And Counting

Today I begin my seventh decade on this big, blue marble. I remember sitting in Sister Concepta's class in 1965. She was explaining years becoming decades becoming centuries. Sister stressed that the 21st century begins on 2001, not 2000, since there was no year zero. I did the math realizing I would be 47 at the beginning of the next century, and thought that I'd never get to be that old. At age eleven, 47 seemed ancient.

As the years progressed, my awareness of life's ephemerality strengthened. Originally, the target date for my demise was 27 like Robert Johnson, Ron "Pigpen" McKernan, et.al. That goal passed, and my sights set on 32, the age the real life Dr. Gonzo, Oscar Zeta Acosta, thought would be his end point. Acosta made it to 39 before his disappearance and alleged death. Time for me, like the de Rochemont brothers' old newsreel, marched on with no end in sight.

Despite my best efforts to live as dissolute a life as possible, the years paraded past. Yet now with six decades of polluted water under my ramshackle bridge, I feel younger and healthier than I have in a long time.

Why, you may ask. I ponder the same question on a daily basis. Clean living and pure thoughts...that obviously isn't it. Genetics explains some of it. But I believe my true fountain of youth springs from the well of friendship with which I have been blessed.

It begins with my muse, Kristin. She got me back to playing music and writing. Without her support, I would not be playing guitar in public, nor writing this blog. My family has always been there despite the fact that I often take them for granted. Then there is the fraternity and sisterhood of musicians in Fells Point and beyond. Their support and encouragement to this old folkie has been heartwarming. Akin to them are the fellow vagabonds and
denizens of my neighborhood.

Paradoxically, the most recent two groups are among the oldest. In the past few months I have reconnected with compadres from prep school and college. These soul mates have rekindled a friendship and brotherhood that complete my circle of life.

To all of you, I humbly express my most heartfelt thanks. In the words of the old Christian hymn, will the circle be unbroken, by and by lord, by and by.  As ever - BB

"Some may never live, but the crazy never die." - Hunter S. Thompson

Dark Side of Gonzo

Last night I saw For No Good Reason, a documentary about Ralph Steadman. My first exposure to him was through his illustration work with Hunter S. Thompson. The title of the documentary comes from a response Hunter usually gave Ralph when asked about why they were attempting some bizarre assignment.

Steadman felt that whether it was the Kentucky Derby, the America Cup Race, the Foreman/Ali fight in Zaire, or the Honolulu Marathon, the plan was to disrupt, fool around and generally malign the participants and spectators at the event. They could be mean, almost cruel, and that was the dark side of gonzo. His artwork portrayed that darkness.

Unfortunately for most, the illustration of Thompson's work and maybe his Flying Dog beer labels comprise the extent of their Steadman knowledge. He is much more prodigious than that. I strongly urge you to find his illustrated editions of Alice in Wonderland, and Treasure Island. Experience his biting political satire through his work in Punch and Private Eye. His graphic, brutal honesty and biting ridicule lambast the greed-heads to use one of Hunter's terms.


Several birthdays ago, a friend gave me his book, Doodaa. It's an interesting fictional autobiographical biography about Gavin Twinge. This book showed me that gonzo owes as much to the illustrator as the writer. I consider myself as bull-goose looney as most deranged denizens of disturbia. This book revealed my amateur status.

Watching the documentary, I discovered his autobiography of Leonardo DaVinci, I Leonardo. It dumbfounded me that I had never heard of this book despite that fact that it was written over three decades ago. I delight in discovering treasure and look forward to experiencing this work of art.

The depth and vibrancy of Steadman's art transcend the experience of reading a book. His work truly adds the dimension of dementia. For that reason, I would not consider him a cartoonist or illustrator. Picasso said an artist was a receptacle for emotions. Viewing the amalgamation of emotions evoked by Steadman's work, one cannot deny that he is truly an artist. As ever - BB

"Stop doing those filthy scribblings, Ralph! You'll get us thrown out." - Hunter Thompson to Ralph Steadman during their first assignment at the Kentucky Derby.