panache of a good confidence game.

The terms confidence game and confidence man, later shortened to con man, date to the mid-1800s and a William Thompson. He would gain people's confidence and hold money, watches, jewelry in safekeeping never to be seen again. He provided inspiration for Herman Melville's last novel, The Confidence-Man. Critics consider this to be a precursor of the nihilistic, absurdist style of the 20th Century.

Another 19th Century scammer was George Parker. He has gone down in history as the man who sold the Brooklyn Bridge...multiple times. He also peddled Grant's Tomb and the Statue of Liberty. Parker was so convincing that many who bought the bridge did not realize they were hoodwinked until the authorities stopped them from setting up toll booths.

A 20th Century swindler, who would fit right in with current political candidates is Gaston Means. He took the confidence game to a national level working for the Bureau of Investigation (pre- FBI), and the uber-corrupt Harding administration.

When one of his confidence games was uncovered, Gaston would unabashedly claim innocence and worm his way out of trouble. He once ingratiated himself with an heiress. She began to suspect something was afoot. So Means took her hunting, and she ended up dead. Despite expert testimony, he beat the rap.

Eventually these flim-flam men received their just desserts. Alas, I can not say the same for today's politician schemers. I guess only duly-elected crimes pay. As ever - BB

“Political language. . . is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.” - George Orwell

The Public House

During this country's earliest days, the public house was the center of the community. It served many purposes: tavern-restaurant-community hall-post office-information center-et.al. The baby boom, the federal highway system and the inception of suburbs filled with Pete Seegar's ticky-tacky houses sounded the death knell of the pub's importance to the community.

When I moved to Fells Point, the amount of local barss staggered me - first figuratively, later literally. Repeated visits gave insight to each establishment's disposition. Some catered to locals and had its stalwart regulars; others tried to attract tourists and imbibers from the outer counties. 

During the ensuing decade and a half, the look of Fells Point has changed. As the neighborhood wrestles with gentrification; many of the older places find themselves displaced. I know many who bemoan the departure of established local watering holes. As the Merry Pranksters counseled, Nothing Lasts. 

While I don't normally use my musings and doggerel as a bully pulpit, I want to extol DogWatch Tavern as it approaches its first anniversary. This is not a typical Fells Point bar. It offers a fine menu which changes seasonally. It has a sports-viewing area with couches and cushioned chairs.  It has other trappings that should make a Fells Point local cringe, i.e. beer pong played with a volley ball and 5-gallon buckets.

While the accoutrements may not elicit a locals' feel, the staff does. Everyone who works there makes you feel like it's your bar. Just a few weeks before they opened, I talked to one of the owners. She told me she wanted to have a tavern where the locals could feel at home. To quote a badly-timed attempt at a political rallying cry - Mission Accomplished.

Located at 709 S. Broadway, you should check it out and see for yourself. While they do not stock Green Chartreuse, they can introduce you to an interesting libation called a Powerball - as ever - BB

"There is nothing which has yet to be contrived by man by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern or inn." - Dr. Samuel Johnson

Musical Brotherhood

Music filled my childhood. On the old monaural record player, Mom played show tunes and Irish folk music, and Dad played Mr. Aker Bilk and Jerry Murad & the Harmonicats. Those are some of my earliest memories.

When I was 5 or 6, my sister took piano lessons. Somewhere along the line, she had guitar lessons too. Her failed attempts thwarted any chance I had at lessons. But formalized lessons would not  have worked for me either. By age 12, I took an old nylon-string from the attic. About the same time, a family friend bequeathed me a 4-string tenor banjo.

Armed with a Mel Bay tenor banjo chord book and a guitar book, 12 Bob Dylan Hits Playable with Three Magic Chords, my personal musical odyssey began. By 14, I was playing in a jug band at family parties and church coffee houses. By 19, I was playing in pick-up bands. Actually playing is hyperbole. I was awful, yet fearless.

When I reached my 20s, I relinquished any idea of performing live. By then I had the guitar which is still my favorite, a C.F. Martin D-18. During the ensuing 30-plus years I just played with myself (oh, grow up; pun NOT intended) treating the guitar as a hobby.

I moved to Fells Point in 1997, but didn't embrace the music scene until I met my muse. She was the impetus that overcame the inertia and got me performing again. But it was not she alone. The encouragement and support of Fells Point's extraordinary brotherhood of musicians sustained my recital renaissance.

Billy Thomson, Larry Dennis, Rudy Strukoff, Ken Gutberlet, Dave Miller, Joey Fulkerson, Chris McAfee, Johnny Smooth, Ed Schoberl, and so many others have lent both moral and tangible support. They unselfishly provided the hardware I sorely lacked - mics, stands, speakers, PAs, etc. I don't even have to ask. Once a gig is announced, they inquire as to what I need and what they can do. It's truly heartwarming.

But the support doesn't end with the musicians. Donna at Leadbetters, Ana Marie and Tony at Cat's Eye proffer their venues graciously. Their generosity and hard work are indispensable in fostering the neighborhood's music scene. Equally important are the friends who attend the shows. You have no idea how much your presence means to me.

To all of you, I want to offer my deepest and most sincere thanks. Without you I would still be playing with myself. Okay that one was intended because this was getting a little maudlin. As ever - BB

"Like family, we are tied to each other. This is what all good musicians understand." - Billy Joel