Compliments of the Season!

I planned on writing a blog about interesting Christmas facts, but most of them had already been addressed in previous holiday musings:

Weird Christmas movies like 1964's Santa Claus Conquers the Martians & 1955's We're No Angels

Bizarre Christmas traditions like Austria's Krampus, Iceland's Christmas witch, Gryla, or the  Catalan traditional figurine, the Caganer. This is a peasant wearing the traditional Catalan red cap who is hidden in the Nativity scene squatting to defecate. The child who finds it receives candy.

The Catholic Church's using pagan winter festivals of Saturnalia, Solstice and Yule to create a holy day in December even though Christ's birth was probably in Spring.

The legend of Santa Claus emerging from the amalgam of St. Nicholas and Odin thanks to Washington Irving and Clement Clark Moore...

So, I will forgo more trivial, yet interesting morsels for a Christmas blog. What I will do, is take this time to offer all of you the compliments of the season. As ever - BB

"Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before! What if Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!” - Dr. Seuss

"Christmas is a season for kindling the fire for hospitality in the hall, the genial flame of charity in the heart." - Washington Irving

"But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!'" - Clement Clark Moore

Meteoric Rise

Scientists estimate that about 15,000 tons of meteoric debris enter our atmosphere each year. The other night, despite the city's light pollution, I saw a falling star. It brought to mind several human meteors who blazed their path across the musical skies.

A band's or musician's first album usually holds a special place for me. There's something about that fragile not yet validated musical vision. Each of the meteors I am about to discuss showed this fragility, both in their music and in themselves.


August 1967, scouring the record bins at Jerry's Records on Market Street in Philadelphia, I came across The Piper at the Gates of Dawn. I liked the kaleidoscopic cover and recognized the title from The Wind in the Willows. Having not heard a note, I bought the album. To use the parlance of the period, it blew my mind.

Pink Floyd proceeded to make more music, but virtually without any input from Syd Barrett. A preponderance of LSD, combined with what some diagnosed as schizophrenia, drove him out of the music industry and into seclusion.

That same year, Moby Grape released their first, eponymous album. During the recording of their second album in New York City, Skip Spence ingested a large amount of LSD. Convinced something evil was brewing, Spence attempted to chop down a band member's door with a fire axe. His mission was to kill his friend to save him from himself. Thankfully he was unsuccessful.

After some time in The Tombs followed by a stay at Bellevue, Skip drove a motorcycle to Nashville where he recorded Oar. He wrote the entire album during his confinement in NYC. In the studio, he played all the instruments and sang all the vocals. The record is an interesting chronicle of a man on the precipice of sanity. Or insanity - take you pick. Spence spent the remainder of his life in California mired in mental illness, drugs and alcohol.

Many know little of Fleetwood Mac before Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham joined the band in 1975. But the band formed in 1967 (there's that year again) as a blues outfit. One of the founders was Peter Green. Relatively unknown when he took Eric Clapton's place in John Mayall's Bluesbreakers, he quickly became a blues guitar icon.

For several years, Green's guitar playing and songwriting in Fleetwood Mac flourished. One of his songs, Black Magic Woman, became a hit for Santana. Alas, that insidious substance, LSD, combined with mental illness led another astray.

All three of these individuals created beautiful music. Did the chemicals fuel or diminish their creativity? Did their mental instability exacerbate or diminish their productivity? In an interview in the 80s, Ken Kesey discussed LSD. He said the drug triggered ideas and ways of thinking that were latent in us. Once awoken, this "new thinking" opened pathways for human creativity that centurys of civilization had smothered.

Nothing that earth-shattering comes without a cost. Unfortunately the cost for some, especially those with certain preexisting chemical imbalances can be exorbitant. Many of our generation, as well as many who came before and after, battled demons both internal and external.  Some survive and alas, some do not.

Like the fleeting glimpse of a meteor in the night's sky, these three flashed across the musical firmament. Unlike a meteor, their flashes were recorded on vinyl and can still be enjoyed. Res Ipsa Loquitur. As ever - BB

"No mind has ever existed without a touch of madness." - Aristotle

My Favorite Bartender

I must admit that bartenders occupy a special place in my heart. Before jumping to the conclusion that I have spent my life as a wastrel and barfly, allow me to expound upon this declaration.

I never knew either of my grandfathers. However, my maternal grandmother had five brothers. These great-uncles had a strong influence on my formative years. I always called them "uncle" and will refer to them that way for the remainder of this musing.

One, Uncle Dan had moved to Connecticut before I was born, and I only met him a few times.  Two were Roman Catholic priests. Uncle Joe was the pastor of the parish in which I grew up. He helped me learn the Latin needed to be an altar boy and instructed me on public speaking. He wanted me to be a priest. Uncle John was a brown Franciscan. He introduced me to philosophy and literature. He thought I should be an academic. Uncle Bill was the ultimate salesman. He stressed having a firm handshake, looking people in the eye, and treating everyone with respect. He wanted me to be a lawyer.

Uncle Jim was a bartender for almost 50 years, most of those tending bar at the corner of 15th and Market Streets in Philadelphia. On that site today is the 45-foot steel clothespin for which Philadelphia is famous. That bar, due to it's proximity to City Hall, catered to judges, lawyers and politicians. Uncle Jim knew them all, and others whose dealings with City Hall were more nefarious. Wanted a parking ticket fixed, had a zoning issue with the city, had to place a bet on a sporting event or needed tickets to said event? Uncle Jim knew a guy who knew a guy.

I never felt he was trying to teach me anything. We'd talk, laugh and I could just be me. Back then, I wasn't sure who "me" was, but I now realize that the "me" I am owes much to him. It was Uncle Jim to whom I was closest. So much so that I took, James, for my Confirmation name and asked him to be my sponsor. He died two weeks before my Confirmation. It's hard to believe I was 11 years old when he passed.


He'd tell me, "Billy, my brother (I knew he meant Uncle Joe) tells me that I should mend my ways and walk the straighter path. All I do is introduce friends to other friends and try to help them out while serving drinks. There's nothing wrong in that. I never take any money, but it does help my tips. Besides, that straighter path is very boring." His ruddy Irish visage beaming, he'd wink as he put his index finger to the side of his nose. That was his signal to show what was said was our secret; I wasn't to tell my parents. Years later when I saw The Sting, tears came to my eyes when the con-artists in the movie used "our secret gesture."

Even though I was very young when he died, I cherish Uncle Jim's anecdotes. Most would not be seen as appropriate for a child. That made them all the more special. He didn't treat me like a kid, or a student, but as a person.  Because of him, I hold bartenders in high esteem. I see him as the ersatz patron saint of bartenders. 

Using Plato's Theory of Forms, James Aloysius McIntyre was the ideal of the bartender whom the shadows in reality strive to mimic. As ever - BB

"Will there be any bartender up there in Heaven; will the pubs never close? - Richard Thompson

World Philosophy Day

In 2002, the United Nations established World Philosophy Day on the third Thursday in November. What do you think about that? Why do you think about that? How do you think about that? Do you think? Is it worth thinking about? Or is it all being and nothingness? While that may sound confusing to some and meaningless to others, it fascinates me.

Philosophy comes from the Greek meaning love of wisdom. Many think it wiser to ignore the pedantic musings of how and why we think. Life is for living, not for reflecting. From my first exposure to thought and reasoning, I was hooked like a rockfish nipping at a thumper squid jig.

For me it began with
epistemology. How do we know? We use our senses - sight, sound, touch, smell and taste. But those can be fooled. Echoes and optical illusions are only two examples. Perhaps all our sensuous experiences mislead us. Yes sensuous, not sensual, but that gets into semantics which is more of a linguistic issue. However, linguistics overlaps into logic.

This illustrates what I love about philosophy. The answer is never the answer. A philosophical
discussion's goal is not solution. The goal is more discussion, debate and conjecture. Truly a luxury for the loquacious; a treat for the talkative, an entertainment for the expansive. Metaphysics, ontology, eschatology, ethics, invite all to a dialogue. No wrong answer exists. Though Woody Allen admitted to failing a metaphysics exam for cheating. He looked into the soul of the person next to him.

The horrors of industrialization and war at the dawn of the 20th century opened the philosophical world to nihilism, existentialism, absurdism, et al. My personal introduction to those disciplines corresponded with my exposure to the philosophies of the Far East, Vedanta, Nyaya, Buddhism, Zen, etc. Those opened a world of thought alien to my experience, yet the ideas struck a harmonious chord in my psyche.

This musing is not meant as an introduction to philosophy, but a nod to today as World Philosophy Day. Not matter what you believe, remember that others may share a different view on why we are here. Just some food for thought. As ever - BB

"Compared to your scream/The human dream/Doesn't mean shit to a tree" - Paul Kantner & Grace Slick, Eskimo Blue Day

Epiphany

With All Hallow's Eve past and Thanksgiving approaching, I had an epiphany. No, nothing to do with the holiday commemorating the manifestation of Christ to the Magi. I use the term referring to a sudden revelation or insight.

Throughout my life, I have had several epiphanies, but the latest came closest to a religious experience. The explanation for the latest occurrence requires some background.

Growing up as a Roman Catholic, my bible reading came from the canonical text. I did not experience the King James Version until my teens. This beautifully written bible was impetus to my study of the authorship of the sacred text.

The old testament was written in Hebrew, the new testament in Aramaic, the language spoken by Jesus. Those were translated into Greek. Multiple gospels were written, most learned through oral tradition and transcribed later from memory. As the early church developed its bureaucracy, the need to codify and homogenize the bible grew. Several councils met to determine what to include and what to omit. Greek translated into Latin, translated into other languages aided by the printing press created an amalgam of the holy word.

By the 17th century, King James VI & I...more confusion...the King James of bible renown was VI of England and Ireland becoming James I when Scotland united with the other two creating Great Britain. So when Jimmie six-and-one requested a new translation a multitude of bibles existed. Groups of scholars studied texts in many languages, translated and retranslated them into English over a seven year period to produce the King James Bible.

As I studied the origins of the bible, the Apocrypha and other variatons, a flummoxed fog descended. I could not comprehend people who espoused a literal belief in the bible. Which translation was the actual word of God?

Back to my epiphany. The world gets crazier and crazier each year. I used to chalk it up to my increased grumpiness begat from the aging process. But now I realize why the world seems increasingly insane. The creation story of man in the bible is literal. Despite the abridged history of my personal study of bible translations above, I now believe there were one Adam and one Eve.

We all spring from the same ancestors. Mankind is inbred. Throughout the millennia, repeated procreation among the family of man corrupted our species into a vile, violent breed. Ergo, each and every one of us are genetically impaired. All our attempts at creating a better, more peaceful world has been in vain.

Looking at both the ancient and modern history of this planet, it seems so obvious. As ever - BB

“But I'm Crazy. I swear to God I am.” - J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

1959

In June of 1959, I turned five years old; in September I began kindergarten. Those few details highlight that year in my memory. However, recently I came across a documentary done in 2009 entitled 1959: The Year that Changed Jazz. The film describes four albums released that year. My amazement came from the fact that each album is among my personal favorites. Yet I never realized they all were made in the same year.

Those albums were Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, Time Out by Dave Brubeck, Mingus Ah Um by Charles Mingus and The Shape of Jazz to Come by Ornette Coleman. I originally purchased each of these in vinyl and poured over the liner notes as I always did. I still can't believe that I never took notice of the albums' release dates.

For clarity's sake, I didn't obtain said records at the time of release. While I enjoy giving the impression that while my counterparts innocently played with slinkys and jacks, I was in my room surrounded by Beat Generation writings, wearing a beret and grooving over the latest in cutting edge Jazz. That is not the case. Over a decade would pass until my exploration into Jazz began.

Time Out uses different time signatures on each track. The album was extremely experimental. Critics claimed it would be only listened to in music schools. It was an album for academics, but  would never be accepted by a Jazz audience, let alone become a cross over into the pop market. They were wrong. Take Five from Brubeck's Time Out may be one of the most recognized Jazz numbers. The album was the first Jazz record to sell over a million copies, and Take Five  is still the best selling Jazz single in history. Incredible considering the album's concept and initial reviews.


Kind of Blue marked the shift from hard bop to a music based
entirely on modalities. As opposed to the critics' apprehension of Brubeck's 1959 offering, Miles' album was heralded as one of the best and most significant Jazz recordings. Davis went on to become an iconic musician known for changing his style and embracing new concepts. This album is still ranked among his best.


Charlie Mingus was known for his volatile temper and his mastery of the bass. A prodigy,  he played bass for many jazz legends. Mingus Ah Um highlighted his composition genius. The entire record is excellent, but his elegy to sax player, Lester Young is a personal favorite of mine. They say a song can be deemed a classic if it can transcend its genre. The acoustic guitar version of the elegy, Good Bye Porkpie Hat, by John Renbourn and Bert Jansch validates that belief. The song was given lyrics by both Joni Mitchell and Rahsaan Roland Kirk on their respective albums.


I saved the most controversial for last, The Shape of Jazz to Come. Some hailed it as the most innovative Jazz since Be-Bop. Others opined that it was nothing but atonal noise. By the time I became aware of this album in my late teens, I was already a fan of the experimental music and theatrics of Sun-Ra. His unique sound prepared me for Ornette's unconventional, off-beat music. This album shows the bravery and genius of Ornette Coleman and his quartet. Their dedication to play music they wanted regardless of popularity or critical distain is laudable.

Since watching the documentary, I have listened to all four of the albums. The fact that all of these came out the same year amazes me. 1959 means so much more to me now than just the year I started kindergarten. As ever - BB

"By and large, jazz has always been like the kind of a man you wouldn’t want your daughter to associate with." - Duke Ellington

The Prism

Particles of light travel at different speeds. A beam of light through a prism refract these various wavelengths producing the colors of the spectrum. As white light appears to be a single beam to the naked eye, so do I.  Others see only a single being that they perceive as Bill, the person. Through introspection, I see the prism-like fraction of my psyche. Allow me to illuminate.

Using words from Rod Serling's, The Twilight Zone, prepare to enter the "dimension of imagination." My life shined through an existence prism shows the following beams:

The Monk - yes hard as it is for some to comprehend, the monastic life appeals to me. Not a priest mind you, but a friar dedicated to reflection and knowledge. The idea of quiet meditation and hours poring over classical tomes appeals to my contemplative side.

The Librarian - basically a offshoot of the monk, spending days in a quiet building stocked with books filled with the literature, ideas and art accumulated through the ages compels me.

The Libertine - seemingly the antithesis of the previous two life beams, part of me truly desires to flaunt all conventions, mores and restraints upon which society has shackled us. This stream springs from the poetry of Baudelaire and Rimbaud, the writings of the Beats, Hunter S. Thompson and Oscar Zeta Acosta. Part deranging of senses to achieve enlightenment and part the exhilaration of ingesting poisons to allow one's self  to uninhibitedly let loose and raise hell.


The Dandy - over the years, I have developed a personal style of well-tailored suits, french-cuffed dress shirts, silk ties and polished oxfords. I truly enjoy "putting on the Ritz."

The Derelict - again, a yin/yang relationship to the above. I find allure in the underside of society, the world of thieves, junkies, prostitutes and drunks. I remember the feeling of fear mixed with exhilaration the first time I walked into a seedy, dangerous bar.  To fit in and mingle with ease required a tattered, disheveled appearance.  I spent many hours in disreputable establishments seeking pearls of wisdom among decrepit oysters.

Other bands of personality separated by the "existence prism" include the jock, the musician, the writer, the ladies man, the loyal friend, the procrastinator and the ruffian.

To continue the classic TV allusion, jumping from The Twilight Zone to The Outer Limits, "We now return control of your television set to you. " As ever - BB

"The poet becomes a seer through a long, immense, and reasoned derangement of all the senses. All shapes of love, suffering, madness. He searches himself, he exhausts all poisons in himself, to keep only the quintessences." - Arthur Rimbaud