In 2001 Bill
Tapia took one of his guitars to a Southern California music shop
to get it fixed. A woman was buying a ukulele, and Mr. Tapia asked to
see it. He began playing it, masterfully, with a distinctive jazz
inflection.
“Hey, who are you?” the store’s owner asked.
If Mr. Tapia could have seen the future, he might have answered, “Duke
of Uke,” the title of an album he recorded in 2005 at the age of 97.
But at the time, he knew only that he was sad that his daughter and
wife had recently died in quick succession, and that playing the
ukulele felt good.
Mr. Tapia, who died on Dec. 2 at the age of 103, first played the
instrument as an 8-year-old street musician, then went on to become one
of Hawaii’s premier young ukulele players in the 1920s and ’30s. But
after World
War II he switched to the guitar to get jobs playing jazz, his
favorite kind of music, gave away his ukuleles and for a half-century
had almost nothing to do with the instrument that had defined his youth
and middle age.
Then something astonishing happened: Mr. Tapia was “discovered” as a
ukulele virtuoso at a time when the instrument was having a resurgence
of popularity. He became a ukulele star, twice making the Top 10 on the
jazz charts, wowing concertgoers by playing the ukulele behind his head
à la Jimi Hendrix, and making three albums — one of which
honored his 100th birthday.
He was elected to the Ukulele
Hall of Fame.
“Bill Tapia has been involved with the ukulele, jazz and Hawaiian music
perhaps longer than any other living person,” the Hall of Fame said
when it inducted him.
His daughter, Cleo, and wife, Barbie, died in 2001. He is survived by
grandchildren, great-grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren.
William Tapia was born in Honolulu on New Year’s Day 1908. He fell in
love with Hawaiian music listening to sugarcane workers play. He bought
his first ukulele at 7 for 75 cents from one of the first men to make
them commercially. His father abandoned the family the next year, and
young Bill dropped out of school to collect tips as a street musician.
At 10 he came up with his own version of “Stars and Stripes Forever,”
which he played for troops headed for duty in the last months of World
War I. At 12 he played vaudeville. At 16 he worked on luxury liners. At
19 he performed at nightclubs and speakeasies in Hollywood and at
parties at the home of Charlie Chaplin. At 21 he sat in with Louis
Armstrong’s band at a Los Angeles nightclub. By this time he was
playing the banjo and guitar, in addition to the ukulele, and was
moving between Hawaii and the mainland.
When the Royal Hawaiian Hotel staged its grand opening in 1927, Mr.
Tapia played ukulele in the orchestra. He was the only one of the
original musicians to return for the hotel’s 75th anniversary — and its
80th. The second two times were better, he said: he got fed.
In 1933, the Royal Hawaiian hired him to drive one of its touring cars
— a yellow-and-blue seven-passenger Packard — to ferry the wealthy and
famous to scenic spots. He played the ukulele for his passengers and
threw in a lesson for anyone interested. His pupils included Jimmy
Durante, Shirley Temple and the stars of the Our Gang comedies.
He even claimed to have taught a lick or two to Arthur Godfrey, whose
ukulele playing on television sparked the instrument’s popularity in
the 1950s.
During World War II, Mr. Tapia organized entertainment for serviceman
in Honolulu. After the war, he moved to the San Francisco area and
devoted himself to the guitar, and to jazz. The big bands and combos
with which he played had no use for ukuleles.
More than 55 years later, Alyssa Archambault was researching the
background of her great-great-grandfather, a steel guitar player in
Hawaii, and approached Mr. Tapia. She had been a disc jockey and
promoter, and was captivated by Mr. Tapia’s music and his story. She
got him in touch with professional ukulele players. They thought he had
died years ago, but were awed at what they heard.
He released his first album, “Tropical Swing,” in 2004, when he was 96,
and “Duke of Uke” the next year, both on the small Moon Room label. A
live recording of his 100th-birthday concert at the historic Warner
Grand Theater in San Pedro, Calif., was released this June.
He played concerts regularly, delighting audiences with songs like
“Little Grass Shack.” The most recent was on Feb. 11 — not counting his
regular gig at a local senior center, the last of which was only
several weeks ago.
Mr. Tapia had a line that never failed to impress audiences: “Here’s a
song I performed during World War I.”
MARY
KATHERINE'S BLOB
I guess I should make it clear at the beginning that this "blob" (so called because it's formless, shapeless and has no content) isn't a regularly scheduled event. I make sporadic notes here when the spirit moves me, when it's not too hot or too cold, when I have something to say, when the planets are in the right alignment, etc. When it gets too long, I delete the oldest entries; ahhh, how ephemeral is life. If I don't post every day it does NOT mean that I'm dead. :-)
May 12
RIP Duck Dunn.
Lost a(nother) good friend this week. That's how it happens; you blink, and they’re gone. Take a breath in, and they take a breath out and are gone in that heartbeat of time. Thomas Henry “Hal” Freeland III died of a heart attack at age 82 at his home in Oxford, MS. Just sitting talking quietly to his wife Judy, and in an instant he was gone. I hadn’t seen Hal for awhile; the last time I was in Oxford, a year ago February, he wasn’t in the law office when I went by to visit Tom and Joyce. I fell hopelessly in love with him the minute I met him, however many years ago that was – twenty? more? – because that courtly-Southern-gentleman-lawyer thing that he had going on just charmed me into instant friendship. I loved talking to him – all those Freeland boys have voices like warm maple syrup, and Hal’s Mississippi drawl was the best because he was the oldest. When his son Robert died the voice got a little bit raspier, but he still stood up every time I entered his office and he still pulled out chairs and opened doors for me and asked after my kids as if they and I were the most important things he could possibly want to talk about right at that moment. He was a big man with a big laugh and a straight wide open innocent stare that said he had nothing to hide, although of course he did. And I can’t believe he’s gone, just like that; I blinked, and he died, and that’s all there’s ever going to be.
Josh and Kate have decided that Eiza will be starting school this September; she'll be three in August, and there's a Montessori school near their house. Wow, my baby girl is starting school!
Next Sunday (the 20th) I'll be emceeing the Topanga Banjo Fiddle Contest - they'll be dedicating the beginners stage to the late Frank Javorsek, a lovely gesture.
The kids all took me out for a great Mothers's Day dinner a couple of days early. Friends, most of my time these days is spent with Eliza or at work, leaving little time any more to tend to this blob. I'll write when I can.
April 13
Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer are in town, and last night we all went to the Magic Castle together; my pal Mark came over that afternoon and we all met up at the Castle for dinner. We saw a couple of good magic shows, which made it a later night than I like on a weeknight, but this morning I didn't have to go to work; my good friend Ed Archer's mother Thelma died last week at 103 (!) and today was her funeral. The weather was certainly appropriate; pouring really hard with rain and very gloomy, perfect for a funeral. Tomorrow I will have my darling Eliza overnight, and then on Sunday morning I'm taking her to breakfast and then to McCabe's, where Cathy and Marcy are doing a childrens concert, before returning her to her parents.
April 3
Here's a story and some video of my friend Peter Feldmann paying a visit to Earl and Louise Scruggs in their home - Peter got to play Uncle Dave Macon's banjo!
April 2
Sunday was a busy day; Mark came over early and we went out to Pasadena to the swap meet, where we immediately ran into Billy Vera, who was clutching a handful of 45s. I really didn't think there WERE any records Billy didn't already own! During our wanderings we found a lap steel guitar that had once been owned by a musician I remembered from the late 60s or early 70s, John Forsha, whose widow was selling off a few of his instruments. I got a chance to visit with her a little bit and she refreshed my dim memory of him; I remembered that he had played on Fred Neil's "Dolphins" album, because I went to the sessions at Capitol, and I had seen his name on Judy Henske's High Flying Bird LP and on Tim Buckley's debut on Elektra. On the way home I said to Mark, "You know, I think he played on a Stone Poneys session, too." And I checked when we got home, and I was right, there he was! Mark took the lap steel home to his place, gave it a new set of strings, and wrote a little tune for it. Anyhow, after the swap meet we went to a Thai Music and Culture Festival - Hollywood Blvd. was blocked off from Western to Normandie and there were booths, stages, food, etc. Rather than deal with traffic and parking, we had Jennifer run us down the hill to the Metro station at Hollywood and Vine, got off one exit later at Hollywood and Western and there we were! I had the *best* mango and sticky rice I've ever tasted, and took some photos which, you're tired of hearing about this, I can't figure out how to post here. Got home from that, put my feet up for ten minutes and then went right back out again. Jim and I had dinner at Astroburger the other night, and during the meal our pal Ian Whitcomb turned up to join us; he had an appointment that got cancelled and found himself at loose ends, so he drifted over to hang out with us. We had a lovely visit together, and he reminded me about his upcoming Cantalini's gig, so last night I went out there. Had the usual really good Italian food and the usual really fun Ian music; half the meal ended up coming home and being my lunch today. Us Italians are all about the big portions!
We are figuring out Easter; the holiday really belongs to Kate's parents, who are devout Catholics and go to church and so forth on that important day, so I will keep Eliza overnight the night before, and after she falls asleep I'll pretend to be the Easter Bunny and hide a few eggs for her to find early Sunday morning before Josh and Kate come to get her and they all go off to spend the day with Kate's family. Not real eggs, since she is allergic to eggs, but chocolate marshmallow bunnies or whatever I can pick up this coming week. Farther on up the road, as Bobby Blue Bland used to say, we have a family day planned at the end pf this month at the House of Mouse. Jennifer and Bruce, Josh and Kate and I will all take Eliza there for a day - it takes five adults to ride herd on her when she gets to racing around. She is looking forward to visiting with her close girlfriends Daisy Duck and Minnie Mouse.
March 29
Well, the trip report is done, but I am having a hard time posting photos. If I can't sort it out myself I'll send up a flag and Claire will come and help me.
Meanwhile, it has been a time of bad news and hard losses. My old friend Frank Javorsek died of a heart attack this week; I first met him when we both did radio shows on KCSN back in the late 1970s. I am shocked and saddened. Many generations of music students passed through his capable hands; I have strong memories of Frank at both the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest and the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddler's Convention, shepherding his students on and off the contest stage and backing them up on guitar when needed. Another old bluegrass buddy, Doug Dillard, is in Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville, semi-conscious and intubated, suffering from emphysema. And the great Earl Scruggs passed away; a most wonderful opening paragraph of a story by Steve Martin, published earlier this year in The New Yorker, describes him so perfectly:
Some nights he had the stars of North Carolina shooting from his fingertips. Before him, no one had ever played the banjo like he did. After him, everyone played the banjo like he did, or at least tried. In 1945, when he first stood on the stage at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville and played banjo the way no one had heard before, the audience responded with shouts, whoops, and ovations. He performed tunes he wrote as well as songs they knew, with clarity and speed like no one could imagine, except him. When the singer came to the end of a phrase, he filled the theatre with sparkling runs of notes that became a signature for all bluegrass music since. He wore a suit and a Stetson hat, and when he played he smiled at the audience like what he was doing was effortless. There aren’t many earthquakes in Tennessee, but that night there was.
Sunday was our annual Party Gras, and despite a storm that wouldn't have been out of place in New Orleans, many friends splashed their way to our doorstep in the pouring rain to eat jambalaya, wear the silly Mardi Gras beads I passed out, and help celebrate our family birthday party with us. Jennifer came over a couple of days before and helped clean, and everyone pitched in to make it happen. It was lovely.
My hillside cafe, radically renovated, has reopened. But I haven't been there, and most likely won't go back. Jim has reported in, as has Jennifer, that the food is very good but the ambience has been totally destroyed; it's no longer the cozy local cafe with slightly chintzy old-fashioned decor; it's now industrial-looking, stripped to bare floors and bare walls (I am told it's very LOUD in there now) and has no warmth at all. So Jim and I go to Astroburger, an inconvenient distance away, and when we do crosswords now, it's here at my place. Changes, changes.
March 12
I'm home - and it was great. Will write a long "trip report' and post some photos here as soon as I can get everything organized. Before then, however, mountains of laundry are staring at me. You know how that goes.
January 25
Very sad news today. My old friend Dick Kniss passed away; he was the longtime (40+ years) rock-solid bassist for Peter, Paul & Mary, and also did about ten years as John Denver's road bassist while PP&M were on hiatus. He was one of the nicest people I ever knew, and will be greatly missed.
Good things are happening in radio land. You can all go back to listening to KPFK on Saturday mornings; a whole bunch of my pals are hosting shows in the old Alive & Picking slot, taking turns - Tom Nixon, Ben Elder, Mark Humphrey, John and Deanne Davis, and I hope one other (still waiting to hear about that one). I'm really pleased that it all worked out.
NAMM was great! Ran into a bunch of old friends, heard lots of plucking and strumming and so forth - my feet hurt and my ears are ringing, but it was worth it! Will try to upload a photo here but have been having a struggle with it lately.
Now: do NOT worry if I don't write very often any more. Getting ready to leave on my trip soon, and also working on THREE writing projects that must all be done before I go. So, you know. I'll be baaaaack.
January 14
I really like this whole retirement-from-radio thing, and have now extended it further; for over a decade I've been running an internet blues music discussion group, and I've decided to retire from that too. A pal who runs a smiliar music-related mailing list is going to take over running the one I've been doing all this time. It's time to downsize my whole life, pretty much; I am actually starting to sell off my collection of books, records and memorabilia. It's money in my pocket right now, which is always useful, and in the longer term it means there's that much less "stuff" that the kids will have to deal with when That Time Comes.
Mark did the radio show this morning, and it was great! Glad to hear him back on the airwaves.
Going to the NAMM show in Anaheim next weekend; hope to run into some of my old pals there.
January 8, 2012
Yesterday was the first morning the alarm did not go off at 4 a.m. for the radio show. I didn't notice, of course, being asleep. When I did wake up at about 6:30, it was to find a small person burrowed tightly next to me under the covers, one tiny fist clutching the sleeve on my nightgown and the other holding her (stuffed) kitty. I watched the miracle of her breathing in and out for awhile, till she stretched, sat up and immediately, with no yawning wakeup period allowed, started chattering full tilt about what we were going to do that day. This, folks, is why I retired from the radio show. I would not have missed those precious early-morning minutes with this two-year-old angel (who, in case you hadn't noticed, has me completely wrapped) for anything you could offer me. She will only be two for a minute - we will only have a heartbeat of time in which to have splashy baths and hair combing and princess nightgowns and bedtime rituals together. Do I love the music? You betcha. Do I love her more? Don't even ask.
When her mommy came to pick her up we all went to breakfast together at Victor's; she inspected the science of pouring syrup into the open squares on grandma's waffles, then decided she was big enough to drink ice water out of a real glass. When we got that mopped up and she recovered from the shock of her ice water bath, we all read "The Monster at The End of This Book" (and how well I remember reading that exact same book to her daddy 34 years ago!) and then I was dropped off at home and started my day. Errands, shopping, and my big treat: a matinee bluegrass show! Loafers Glory sold out their evening show, so they added a 3:00 p.m. set, and I called Bob Stane at the Coffee Gallery and pleaded to be allowed to switch my ticket to the earlier start time. Loud cheers! They were great, as always, and even greater was the fact that I didn't have to make that long drive back home alone in the dark. I find that as I get older, driving in the dark become more and more challenging, so I am trying to cut it way back.
My pal Rex has some adorable little kittens he is trying to find homes for. If you know anyone who wants one (or two), let me know via email and I will forward it to him. He and the kittens are I think, in Pasadena/Altadena or thereabouts.
Trying to schedule our annual Party Gras, in order to have it in hand before I leave on my trip. Oh, I like the sound of that - let's say that again. Before I leave on my trip. I am leaving soon for my trip. Ahhhh. Memphis (folklore conference, barbecue, visiting friends) and New Orleans (food, music, music, food, food, music. Sleep, not so much.) And this year will be most special because not only is Tony coming over from London, but Josh, Kate and Eliza are coming too! Can't wait to take Eliza to the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas.
December 31
Disappointing news: Tony has decided not to come to L.A. for the Grammys after all, but is reverting to our original plan, and we will meet in Memphis and travel together to New Orleans, as in previous years. Sigh. Meanwhile, Neil's plans for a visit are proceeding on schedule.
Did my last radio show this morning. Last? Well, last for NOW anyhow. One never knows, do one, as Fats Waller used to say. Lots of nice calls and emails from listeners saying goodbye. As soon as I got home the kids brought Eliza over to play with me, and also brought my new "smart" phone, their Christmas gift. So far I have figured out how to program numbers into it, I think; at this point the phone is still smarter than I am but I expect that will turn around soon. Eliza and I have had a lovely day together, and she is now freshly bathed, wearing her Disney Princess nightgown, sitting on the futon in my office watching her perennial favorite, "Lady & the Tramp." At 8:59 we will turn on the New York Times Square celebrations, count backwards from ten, and retire peacefully to bed, looking forward to whatever adventures the new year may bring us.
December 27
Christmas was great! Josh did all the heavy cooking - a huge pot of spaghetti, a huge salad, and I made a pan of garlic bread. Apres djeuner, Eliza was the focus of attention, as she enthusiastically tore open all her presents. Her favorite, we think, was a Disney Princess tea set I gave her, with little cups and saucers and spoons and a teapot and a sugar and cream set, all in solid, unbreakable, very pink plastic. The kids gave me a cell phone - I know, I already HAVE a cell phone - however, this one, apparently, can waltz, count to a hundred, etc. as it is a "smart" phone. It may be smarter than I am - I don't know - it hasn't actually arrived yet. It's being shipped to Josh's office and will be here any minute now, providing it's smart enough to find its way to my house.
The epiphany du jour is that without the radio show, I no longer need to keep all these CDs. Many of them can go! Not all, of course - but I've started pulling stuff off shelves and putting it in stacks to sell off. Perhaps my daughter and her husband can be persuaded to load several boxes into the back of their giant vehicle and take them all down the hill to trade in at Amoeba Records after the holidays. I have *got* to get rid of the "but I might need this for something someday!" mentality that has made me the Clutter Queen of Hollywood. The kids have threatened to make me watch a show called "The Hoarders" or some such title, about people who have so much junk in their homes that they can't walk from room to room. I'm not THAT bad....yet....am I?
An old friend sent me a lovely Christmas gift in the mail, which is greatly appreciated. But even better was the kind note about our friendship that she wrote in the card. There are a handful of people in my life that I have known for a long time - Peter, of course, with whom I'll be celebrating our 50th "anniversary" this coming August. Berta, and Vicki, whom I've knows since Ash Grove days - the mid-60s, so that would be (hastily counting on fingers) 46-47 years now. Same for Chris Strachwitz, whom I met when he used to come into the club in the mid-60s, and I went to his 80th birthday party this past July. I first met Esther Crayton back in the late 60s when her late husband Pee Wee used to play at the Parisian Room regularly, and we've stayed friends all thsee years. And my friendship with Dick Waterman, who once mistook me for Jackie DeShannon - no, really! - is also well into its fourth decade. Jim O'Neal, let's see, we've known each other since the mid-70s sometime, so that would be...35 years? Mark, whom I met in the late 70s when he moved out here from Oklahoma - and we had been "pen pals" before that! And the friend who sent the card and gift, with whom I go back at least 35 years now. But that's not many; the older I get, of course, the more of them go on ahead. I thought that Keith and I, and Stevenson and I, would be lifelong friends; and so, I guess, we were, only that their lifetimes ran out long before mine did.
December 21
It's the holidays, so am busy doing Christmas prep for Eliza, whose new friendship with Dora The Explorer needs to be appropriately acknowleged (i.e. gift-wrapped). I had the postponed surgery, finally, which was not any fun at all but did bring out the hero I always knew was in Jennifer, who has been rising every morning at 5 to clean and dress the wound and change the dressings before I go to work, and the same again when she gets home from work each night. Stitches come out on the 28th, and as far as I know she will be off the hook after that. Then there is a new writing assignment - liner notes for a forthcoming CD - and another, possibly, in the New Year if certain licensing glitches can be overcome. And, lingering in the background, the need to put together my final radio show, which will happen on New Year's Eve. So what with one excuse and another I haven't written much here.
Tony may be coming out here; he's been nominated for a Grammy Award, and the ceremony is here on February 12th. He is investigating flights from London to L.A., etc.; we were already set to meet in Memphis and travel to New Orleans together later in the month, but now it seems he will need to come out here the week before. Well, that would be lovely, but am holding off any hilarity until he actually books his tickets. Oh, Lord, houseguests = if this comes true I must draft Jennifer to help me clean the place!
We're busy at work right now, and will be till the end of the year, after which I should have time to breathe. I was very proud of myself for going back to work the day after the surgery, but now think maybe that was a mistake. I should have admitted that I needed a day or so to rest, and am paying for it with a slower recovery time than I expected. I don't think my mind has caught up yet with the reality of just how old my body really is.
December 11
Here's a promo video for Ralph Stanley's new album.
Had 50% of my guest hosts on the show this morning (Jim and Art) and they did a great job. Then we went next door for breakfast and then my weekend really began. Kate and I took Eliza Christmas shopping, and then Kate and Josh left her with me overnight so we could bond. The usual bath and bedtime rituals were observed. This morning we got up and and went to - ugh - Denny's for breakfast. Without my coffee shop up here I have to completely redo my decades-long eating habits; now that I have to go down the hill to find food, I really HAVE to find somewhere decent to eat!
December 8
Had my first Cuban food before the Loafers Glory show at Boulevard Music last weekend; the restaurant is right across the street from the club, and while the Loafers were doing their sound check Mark and I walked down the block and had dinner. Reasonable prices and really good food! The guys were great as always, and sang me some of that wonderful bluegrass gospel, also as always. They dropped tantalizing hints about their new CD, which *may* be done in time for me to play it on the air on December 31. Or may not.
The news appears to have leaked out that I am leaving KPFK, and in addition to receiving several kind emails and calls from listeners, I have had some email discussions with station management. There may, and I use the word advisedly, be some news for you. If there is, I promise I'll let you know.
Time and change are getting me down. The coffee shop on my hillside, where I have been eating for forty years and more, has closed. All the workers are out of a job (but fortunately they are all eligible for unemployment insurance, since they were laid off due to closure); a few of the waitresses havealready found other work. I don't know what Milton will do; at nearly 80 he's going to be a tough sell to modern restaurants who want their cooks to be young, sexy and CIA graduates, and he's none of the above. I scraped together a tip for him that I hope will help tide him over, and I saw other regulars slipping Christmas cards to him too during the closing week, so with that and his unemployment I hope he will be okay for awhile. There's already a sign in the window showing that a liquor license has been applied for - my Lord, are they turning our coffee shop into a BAR? This is a quiet, residential hillside community; I don't know what a bar will do to us in the way of traffic, noise and drunks going home at closing time. Yikes. Jim and I have been doing our crossword puzzles together there for ages; we are trying to find another place to do them, but Dennys is so soulless, and the few other places we can find aren't set up the way we need them. Oh dear.
Have been doing some Christmas shopping, from local small stores and merchants and mom and pop places whenever possible.
*****************************************************
Hillary Clinton calls on world not to discriminate against gays
December 06, 2011|By Kim Geiger, Los Angeles Times
Reporting from Washington —
Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton called on world leaders for the first time Tuesday to stop discrimination against gays and lesbians, announcing that the United States would use diplomacy and $3 million in aid to help expand the rights of gay people around the world.
In a speech to mark Human Rights Day, which is celebrated Saturday, Clinton declared that protecting the rights of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people is "now one of the remaining human rights challenges of our time" and compared it to the battles for women's rights, racial equality and religious freedom.
Speaking at the United Nations' human rights body in Geneva, she noted that obstacles to gender equality in much of the world "rest on deeply held personal, political, cultural and religious beliefs."
"Some seem to believe it is a Western phenomenon, and therefore people outside the West have grounds to reject it," Clinton said. "Well, in reality, gay people are born into and belong to every society in the world."
She challenged other governments to join U.S. efforts against gender discrimination hours after President Obama directed U.S. agencies working overseas to help combat the criminalization of sexual orientation and to enhance efforts to protect gay and lesbian refugees and asylum seekers.
Clinton announced the launch of a Global Equality Fund to assist civil organizations that promote equal rights for gays abroad. She said the U.S. had committed more than $3 million to start the fund.
The initiative builds on the Obama administration's effort to promote the rights of gays and lesbians at home. The Pentagon this year dismantled its ban on gays serving openly in the military, and Obama recently directed the federal government not to defend a law that defines marriage as between one man and one woman.
Single-sex marriage is banned in most states, and harassment and discrimination against gays persist in many communities.
"I speak about this subject knowing that my own country's record on human rights for gay people is far from perfect," Clinton said. "So I come here before you with respect, understanding and humility."
A senior State Department official in Geneva said Clinton "was very intent on making [her speech] respectful in tone but firm on principle."
"She came not to wag a finger, but to really invite a conversation," the official said.
Clinton likened the religious and cultural explanations for abuse of gays to the reasons given to justify "honor killings, widow burning or female genital mutilation."
"Some people still defend those practices as part of a cultural tradition," Clinton said. "But violence toward women isn't cultural. It's criminal. Likewise with slavery; what was once justified as sanctioned by God is now properly reviled as an unconscionable violation of human rights."
November 28
Mary Katherine waves goodbye: A major decision, but oddly, not a hard one. I've been doing a radio show in one form or another for over 35 years now, and all this time I have always said that when it stopped being fun I would hang it up. And that time has come; it has stopped being fun. Getting up at 4:00 a.m. on Saturdays? Not fun. Working every single weeknight evening on prep for the coming Saturday's show, instead of playing with my granddaughter or visiting with friends or, you know, just having time to read a book? Not fun. Listening to countless recordings of mediocre singer/songwhiners to find the few jewels that I just love and really want to play? Not fun. Going in to the radio station to find missing or broken equipment, the control room a mess, and things not being done that should be? LONG ago stopped being fun. The fundraising pledge drives, so essential to the radio station's continued well-being but so incredibly draining to do? NEVER were any fun. When I wrote the note to Maggie (the station's Music Director) last week, telling her that I was ready to go, I saved it in my unsent mail for a couple of days, wondering if I might just be a little tired or momentarily depressed or something, and it would pass. Nope. When I finally hit that "send" button yesterday afternoon, I promise you I felt nothing but an immense relief. I am SO MUCH looking forward to returning to a life in which I *can* go out to hear live music on Friday nights because I won't have to get up at 4 the next morning, and for that matter can go out to shows on Saturday nights without falling asleep during the first set because I have been up since 4 *that* morning. I can go away for a weekend. Did you hear me? I can go away for a whole weekend, yes, starting on a Friday night if I want to, without having to say, no, sorry, can't leave till after I do the show Saturday morning. For 35 years I have been planning my entire life around the obligation of doing the radio show, for which, of course, I not only get paid nothing, but which actually costs me anywhere between $2,000 and $3,000 a year to do. I get a lot of records for free, yes, but I have to BUY at least as many more.
But the most important thing is this: listening to music, which I used to love, has become a chore and an obligation. I HAVE to listen to this huge stack of stuff that comes in the mail every week, knowing that most of it is going to be garbage but it all has to get a fair hearing. If listening to music has become a burden; if my favorite part of doing the radio show has become having guest hosts sit in with me so I don't have to program anything that week? Wow, REALLY time to let it go. I have enjoyed it, mostly; but now it's time to say goodbye.
There are some folks in public radio who hang onto their shows with a death grip, because it's all they have. I feel sorry for them; their entire identities and lives have become wrapped up in doing their radio programs. Me? I have a whole big huge busy exciting wonderful life. Terrific kids (and grandkids) whom I adore and who adore me, a full time day job, a vast circle of friends I rarely get to see, projects producing and annotating reissues, my occasional freelance writing work, my annual trips to see my "second family" of friends in New Orleans, my work on the Grammy committees, and a lot more. I don't need to hear my name on the radio every week; I already know who I am. And frankly, my life is winding down now, and I am becoming acutely aware of what time I have left, and the need to spend it wisely. I'm not getting any younger - au contraire - and I want my children and grandchildren and old friends to get as much of my time and attention as possible. So I am leaving radioland in order to give myself time to enjoy being alive while I am alive, and there it is. Last show: last Saturday of the year, December 31. New year: new start. I have loved serving the music all these years. Thanks for listening.
Oh: I'll continue to maintain the calendar on my web site.
November 26
Thanksgiving was great - I fed 22 people, at two sittings, and Casa Aldin was crowded all day and evening with good food and good friends. I am going to be washing dishes for a lonnnng time to come.
Tom Sauber was a champ on this morning's radio show, although we had some technical issues that made it something of an adventure. Then I drove out to Santa Monica, had lunch with Mark, and then went to Boulevard
Music to buy my tickets for next Saturday's Loafers Glory show. Can't wait!
Am working on my February travel to Memphis and New Orleans, making sure all the reservations are in place and everything is booked. Josh, Kate and Eliza are coming too.
Another member of my New Orleans family of friends has gone. Quick and clean, the same way Keith went.
Coco Robicheaux, New Orleans hoodoo bluesman, has died
Updated: Friday, November 25, 2011, 10:15 PM
By Keith Spera, The Times-Picayune
http://www.nola.com/music/index.ssf/2011/11/coco_robicheaux_rushed_from_ap.html
November 25
Peter Narvaez RIP
Special to The Globe and Mail
November 25, 2011
When Peter Narvaez came to St. John's in 1974, he knew almost no one. He had just come from the U.S. to an archival job at Memorial University's Folklore Department. A musician, he had been playing and recording since
high school, but produced no big hits. He unpacked at his hotel, and walked to the Continental Bar downtown at the foot of Bates Hill to hear a young musician named Ron Hynes.
And Hynes played one of Narvaez's songs.
This story, a legend in the St. John's music scene, aptly illustrates the different yet complementary aspects of Narvaez's work. He wrote a song that preceded him to his new home and introduced him to a new community. In a
bar was Hynes, whom Narvaez would befriend, play music with and write about.
The folklorist, ethnomusicologist and musician died on Nov. 11 of lung cancer, which had been diagnosed in 2008. He was 69.
Peter Narvaez was born Peter Reuben Aceves on March 16, 1942, in Brooklyn, and grew up in Boonton, N.J. His father, George Aceves, was from Mexico, a labour organizer in the furrier trade, and his mother, Borinquin Maria
Narvaez, was from Puerto Rico. She ran an antique business. He had one sibling, an older brother, George.
An uncle taught him to play guitar and he formed his first band in high school, Pete & Jimmy With The Rhythm Knights. DJ Alan Freed was championing rock 'n' roll on New York's WINS radio station, and they connected. Freed
produced the band's sole 45, *So Wild* (Castle Records, 1959) and published the song. One of the band's gigs was opening for a group called Tom and Jerry, an Everly Brothers cover band. Tom and Jerry later became Simon &
Garfunkel.
Narvaez was also influenced by Chuck Berry and Bob Dylan.
In the early 1960s, he started going to nightclubs in Greenwich Village and listening to the blues. He loved the sound, and that performers sang about everything - "drinking, sex, and gambling ... crop failures, welfare lines,
death, God" - as he said in a 1986 interview. And that they sang for everyone. He started a jug band. Having earned a history degree from Drew University in New Jersey in 1963, he then went to the folklore department
of Indiana University in Bloomington, and earned his MA in 1967. One of his fellow students, Neil Rosenberg, would later become a colleague and fellow musician.
In 1968 Narvaez formed Homegas, which had one release on the small but authoritative Takoma Label in 1971. "There is talk of reissuing it in vinyl," Rosenberg said. "It was an underground favourite, but gained zero sales."
Narvaez then moved to Maine, taught at a free school for a year, and then took a position at Bliss College in Lewiston. He was quickly promoted from associate professor to dean of students, but the institution was in
financial trouble. Paycheques stopped, there were accusations of malfeasance at the highest levels, and by 1972 "the upshot was that that was the end of Bliss," Rosenberg said.
Narvaez gigged for a year, until Rosenberg, by then with the Folklore Department at Memorial University in St. John's, urged him to apply as an archivist with the Folklore and Language Archives.
Narvaez was hired in 1974, and was soon a lecturer and then professor, beginning a career of tremendous research and output, and connecting to a music scene that was already attuned to his style. Rosenberg was one of the
few owners of the *Homegas* release, and it was this album that Hynes had heard and was playing at the Continental Bar.
Narvaez's musical influence was huge. As one example, in 1975 he gave a young musician named Kelly Russell a tape of fiddler Rufus Guinchard. Russell was with a then-fledgling Figgy Duff, and a folk music revival
followed. (Narvaez also played harmonica on the first Wonderful Grand Band album.) Along with English musician Denis Parker, he basically crafted the provincial blues scene. His bands included Bopular Demand, Cookstown Jukes,
Rowdy Blues and Divin' Duck. His last group was The Superpickers, with Sandy Morris and Glenn Collins, which released a recording this year.
Narvaez's abbreviated CV of writing and research runs for five pages. His academic writing ranges from Hynes' song *Sonny's Dream*, to former premier Joseph Smallwood's broadcasting career, to Robert Johnson and his mythic
Faustian bargain, to berry picking and fairies.
"He responded to popular culture, he was interested in working-class culture," Rosenberg said. Narvaez's PhD dissertation for Indiana University in 1986 was on a song booklet, *Come Hell or High Water*, produced during
the Buchans miners' strike in 1973.
Jazz, Newfoundland wakes, African-American folklore, Newfoundland folk custom, vernacular music from Mexican streets and music of the outports were among the topics of his hundreds of publications, journal
contributions, recordings, radio and television productions and appearances, archival depositions and professional and critical activities.
"I liked how he disregarded the false dichotomy of 'high' and 'low' culture," said CBC radio host Jamie Fitzpatrick, who conducted one of the folklorist's last interviews.
Narvaez, who retired in 2005, was past president of the Folklore Studies Association of Canada and the Association for the Study of Canadian Radio and Television. Among his awards, he received the Marius Barbeau Medal from
the Folklore Studies Association of Canada (2006) and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Newfoundland and Labrador Folk Arts Society (2010). He edited three volumes of essays, including *Of Corpse: Death and
Humour in Folklore and Ppopular Culture *(Utah State University Press, 2003).
His CD of original blues, *Some Good Blues*, was nominated for both Music Industry Association of Newfoundland and East Coast Music Association awards in 2003.
Narvaez changed his last name soon after coming to Newfoundland. He gave two reasons: one was that he was a bit disenchanted with his father and the other was that it was easier for people to pronounce. He was married four
times: first when he was in his early 20s and still in university, to Rinda Metz - they had a daughter, Jamille. They divorced in the early 1970s. In St. John's he married Ann Anderson, then Anne Budgell, and, on Nov. 7,
1998, Holly Everett.
Narvaez was a generous, clever man, open-minded and full of genuine good humour. "As a colleague I appreciated the way he dealt with difficult subjects at meetings," Rosenberg said. "He brought people together. And he
was a lot of fun to play music with."
Narvaez leaves his wife Holly, daughter Jamille (Rivera), granddaughter Jessie and brother George Aceves.
November 21
I love this video. Can't help it. Three girls, three voices, three empty cottage cheese containers. Yowza!
I just realized that I won't be doing a "regular" radio show for several weeks; Tom Sauber is coming in this Saturday, and then it's December, when I'll have special guest hosts doing Christmas shows every Saturday through Christmas Eve; I'll be back hosting it myself on New Year's Eve. But before then, I have Thanksgiving prep; am doing a sit-down dinner for 16 people this Thursday, and having cleaning, chopping, dicing, and stuffing to do. And the day before Thanksgiving my pal Billy has a recording sesssion, and I get to go! Yippee!
Eliza came over right after my radio show on Saturday and we spent the day together. Jennifer and I decided it was time for a trip to the mall (my Lord, three generations of Aldin women turned loose in a mall - look OUT!) and needless to say Eliza especially enjoyed the Disney store. Jennifer got new contact lenses and we did some pre-Christmas looking and touching but not yet buying. Then we had lunch (the child's menu included Eliza's favorite, macaroni and cheese) and when we got home I tried to put her down for a nap. That didn't work out so well. Dropped her off to Kate at home and then headed west for dinner with Mark and a visit to McCabe's, where I heard Roland White's band again. It was great; Roland and I went into a tiny room off the lobby and he recorded a promo for my radio show, AND, best news of all, Tom Sauber (who sat in with the band on fiddle) agreed to come in and do the show with me this Saturday!
November 16
Eliza and Kate and I went to the Skirball Cultural Center on Sunday, where my old friend Peter Yarrow was doing a concert and book-signing. Hundreds, literally hundreds, of children under the age of about 8 were bouncing up and down, singing, clapping and running around screaming. Before the concert we went into a side room where there were about 500 copies of Peter's newest book in boxes, and we (well, Kate and I - Eliza wasn't really much help) unwrapped them all out of their cellophane so that Peter could sign them, then re-wrapped them for sale to the public.
About a third of the way into the concert Eliza decided that running around on the outside patio chasing bubbles was more fun than sitting in an auditorium, so she and Kate went outside, and after the show Peter sat a a table signing yet more books, doing the shake and howdy thing, and having his picture taken with (it seemed like) every single person in the place. MANY hundreds. Then, finally, we had some quiet family time to get caught up on news about our children and grandchildren. It's always a treat to get to visit with him, and although Eliza was in restless squirmy mode, I was able to get a photo of them together.
Then it was bluegrass time, as another old friend, Roland White, came into town for a few gigs. I went to the Viva Cantina show last night, where I got to meet some radio show listeners because Roland outed me from the stage and they came over at the break to say hello; and the music was so wonderful that I'm going to see the band again at McCabe's this Saturday. The show was grrrr-eat. And there were more musicians in the audience than onstage. Seriously? Just at my table: Pat Cloud, Ross Landry, Harley Tarlitz, Blaine Sprouse (until he had to get up on stage), Bill Bryson (ditto), and David Naiditch; next table, Tom and Patrick Sauber (Patrick got press-ganged by Roland to help with the sound, and I understand that he played some in the second set, but I had to leave, as usual, due to my relentlessly early wakeup time) and lots more. The band is Roland on mandolin, his wife Diane on rhythm guitar, Herb Pedersen on banjo, Bill Bryson on bass, Blaine Sprouse on fiddle. And they can flat get it! Can't wait to hear them again on Saturday night, especially since I don't have to get up early on Sunday morning so can stay for both sets!
October 28
David Rea has died. This from Tom May:
October 10
Spent the last two days in Santa Barbara. The Fiddle Contest was great, as always; it's a chance to visit lots of old friends (including one, Barry, who I hadn't seen in decades) and I get to spend the day hopping on and off the stage, herding youngsters. Mark Humphrey won First Place in Advanced Singing and Second Place in Advanced Guitar; alas, his prize money and more was left right there in Santa Barbara, as he bought a banjo with it the next day! Josh, Kate and Eliza arrived mid-afternoon; Eliza skipped around at the front of the stage saying "Grandma, look! It's me!" Had dinner that night with Peter and Francine, as is our tradition, at Harry's Plaza Cafe, also our tradition. Then back to our motel, where Josh and Kate brought Eliza over from their room and deposited her on my bed and went out to their own dinner. Eliza and I played with flash cards and then she fell peacefully asleep. This morning she deliberated her wardrobe choices carefully, after which we all went to breakfast at a great place on the beach called The Boathouse. Eliza frolicked on the sand for awhile and then we took her to Chaucer's Books, where she wanted to bring the entire children's room home with her! When the kids left for home I went to Folk Mote Music, where Mark bought the aforementioned banjo, Jensen's Music, where I didn't buy anything, and Book Den, where Mark bought a book on Nepal and I passed up a copy of Stan Hugill's book on sea shanteys because it was $50!
October 7
A whole month since I last wrote! Web site problems, which never did get fixed by the ISP but which somehow presented me with a complicated workaround option that I am presently using, are one excuse. I've also been very busy with music-business meetings for the last six and next four weeks, after which it will ease up. And things are busy at work, too (which is good!) and Eliza takes up what little time I have left.
Well, what have I been up to...have had some good visits from out of town friends, and we've broken bread together and gotten caught up on our news. Alas, as I get older the "news" is more and more about who has died since I last saw them! Bert Jansch, founding member of Pentangle and an amazing and gifted guitarist, died earlier this week, way too young. Folk and bluegrass singer Liz Meyer finally lost her decade-long fight with cancer last month. And so forth. There's some good news to balance that; Roland White called to tell me that he will be out here next month to do several shows (see the calendar page) and that his band for this tour will be himself on mandolin, his wife Diane Bouska on guitar, Blaine Sprouse on fiddle, and Herb Pedersen and Bill Bryson from Loafers Glory/the Desert Rose Band! I am *so* there, as the children say.
My son in law Bruce's birthday is around the corner, and Jennifer and I concocted a great surprise. We started dropping hints a couple of weeks back about how I was thinking I really should join the rest of the world and get a "smart-phone" or I-Phone, but don't really know enough about them. We strung that out for a couple of weeks while Jennifer emailed his family in North Dakota and we all put in for a collection. Set a date for him to come with us to the Apple Store where, he thought, he was going to help me learn about the new I-phones. Got him there and sprung it on him that we were really there to buy HIM an I-Pad for his birthday. He about fell over. We had him SO fooled. Jennifer had her camera on him when we told him the truth and he looked stunned! (But in a good way.) He is now playing with his new toy 24/7 and doesn't answer Jennifer when she talks to him.
My car had, I thought, kind of squashy brakes and was making a weird skreeking noise, so I took it to the mechanic. Three days and MANY hundreds of dollars I don't have later, it's home, skreeking noise is gone, and it has a bunch of new innards, and new windshield wipers, tires have been rotated, oil changed, new transmission fluid and a new pulley put in BUT the brakes were fine. Grrrr. Bless it's heart, this thing is really an old crock. Soon as I hit that lottery I am going to get a new(er) car.
Am thinking longingly about my annual vacation in February. It hasn't been decided yet whether I am going to Folk Alliance in Memphis or just going straight from here to New Orleans and back. Josh and Kate may bring Eliza to New Orleans for a couple of days while I'm there - she's a tad young for the Bourbon Street sleaze, but is the perfect age for the Audubon Aquarium and the Zoo and the St. Charles Streetcar ride and....my pal Tony is going to fly over from London and join me either in Memphis, if I do go there first, or in New Orleans. I am *really* looking forward to it.
On Halloween I am having some things removed that shouldn't be there. Very minor, nothing to worry about. I did have a thought that the doctor might show up dressed as Frankenstein - in which case he is NOT cutting me open!
Radio in the morning, so I should probably go pull some records! Sunday I am emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention; if anyone is going, come to the contest stage and say hi! Josh and Kate are bringing Eliza up for it and we will all get to stay overnight and spend some time together up there on Monday, hooray!
September 7
Welcome to computer hell. The web host I use recently decided to change the destination path to which I upload this web site, and somehow when they made that change they ALSO changed the source path in my computer from which I update the site, so that I can't get anything out of my computer onto the site. Claire came over, poked around, scratched her head and said the words I love to hear: it's not your fault. So we found a scratch solution for a week or so, which was that I updated the calendar and emailed it to Claire, who then emailed it to the web site! Craziness. Repeated emails to the host solved nothing. Tonight, for a minute, it's working again, so I hasten to update everything - but who knows how long it will last. Don't worry if there are longer gaps than usual between updates here.
Eliza and I are having a great time together, despite the heat and the aches and pains that come with being in my sixties. Last weekend we went to the Los Angeles County Fair: she loved it! Pigs, cows, chickens, ducks, rabbits. I didn't: heat, crowds, deep fried avocados (yuck). Note to self: next time don't go on Labor Day weekend, on a Saturday, on Opening Day. Dummy!
Watched a new PBS special on Peter, Paul & Mary tonight. That world was so huge a part of my life for so long that it made me kind of sad to see it again and to know that those times are never going to come again.
Radio show resumes this Saturday. Am putting my records together for my Bill Monroe special and thinking about how much fun it is to do radio, and how much I wish it didn't mean getting up at 4:30 a.m. on Saturdays. EVERY Saturday. Sigh.
My annual music biz committee meetings are rolling around again and lots of friends are flying in to L.A. for them; next month I emcee the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention again, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, and where did the year go?
August 23.
Too much sad news today. Andy Cohen called to tell me that old time fiddler Paul David Smith died this morning at 77. I was lucky enough to get to meet him last February at Folk Alliance, where I presented him with the Mike Seeger Scholarship Award; I think there are a couple of photos of him on my trip page. Here he is playing.
And this, from my New Orleans pal Ben Sandmel:
August 22
Spent the weekend in San Diego - the Summergrass festival, which I had not been to before, turned out to be a great event. Loafer's Glory stole the show, with the Grascals running a close second and Wayne Taylor & Appaloosa representing the suits and ties tradition. All the bands were really good, and even the "not quite ready for prime time" kids groups showed that in a couple of years they'll be there too. I walked about a hundred miles on Saturday. Okay, maybe only fifty.
Sunday morning had lunch with my half-sister and her son in Carlsbad, then went to - now wait a minute before you laugh hysterically - the Richard M. Nixon Library and Museum in Yorba Linda. I can hear a chorus of WTH?, so let me explain. Mark came to San Diego with me, he wanted to see it, and it was right on the way home. End of story. By the way, they have done an amazing job with the place - the 9 acres of property includes the house he was born in (still in its original location), the side-by-side graves where the former President and his wife Pat are buried, the Air Force One helicopter that flew him away from the White House for the last time (and had earlier been used by Presidents Kennedy and Johnson), and a Presidential limo that he had used. The grounds are gorgeous - apparently Mrs. Nixon loved roses, and they have some seriously good gardens there. The gift shop? Exactly as you would imagine.
August 16
There's been lots of Grandma time with Eliza lately; Josh and Kate went out of town for the whole weekend, so I had Eliza at home with me from Friday afternoon to Sunday evening. Mark invited us to enjoy the luxury of his apartment building's swimming pool, so we did that on Sunday afternoon, and she splashed happily in the cool water. There was a petting zoo at the local farmers market, where she warily eyed her first up-close goats, chickens and two rather large white ducks. We tried the pony ride again, and again no luck. Anyhow, the kids skated home just in time to pick her up and give me fifteen minutes in which to get showered and dressed before Jim came along and collected me and our neighbors Alessandra and Jimmy to go out to Cantalini's in Playa del Rey to hear our pal Ian Whitcomb and his band. We all had a lovely time (nice to eat with people whose food I don't have to cut up into small bites), and then last night I went, for the first time in ages, out to Ian and Jim's weekly Monday night "salon" in Pasadena, at which I again got to commune with people older than two. Lovely to see Regina after so long! And Opal and Ellen Nations were visiting from the Bay Area, so I got to see them briefly, which was a nice surprise.
This weekend I'm going to the Summergrass bluegrass festival in San Diego. No, Vista. Well, somewhere down there. Note to self, Mapquest it before the weekend. This is actually going to be a nice bit of serendipity, as I was disappointed at not being able to hear Loafers Glory's show in Pasadena because I had the baby all weekend, and they're playing at the festival, so I'll see them there. No, wait. I had ELIZA all weekend. She is two now (as of August 11th), has graduated to pull-up diapers (if she was MY kid she would have been potty-trained six months ago, but that's a whole nother issue), and I am trying to get out of the habit of calling her "the baby." Anyhow, I have a half-sister (and her two grown kids) who live in Carlsbad, which apparently is quite close to where the festival is, so we are going to have lunch together Sunday before I drive back up to town. I hope the kids can come too, but it all depends on their work schedules. I have almost no living family other than my own kids/grandkids, so it's nice to get to see my half-sister every now and then.
August 13
My friend Pete Howard's wife Cheryl died this morning. Devastating news, even though expected.
August 9 Delois Barrett Campbell RIP
We have coyotes up here in the foothills, and tonight they are louder than usual, and out much earlier than usual. I often hear them between 1 and 4 a.m. (love that insomnia!), but it's not even 9 yet and they are already yodeling in (dis)harmony. Maybe it's the heat bringing them out earlier; and there are more of them tonight. They are howling at each other across the canyon, and the way that everything echoes up here it sounds like there are twenty of them! Unlikely, though.
It has been hot, and I haven't really been moved to write anything much. Eliza will be two next week, and there are some party supplies in the offing (Ariel paper plates, Mickey Mouse paper cups, an Elmo balloon, and so on). Not sure what the kids have planned or when, as the weekend of her actual birthday they are going out of town and I will have her here all weekend. Am thinking about taking her to the beach. Mark can swim really well, so I will plant him firmly beween her and the ocean and let her dig in the sand and get her toes wet and so forth. Sun block, floppy hats, and away we go. I had hoped to get to the Loafers Glory show in Pasadena that weekend, but can't really take her out to a sit-down formal auditorium concert. Not fair to the musicians (all good friends of mine), nor to the folks who paid good money to hear a concert undisturbed by a two year old!
Less success last weekend at the pony rides. I got her up on a pony, no problem, but for some reason it decided to shake its head back and forth several times, and she was off that critter like a rocket, clinging to me and screaming. I got her quieted down, and we gave away her ticket to a grateful mother with six kids (!) and removed ourselves to the more serene atmosphere of the choo choo train, which she enjoyed very much.
Even though it's on a weeknight, I'm going to a Hank Williams Sr. tribute at Joe's in Burbank coming up Labor Day weekend. Billy will be playing, as will a couple of other friends, and Jim will be there. Mark may come too! Don't know how late I'll be able to stay awake, though.
Getting ready to re-start the engine for the radio show, which resumes September 10. Picked up a huge pile of CDs that had been collecting for me at the station, and am planning my first show. I have always said that when it stopped being fun I would hang it up; the idea of getting up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays is already not fun, and I don't even have to do it for another month. And no, I don't want to do the show on tape. Sure, I could go into the station some weekday afternoon and tape the whole thing, but there is something about talking to a dead microphone vs a live one that just doesn't work for me. If there is no one out there when I'm doing it, I don't feel like I'm really doing it. I know that's not the most logical sequence of thought in the world; you'll just have to believe me. It's live or it's nothing.
My radio pal Joe Frazier is in the hospital; send good thoughts his way, please. I have the guys booked to come in and do a show on October 1, by which time hopefully all will be well. But he had to cancel a Chad Mitchell Trio concert, so I KNOW he's not feeling right! Musicians *never* cancel gigs unless they absolutely have to. I personally know a musician who broke two ribs in a car accident one afternoon, and went on stage that night, did a full show, and THEN went to the hospital to get his ribs strapped up. I do think there may have been a bottle of whiskey in play in the dressing room during the intermission, strictly for medicinal purposes, of course!
Speaking of radio show, I need to put a tentative schedule up on the playlists page. Basically, I come back September 10 with a tribute to Bill Monroe show, as his 100th birthday is Sept. 13. The following week (9/17) a regular show (trying to catch up with new releases), then on the 24th Mark will be guest-hosting for me as I have Grammy committee meetings all that weekend. Then on the 1st of October is the Joe, Art, George and Jim show, and on the 10th I think I am finally whipping part one of the Jett Williams interview into shape. Wait, did I say October? My gosh, where has this year gone? The older I get the faster it goes by.
The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill sent a representative out here this past week to discuss acquiring my collection. It's getting to be time for me to think about dealing with it while I am still (relatively) compos mentis, so that the kids don't have to sort through all this stuff and try to figure out what's worth $5 vs what's worth $500 after I'm gone. Am also in correspondence with Northwestern University, which despite its name in not in the Northwest (silly me) but is in Illinois! If any arrangement is made, I told them that I will need to hang onto at least part of my record collection as long as I am doing the radio show. Once I retire from that, of course, everything can go. If neither University ends up making me an offer I can't refuse, then the kids suggest that as soon as I retire from my day job I should learn the wonderful world of Ebay and start selling it off piecemeal; they think I would probably make more money that way anyway. We Shall See.
July 13
Went to lunch with Billy today at the Farmers Market; he's feeling a lot better, and we both enjoyed our outing. Because his house is so near Josh and Kate's, I went over to the little park by their house on spec, and sure enough, there was Eliza, choogling down one of the slides, being carefully watched over by her longtime nanny. The huge smile that erupted when she saw me walking toward her was a real heartwarmer. "Hi Grandma! I'm on the SLIDE! I'm at the PARK! I played in the SAND!" That little girl has me so wrapped, I can't even tell you.
Sad times for Jennifer and Bruce. They had to have Smudge put to sleep tonight. Bruce got her when she was just a tiny kitten about 6 weeks old, and she was well over 17 when she just couldn't make it any longer. That's a good long life span for a cat, but it's so hard for them, especially Bruce, to say goodbye.
July 10
This weekend was crazy busy and lots of fun; yesterday I got to spend the morning visiting with a musician friend who is recuperating at home from recent prostate cancer surgery. We joked, we talked, we ate lunch, we had a great time. In the afternoon I drove home and then went with Bruce and Jennifer in their car to Disneyland, where Josh and Kate and Eliza already were. We all had lunch together (and how did people ever find each other in a place that big before we had cell phones?), and Eliza got to see a parade, complete with uniformed marching bands and cheerleaders/dancers in sparkly costumes. After lunch we went on some rides, and then I took Eliza back to the hotel (Josh had booked us adjoining rooms at a nearby place) and the four "big kids" closed Disneyland (and then a nearby Tiki bar) down while Eliza and I snuggled down to read bedtimes stories. This morning, while Josh and Kate had a rare chance to sleep in, Eliza and I patronized the hotel's coffee shop ("PANcakes please, Grandma!") and then -- oh boy -- the swimming pool! Resplendent in her Ariel bathing suit, she splashed, she kicked, she jumped in (to the shallow end, of course), and she had a great time. Then we climbed out and she stretched herself out to drip dry on her Mickey Mouse bath towel on one of the poolside lounge chairs, looking for all the world like a miniature movie star. This afternoon, when they dropped me off, I went to the coffee shop and did crossword puzzles with Jim, and am now writing this instead of doing laundry and prep for work tomorrow.
July 5
Heard from Roland White that Kenny Baker, the great (some think greatest) fiddle player in Bill Monroe's Bluegrass Boys, has suffered a stroke. Cards can be sent to him at:
July 4
June 26
When I made the jambalaya for Tom and Claire's party yesterday, I filled a plastic container for Josh and Kate to take home for a snack. They called tonight to tell me that Eliza, the hard to please kid when it comes to food, LOVES it, and kept asking for more. Wow. This is great news - it's been hard to find things that she'll eat. I generally only make jambalaya in big pots for parties or large gatherings, because it's kind of labor intensive and not really worth it to make in small batches, but I guess there's going to be more of it in my future!
June 25
So Tom and Claire had a party, and I made a big pot of jambalaya for it, and then the kids dropped Eliza off and I got to stay home and play with her instead of going out. Jim, kind soul, offered to deliver the jambalaya (and I had a momentary unworthy thought as to how much would actually be left in the pot by the time it got there), and Eliza and I had a lovely evening together. Bath time included a small plastic boat and several miscellaneous fish, swimming around her as she washed. She sang a tuneless little bath-time ditty ("my ARMS are clean and my NECK is clean and my HAIR is clean") and then we dried her off ("my MICKEY Mouse towel, Grandma!") and got her into her pajamas ("there are RAINbows on my pants, Grandma!"), and since dinner hadn't quite filled her up she ate a box of raisins and a cup of organic yogurt (brought here by her parents, I assure you!) and we had a private screening of Lady & the Tramp, sitting together on the futon in front of the TV, with her head burrowed into my shoulder giving me a running commentary. She sang along to "Bella Notte," and again I despair at her complete lack of pitch; she must get her singing talents from some long-ago tone deaf ancestor. Jennifer, at this age, had perfect pitch and sang like a lark. No kidding.
My pal Chris is going to be 80 next weekend, and despite the long, expensive and arduous journey (a bus, a train, another train, another bus, and a subway: 15 hours one way!) I am going to his birthday party. He will only be 80 once, after all, and we have known each other since the mid-60s! Fortunately my office is closed that Monday for the 4th of July, so I can do the 15-hour return trip that day and I won't miss any work.
Got an email today telling me that one of the long-ago Ash Grove waitresses had died. I hadn't seen or spoken to Annita since I stopped working at the club in 1971 or thereabouts, but of course I remember her, and those days, and those times. She is frozen in time in my memory now, a short blond funny very bright girl with rimless glasses, full of enthusiasm (oh well, we were ALL full of enthusiasm in the 60s!), and a good worker. I am sorry she is gone. According to the note I got she died of cancer, but it was a very short illness.
June 19
Yesterday morning I did my last Alive and Picking radio show of the summer; am now on hiatus until September, when I am supposed to return to radio ranch the Saturday after Labor Day. A whole summer of not having to get up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays; a whole summer of not having to spend at least part of *every single* weeknight listening to recently-arrived CDs for potential airplay. Gosh, what will I do with myself?
The question answers itself: Eliza came over yesterday afternoon and stayed overnight. She will be two in August, and is now talking incredibly fast, rattling off long sentences of which I understand about five words out of every ten, and singing and dancing around the room. She drags my guitar over to me and says "SING, Grandma!"; she strums my dulcimer and my autoharp and giggles at the sounds they make. Bath time last night was enhanced by the presence of Nemo swimming around her in the tub, to the accompaniment of much giggling and splashing (lots of water on the floor, not so much in the tub, the sure sign of a successful bath). After a viewing of "Snow White" and a peaceful night's sleep we walked to the coffee shop this morning (she finished off her impeccable ensemble with her Disney Princess sneakers, which light up) with Jennifer and Bruce, and Eliza wrapped herself around some pancakes. So my Grandma time, plus my promised visits to sick friends, is going to do it for me this summer. I am supposed to go to North Carolina in February, and if that works out I'll do my New Orleans trip at the same time, but till then I am sticking close to home.This does NOT, however, mean that I intend to take up housecleaning, or anything. I will still be much too busy for that.
Sorry to hear that Clarence Clemons passed. Big man, big heart, good musician. Speaking of musicians: Ian, just *five days* after brain surgery, is making his gig at Cantalinis tonight. English people are CRAZY. If it wasn't Father's Day I'd go out there and give him stick about it, but the place is going to be slammed crowded so I'll just keep the nag on hold till we see each other again.
Living right underneath the Hollywood Sign has its good points, although I can't actually think of any right offhand, and its bad points. Tourists are insane, did you know that? They stand out in the middle of the street with videocameras, shooting footage of an immovable object. VIDEO cameras! The thing just sits there on the hillside; it doesn't light up or move around - and they stand out there with traffic whizzing past them in both directions along the narrow canyon streets and take VIDEOS. Then there are the ones that try to drive up here to get closer to the sign; despite the clearly labeled street signs that say "NO access to the Hollywood sign" and "Dead end: not a through street," every weekend they drive their rental cars as far as they can up ever-narrowing dead end roads until, guess what, they get stuck. They can't turn around, and there are other morons right behind them hemming them in so THEY can't turn around; and then the police have to come and unsnarl them and get them out of there. Meanwhile if (God forbid) there was ever a fire up here, they are blocking the access roads so that fire trucks can't get through. Oh, and they leave trash all over the place while they're waiting to be rescued. This rant was occasioned by the recent publication of a new book about Hollywoodland (which is what this canyon area used to be called); lovely historic photos, interesting stories about former famous residents, and you know what? It's going to make it WORSE, because it's going to bring more traffic and attention to the neighborhood. There is now a "For Sale" sign on my next door neighbor Katie's house; she has lived there ever since I have been here, and that's well over 40 years. She SAYS she is moving to Orange County to be nearer her children and grandchildren, but in real life, she is tired of picking up trash and shooing away tourists who illegally park in her driveway while they're trying to find a good angle from which to take photos of the sign. Anybody want to buy a really nice little house?
I have never celebrated a single Father's Day. I didn't have a father myself (that I ever knew), and due to circumstances beyond my control (and don't I *hate* to use that phrase --- there ARE no circumstances beyond my control! Oh, wait...) I also single-parented all my kids. So theoretically I should have been entitled to Father's Day presents every year, as well as Mother's Day flowers and candy, since I always had to function as both. But now for the first time Father's Day actually means something in these parts, as my youngest son Josh is Eliza's daddy. Seriously cool. Josh and Kate are doing a backyard barbecue at their place, to which they dutifully invited me, and which I dutifully refused with thanks. They have their own family traditions to establish, and I am butting out. But it feels good to know that the next generation(s) are getting one extra holiday every year!
June 13
My pal Ian is going into the hospital Tuesday morning for brain surgery. And this is what it costs us to get old. I shake my head in disbelief as one friend after another falls prey to cancer, cataracts, hip and knee replacements, prostate surgery, brain surgery and breast cancer, and as friends younger than I am die. I sit at bedsides, empty catheter bags, hold hands, read, sing, rub backs, cook, and sit quietly, as needed. And glad to be able to do it.
Last weekend Josh and Kate and I took Eliza to Griffith Park, where she went on the pony ride by herself. This was a big deal. She sat up straight on her pony and looked very elegant (I was half expecting a Queen Eizabeth-type wave), and although Josh walked around the ring with her a couple of times she clearly didn't want or need him to, so he dropped back and let her do it on her own. We also went on the Griffith Park Railroad, a toy-train that chuffs around the perimeter of the pony rides, and she seemed to enjoy that too.
Mark's surgery went very well and there were no complications. I stayed with him for a few nights, and then he was able to manage on his own, so I came home. Now I am off nursing duty until the first week of July.
Disneyland has just raised their prices again. It now costs $80 for an adult to get in, and $60 for kids over 3. Who can AFFORD this?
May 30
And the hits just keep on coming. A friend of mine in New Orleans is in the hospital following a suicide attempt yesterday.
People commit suicide for so many different reasons, and it's almost impossible to stand on emotional guard duty all the time for every single person that we know. Easier by far to be there when we're needed (need help moving, can you spare a weekend? Need to borrow $50 til payday. Need some post-op nursing help. My car's dead, can you run me to the store and back?) Any of those can be done by any of us at the drop of a hat; but how do we tend to needs that are unexpressed until it's too late?
For some folks, and I can kind of understand this one, suicide is a free pass. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, with AIDS, with the long living death of Alzheimer's Disease, they do it to spare those they love from months or possibly years of emotionally draining, incredibly expensive care. I get that. Really, I do. But to be young, in good health, okay financially, and with a wide circle of friends to reach out to, it's a very dark place indeed that makes you pick up a gun or a needle or a bottle of sleeping pills instead of picking up the phone. And how can I be there for them if I don't know where they are?
May 26
Sometimes I just want to say SHIT, but I'm not supposed to swear around Eliza. Just learned that another close friend has cancer, though it seems to be operable, and he says (and more to the point the doctor says) that he will be fine because they caught it early. He has already scheduled his surgery for early July. So Cheryl has a terminal malignant brain tumor, Mark's going in early next month for another eye operation, and now here's another pal with cancer. I am going to be doing a lot of live-in nursing over the summer.
NOT for that reason, but anyhow: I should tell you that I am taking the summer off from doing my radio show. The station asked for volunteers to take a summer hiatus to give some new shows a chance to be heard, and I raised my hand and offered. I'll have my hands full with nursing sick friends (which means packing a bag and literally moving in with them to look after them post-surgery), then with an eventual funeral in San Luis Obispo when Cheryl passes, and also with more and more Eliza care, as the kids hope to travel some this summer. The station management took great pains to assure me that the show *will* be back in late August/early September. Am going to be on the air as usual for the next couple of Saturdays, then will be taking this break.
On a happier note, last year or the year before I got an email asking if I would donate the use of some of my photos to a book project. I get these requests all the time, and nothing much usually ever comes of it - but the guy just wrote me back to say that the book is now finished and ready to be published in August, and he will be sending me the agreed-upon free copy as my photo usage "fee." Also asked me to write a blurb for the back of the book. I said, well, um, you do know I'd need to actually READ the book first, right?
May 21
The word that I was waiting for has come, and it's not good news. My friend Pete's wife Cheryl has been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. They have three young children (one with special needs), and the whole family is devastated. I live *just* too far away and am *just* too old to be able to be helpful, so I sit here feeling useless. Of course in cases like this we are *all* useless, really. She will have the best possible hospice care at home, and it won't be long. I am profoundly sad.
May 15
I'm very worried about good friend whose wife is seriously ill. Trying to monitor the situation at long distance is nervewracking. Some major tests are set for tomorrow, after which I hope to get a chance to learn more.
Lots of pals in town this weekend; Friday morning I had breakfast with my old friend Bill Ferris, who was here briefly for a conference. It was great to catch up with him on all his news. Saturday, radio, and again the show did well in the fund drive - better than last week! - and then Jim and I had lunch with John Broven and Joe Bihari. Today I emceed the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest (Eliza loved it, but Jennifer's allergies were driven insane by the ragweed), then had dinner with all the kids and Eliza. You have no idea how tired I am! Onward to the coming week, which will also be very full.
May 11
Several fire engines came up our hill this morning at 4:30, and two helicopters were hovering overhead. As any hillside dweller will tell you, there is nothing as terrifying as a fire up here where there is so much brush to burn. Apparently it was either a false alarm or not a fire after all, because they all went back down the hill a short time later and an ambulance came screaming up instead. Everything echoes off the canyon walls so much that it's impossible to tell exactly where noises are coming from, but by the time the ambulance went tearing away there was no way I could get back to sleep.
I'm really looking forward to this Sunday, when I will spend the day emceeing at the Topanga Banjo-Fiddle Contest and the evening with my kids and their spouses and my lovely Eliza; we are celebrating Mother's Day this Sunday instead of last, and the kids are taking me out to dinner. Yippee!
The radio show did well on Saturday during the Pledge Drive. Lots of calls, especially in the second hour. Hope it goes well again this coming Saturday.
Ah, the magic of Skype! My pal Tony, who lives in London, finally saw the light, as it were, and we had our first Skype conversation this morning. Well, this morning for me - eight hours later for him. It took a bit of fiddling to get everything right, but now we have the technology nailed - and it was LOVELY to see and hear him. I wish this technology had existed when Keith was alive; we both had enormous monthly phone bills, and of course we couldn't see each other as we talked.
Eliza loved the zoo, although the two-hour line of children waiting to meet Cookie Monster led us to take a pass. She communed with the elephants, the monkeys, and some other critters, and then fell peacefully asleep in her stroller. I did NOT rent a motorized chair this time, but walked everywhere; it was a nice cool day, and I am encouraged to walk when I can rather than using the chairs. I couldn't have gotten through Disneyland without one, but this time it was easy. I don't much like zoos, or the idea of keeping wild things in cages, but in real life, if Eliza is ever to see an elephant or giraffe or whatever, this is the only way it will ever happen. (SO hard to get a live giraffe or an elephant up the two flights of stairs to my apartment.)
May 6
I know, I know. Long time no blob. Things at Casa Aldin have been really busy (and you don't even want to HEAR the saga of how my car has been in the shop four times in four weeks for totally unrelated problems, nor do you want to know what that cost me). My primary excuse for not having time to write is that Josh and Kate went to Hawaii for a wedding, stayed a week, and left Eliza at Grandma's house. This was a lot of fun for Eliza (Disneyland with Grandma and Aunt Jennifer!) but Grandma is *really* tired. That little firecracker ran me ragged. The kids brought her back a bright pink ukulele from Hawaii, and I understand that there is a fridge magnet in my near future. And now that they are home, Grandma gets to rest? Not so fast; we're (all) taking her to the zoo tomorrow to meet some of the characters from Sesame Street. But before that, I have radio in the morning, and it's pledge drive time. Lots of great premiums - have been choosing stuff for a couple of weeks now - so I only hope there are folks out there listening/calling in their support.
Also have been having some minor-league health issues, which seem to be resolving themselves - another excuse for not writing. And then there are the old friends who have been dropping like flies:
Jim
Dickson, a key architect of the '60s folk-rock sound and the original
manager of the Byrds, died of unknown causes April 19 in Costa Mesa,
Calif. He was 80.
Born in Los Angeles, Dickson worked as a record producer in the early '60s, cutting proto-folk-rock sides by singer-songwriter Hamilton Camp, progressive bluegrass units the Dillards and the Hillmen (which included future Byrds member Chris Hillman) and singer-songwriter David Crosby.
He took up management of Hillman and Crosby's fledgling new band, which was styling itself as an L.A. equivalent of the Beatles. Employing free studio time cadged by Dickson, then a staff producer at World Pacific Studios, the group cut early tracks as the Beefeaters and the Jet Set.
In 1964, Dickson received an acetate of the unreleased Bob Dylan song "Mr. Tambourine Man" from the singer-songwriter's publisher. His charges, a quintet now known as the Byrds, recorded it for Columbia Records (employing backup studio musicians), and it became the band's breakthrough No. 1 single.
Dickson and management partner Eddie Tickner handled the Byrds, who became the preeminent folk-rock band of the era, through a bitter split in June 1967. The pair subsequently worked with the Flying Burrito Brothers, a country-rock unit including Hillman, Byrds drummer Michael Clarke and latter-day Byrds member Gram Parsons.
Dickson produced the group's A&M albums "Burrito Deluxe," "The Flying Burrito Brothers" and the live "Last of the Red Hot Burritos," and is credited with helming some of Parsons' post-Burritos solo recordings.
In 1972, Dickson helped ex-Byrd Gene Clark re-record and remix his 1967 album "Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers."
Dickson later moved to Hawaii, where he became a competitive sailor.
March 30
Went out last night with Jennifer and Bruce to Joe's, a club that I have been hearing about for ages but had never been to, where they participated in swing dancing and I exercised my undeniable expertise at observing others, and was assigned to take pictures of them in action for Jennifer's Facebook posts. I like the club very much - a relaxed atmosphere, surprisingly good and cheap food, and thank goodness pals like Ray Campi and Jim were there too, so I wasn't as conspicuous as I otherwise would have been as the only member of the gray-haired contingent. A big part of my staying out til midnight was the fact that I didn't have to get up and go to work this morning - have I mentioned that my office has cut all jobs by 20%, so I am working (and getting paid for) only four days a week now instead of five? Yes, well. So Wednesday being my "day off," I was press-ganged by Jennifer into going out on a Tuesday night, and actually had a lovely time. "You should try swing dancing, mom, it's fun!" says Jennifer. Hell will freeze, says I.
More sad news on the net this morning:
March 23
Got a really unusual post-birthday present today; Kirk came over and grouted my kitchen sink. Most guys just give me chocolate.
AND, it's raining again.
March 21
Sad to say goodbye to Pinetop Perkins. A good long life well lived!
We had a great birthday/Mardi Gras party on Saturday. All the kids came over early and helped get it together; Eliza napped through the first hour or so and then joined us, decked out in Mardi Gras beads and adorableness. I made jambalaya as usual, and lots of friends brought things to share and lots of food (lasagna! steamed fresh vegetables! home made tamales! pear and walnut salad!) And Jim brought a huge chocolate cake, personally inscribed to the three of us who were the official celebrants.
And a few hours after the last party guest left, the skies opened and we had a deluge that lasted nearly 48 hours. I was sitting at the coffee shop on my hillside having a late lunch on Sunday when everything went dark. They had to close, of course - not only were there no lights in the kitchen, so Larry was having trouble seeing what he was cooking, but with no power the credit card machine wouldn't work. Jim lost power, though I didn't - he must be on the same circuit as the coffee shop, since he lives just a block away. He brought his laptop over and plugged it into my cable line so he could submit something that was on deadline, and then we went to the movies - a program of early 1940s Soundies at the Hammer, along with a Jimmy Stewart-Paulette Goddard musical film called "Pot O'Gold" that included every Irish stereotype in the book.
March 17
No surprise, but still sad to hear that Ferlin Husky died today.
Had a great dinner with the kids last night at the Kitchen in Silverlake, and have now gotten so many birthday flowers that I've had to borrow an extra vase from neighbor Sherry! Tonight it's dusting, pre-cleaning for tomorrow when Jennifer comes up and we do the "big" cleaning and final prep for Saturday's Party Gras. Just learned that there will be an anti-war protest march that will block some streets in Hollywood on Saturday afternoon, and then the L.A. Marathon runs right through here on Sunday (when Jim and I are hoping to go tp the Hammer to see a program of Soundies), so our local commuting will be...slow.
March 14
It was nice to be back on the radio after many weeks away, and I got some nice calls and emails from folks who've missed me (!). There's a fair amount of new stuff to sort through, but this coming Saturday John and Deanne Davis are at the controls, which gives me an extra week to listen to all the new CDs that have come in. And although I've been home for over a week I am *still* unpacking!
Jim and I went out to Cantalini's last night to hear our friends Ian Whitcomb, Fred Sokolow and Dave Jones entertain the masses. They were a lot of fun, as always, and most wonderfully for me, their show always starts at 6:30 p.m., so I get home early. Food was good, too: chicken marsala and a salad for me, and something pesto-pasta-ish for Jim, and for dessert a giant slab of chocolate cake and two forks.
Speaking of cake, it's birthday time around Casa Aldin, and all the kids are celebrating theirs and mine. Our annual family birthday dinner will be Wednesday night, a date purposely selected because it's no one's actual birthday, and because we all get paid on the 15th of the month, so will have enough money to go out to dinner and have a good spread by then! Jim is dropping hints about a birthday cake to be delivered this weekend.
March 8 Here's the link to a temporary journal and some photos of my trip. 2011 trip
March 6
Six years ago today my dear Keith died. Hard to believe it has been so long. His good friend Justin went to the cemetery and left flowers from us both; Keith isn't actually buried there; it's his mother's grave, but his ashes were scattered there, and it's all we've got, so that's where the flowers go. This year's are lovely, bright and cheerful.
February 11
Had lots of fun last night doing the interview with Jett Williams and her husband Keith Adkinson. I took some photos in the studio of Jett with Mark, who was wearing his nifty Hank Williams t-shirt. She looks a *lot* like her daddy. Turns out Jett and Mark were born within a few days of each other, a few days after Hank died.
Mark Humphrey and Jett Williams at KPFK, 2/10/11
Today was my last day at the office before vacation, and now am packing and prepping and all the usual. Am babysitting Eliza tomorrow night so that the kids can go out to dinner, and will probably keep her overnight for some Grandma snuggle time. When they bring her over, Josh is going to install a web-cam on the laptop I've borrowed from Claire so that I can talk to Eliza and we can see each other while I'm gone. The miracle of Skype! And on Sunday, I get on the train and ride. Jennifer will mind the fort here at Chez Aldin, the station will cover the radio show with Fund Drive stuff, and Mark is ready to fill in if by some miracle the fund drive ends before I get back. Yeah, right.
At work today I sat transfixed in front of my computer, watching the world change before my eyes. When I was a child there was no TV, but we had a big cabinet radio, and younguns, guess what - in those days the radio WAS the internet. We sat transfixed on the floor in my grandmother's living room and listened to news bulletins, soap operas, comedy programs, western serials and music; but I never thought that the day would come when I could watch a revolution happening in real time halfway around the world. Nor, for that matter, did I ever dream that I would watch airplanes flying into towers in New York, or watch New Orleans drowning, or wave at my granddaughter on a computer screen from halfway across the country. The times, they are a-changing.
February 7
Trying to do too many things at once. I thought that the radio show was on hiatus for a few weeks due to the Fund Drive, but then I got an opportunity to visit with Jett Williams, who has co-produced a 16 CD box set (!) of old radio broadcasts by her father, Hank Williams Sr., and I couldn't say no. Thank God Mark is a Hank expert and is helping me organize the Q&A, which happens this Thursday. I guess the station will broadcast it at some point during the drive.
Eliza is speaking in sentences now ("Give Grandma big hug!" is one of my favorites), and wearing me out with her boundless energy. I just *love* the grandma thing!
Just heard today that Marvine Sease passed away.
January 2, 2011
Sort of a non-stop New Year, so far. On New Year's Eve Mark and I went to downtown L.A. and rode on Angels Flight (which cost us only a penny each, as it was the 109th anniversary of their opening, at which time it cost a penny to ride it). When we got to the top Jim was already up there, autographing copies of his Angels Flight book at a table, and Bill and Lynne from the Monday nights at Conrads were there cheering him on. Then Mark and I walked across the street to the Grand Central Market, where we found blueberries for $1 a basket, and tangerines for $1.50 for a three pound tub. After that it was off to Chinatown so Mark could buy some ginseng and cough syrup, and then to lunch at the Empress Pavilion, where I had my first encounter with dim sum. Dim sum, in case you too have been living under the same rock I was, is a style of service whereby you sit down at a table and they bring you tea, and they put a long paper ticket on your table. Then servers walk around to all the tables pushing huge carts of appetizer-size portions of all different dishes. They swoop the lid off and let you look at it, and they also tell you what it is, but in Chinese, which wasn't too helpful (we were the only non-Asians there and neither of us speaks Chinese. Well, I can say "ho la ma hon yin" but that's not very helpful since it means "how are you, elder brother" in Cantonese; it's the only phrase I know and I'm not sure any more why I know it or where I learned it). So we just shrugged and said "sure!" to everything they showed us. Every time a server put a little plate on the table he or she punched our ticket with a little stamp. We had no idea how much money we were spending (nor what we were eating, in most cases!) and I was getting nervous when we finally called it quits. We had eleven different dishes, most of which were excellent and only one or two of which I didn't much care for, which is a pretty good average, and all that food cost us only $34.
On New Year's morning I was up early and off to do radio, then came home and dismantled and chopped up the Christmas tree and put it into the recycling barrel. I should have worn work gloves for that, and would have if I had any, so my hands are telling me things today. Then Josh and Kate came over and picked me up and we took Eliza to the zoo. She communed with the elephants, the giraffes and various other critters, and seemed to really enjoy it. She looked at a huge Bengal tiger, then looked at me and said very clearly, "Meow!"
Today Claire came over and helped me with some web site stuff - the new year means new files are needed so I can post my 2011 playlists. Then we went to the coffee shop and had lunch with Jim. And THEN it started raining, again. Jennifer and Bruce, who went to Bakersfield to visit friends for New Year's Eve, are now stuck there, since the Grapevine is closed down in both directions due to snow! So I am feeding their cat till they get home, which I hope will be tomorrow.
Sad news on which to end the year. An old, old friend died on Christmas Day. Her name was Kate Rinzler, and you can see/hear her talking here. But long ago, before she was married to the late Ralph Rinzler, she was married to Ed Pearl in the early 1960s at the time that he owned the Ash Grove and I worked there. I used to babysit her little daughter Marni, now a grown woman in her late 40s or early 50s; Kate was one of the kindest people I ever knew. She was especially good to me during one very hard time in my life, when her gentle kindness and understanding was the most helpful thing on earth. I will miss her.
December 18
The holidays are here. Tree is up and decorated, with lots of help from my neighbor Jim (at 6 feet 6 or thereabouts, getting stuff down off my top closet shelves is a breeze for him, no ladder needed, and he reached over and put my treetop angel on without even stretching!). What presents there will be are all taken care of. Not much, but not much is needed. I *was* going to go to a holiday party at Tom and Claire's tonight, but Eliza has been pretty sick (ran a fever of 103, poor mousie) and I stayed overnight last night at Josh and Kate's trying to get her to go to sleep and stay asleep. Not much luck! So I only had about four hours myself last night - she did go to sleep at about 11 and was wide awake and raring to go at 4:45 this morning, and I took care of her till Kate woke up at 8, as both of them were short of sleep from being up with her the night before last. I am so tired that I'm afraid to drive in the dark and the heavy rain we're having, so I'll miss their soiree. I sent Jim with an apology and the items I had offered to bring. But Eliza does seem to be feeling better today; she ate some soft food, and the fever has completely broken. I did only the most rudimentary stuff here at home today, and plan to turn into a pumpkin around 8 tonight!
Another reason for no late night for me tonight is that tomorrow the most complicated part of my job starts; a procedure that we do twice a year, and it takes a lot of time and a lot of concentration, and is really the only part of my job that could be called even a little stressful, because it's exacting, detailed work that *has* to be accurate. So lots of sleep for me tonight, then lots of mail runs tomorrow (my pal Mark has gone home to Oklahoma for the holidays, so I am collecting his mail from both his P.O Box and his home, and storing it all till he returns, plus there is another regular mail drop I do for another friend) before work.
The "December to remember" Alive & Picking Christmas radio shows went off very well. Tom Nixon, John and Deanne Davis, and Ben Elder showed up and played great stuff; this coming Saturday, Christmas morning, will be my turn. In my copious spare time this week, I need to get going on programming it! During the guest hosting shifts the station had a fund drive going on, and I was pleased at how very well the show did in the brief bursts of fundraising that we did.
Fooling around on the internet, I Googled Maps-ed my pal Tony's address in the UK. The photos Google uses are apparently quite old; I was hoping to see his house covered in a perfect English fairytale Christmas blanket of snow, since the weather reports tell me that there is so much snow there that Heathrow Airport is closed! But although I found his house, there was a car he hasn't owned in years parked in front, and a clear blue sky above. Then I did the same to my own address, and saw this building before the most recent repaint job, and that was right after the last big earthquake! So yes, old photos, but still fun to get to see where he lives.
It's raining, it's pouring. Actual conversation overheard at the coffee shop today:
Customer (clearly a tourist visiting Hollywood): "You know, I'm actually kind of digging the fog and rain."
Exasperated waitress, who's tired of it all: "So go visit England!"
Speaking of weather and rain: For those many friends in far-flung places who read this blob as a way of keeping up with how our family is doing, yes, there *are* mudslides in the Hollywood Hills, but not my Hollywood Hills. The mudslides that are on the news are in Nichols Canyon and Laurel Canyon, to the west of us, and in another hillside area far to the east. Our canyon is pretty safe, being built primarily on granite, and with this amount of rain we are probably safe from fires for a long time too! And, touch wood, I have no leaks - yet!
Sad to note the passing of photographer and filmmaker George Pickow, husband of folksinger Jean Ritchie and co-founder with her of Greenhays Records.
Thanksgiving at Casa Aldin was great. Food, friends, family, fun. Took me three days to finally finish washing the last of the pots and pans, but it was worth it!
Somehow it seems as though KPFK is having a fundraiser about every other month any more. I mean literally. We just had one in October, and I already had the entire month of December booked with guest hosts when they announced another pledge drive for December. Fortunately the station was willing to compromise, so instead of me having to cancel and reschedule all my guests (which would have been a DRAG, since they all wanted to do Christmas shows, and somehow those are much less timely in March), we are going to have a solid block of 45 minutes of music followed by 15 minutes of fundraising, and then another solid 45 minutes of music followed by a final 15 minutes of fundraising. But don't worry - there'll be another fund drive in February! (See? I mean, LITERALLY every two months!)
I've been spending a lot of time with Eliza, which means not a lot of time for this blob or anything else. But so worth it. She's talking a blue streak, walking and running everywhere, and we are having Fun With Flash Cards at Grandma's house as she learns new words every day. My weeks are full of work and radio prep, and my weekends are full of radio and errands and Eliza. No wonder I am falling behind with the blob.
Went to the coffee shop tonight, where Jim and I did our usual crossword puzzle together, and was stunned to learn that John, one of our "regulars," was found dead at home this morning. He was at the coffee shop on Sunday - I saw him and we exchanged our usual hellos - and <insert noise of finger snap here> just like that he is gone. Two of the waitresses went up to his house when they heard the news, and stayed there with him till the coroner's van came. So sad. What a nice guy.
Speaking of so sad - Elizabeth Edwards. Man. She did not for one second deserve what she went through in her life - losing her young son in a car crash, facing the glare of publicity as her husband had an affair with and then fathered a child by another woman, learning she had cancer and then fighting it - but she handled it all with dignity and grace and class. I really respect the way she lived her life.
My plans for the trip are coming along well. Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans - and Tony is flying over from England to meet me in Memphis, so I'll have a traveling partner again. I really like it both ways - I'm perfectly happy wandering around on my own, and I also like having someone to wander with.
Got a new digital camera; Jennifer recommended the one she uses, and lo and behold I hit a sale at Target and got that exact model, very cheap! She came up tonight and gave me a quick tutorial, but like anything else it's about fooling with it awhile and seeing what it can do. Fortunately, Eliza provides us with an endless supply of funny faces to practice on. Oh! Did I mention she has learned to say Grandma?
A good friend had a detached retina last month, so for awhile there I was pretty busy taking him back and forth - to the hospital for surgery, home from hospital, back for followups, etc. He went back home for Thanksgiving and during that time was able to drive some, so I guess things are improving.
LOVED that so many of my friends got Grammy nominations! (Didn't so much love that so many of them are competing against each other in the same categories!)
Am indecisive about whether to get a Christmas tree this year. Eliza is just a bit too young to appreciate it, and Jennifer and Josh are just a bit too old to care <grin>.
November 10
The wedding was great. Everything was perfect, the cake was gorgeous, the food was delicious, the music was perfect, the ceremony was short and sweet and a great time was had by all. Jennifer is floating three feet off the ground with happiness. In addition to about 100 of Bruce and Jennifer's friends, Jim came, Mark came, and my friend Berta and her kids drove across the desert from Flagstaff to be with us, then turned around and drove back again as they had an obligation there the next night. Bruce's parents and one of his brothers flew out from North Dakota for it, and the day after the wedding we took them to the Pasadena City College swap meet. Jennifer found a great pair of vintage shoes and two dresses, Bruce found some Star Wars toys, and I didn't buy a mandolin (but it was a close shave.) Now the kids are settling in to married life and deciding where to put all their gifts, and I am coasting toward Thanksgiving. I ordered the turkey and the ham today! This Saturday Josh and Kate are going to a friend's party, and I get to have Eliza overnight again. Yippee! She wore her pretty-pretty party dress to Jennifer's wedding, and assuming that she hasn't outgrown it by then it will also do for Thanksgiving.
This Saturday's radio show (the 13th) will be lots of fun: George Grove of the Kingston Trio, Joe Frazier of the Chad Mitchell Trio, Jim Moran of Chilly Winds, and Art Podell of Art & Paul and The New Christy Minstrels are doing a show they are calling "1963: The Year In Folk Music." I get to push buttons and play carts, but the music is all them. I've also nailed down all my guest hosts for Alive and Picking for December - all doing Christmas music specials: Tom Nixon on the 4th, John and Deanne Davis on the 11th, Ben Elder on the 18th, and I'll do it myself on the 25th since I can't really ask anyone else to do radio on Christmas Day. All of the above happens Saturdays 6:00-8:00 a.m. Pacific Time on KPFK, which is 90.7 FM if you live in Southern California, and www.kpfk.org if you are everywhere else.
November 3
Well. Election is over, and it was 100 degrees downtown today. Yoo hoo, weatherman this is November, dial it back please. The wedding this Saturday is coming together thanks to Jennifer's inherited habit of being incredibly organized, making extensive lists, and checking off everything as she finishes it. Got that from me, you betcha (hello, apple? This is tree.) I spent two nights in her apartment putting the favors together (and trying not to eat all the chocolate before it ever got into the boxes), and we did some extensive shopping, buying white material by the yard and various other odds and ends. Mark is covering the radio show for me this Saturday, and I am taking Friday off work all day to help her with any final prep that may be needed. I have ordered some roses to be delivered as a surprise on Friday, and the tables and chairs will all be delivered Friday night (and stored in my apartment overnight, yippee!). Don't expect to hear from me for awhile; I'm too busy having fun.
October 22
Cajun musician Zachary Richard has suffered a stroke.
Wedding plans proceeding apace. Stuff got bought last night, honeymoon hotel got booked today. Invites are out, RSVPs are in, as Jennifer says. Casa Aldin is rocking!
October 13
Report from the front lines: Jennifer's wedding is coming together nicely, the first weekend of the KPFK Fund Drive went fairly well, and I had a great time emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention last Sunday (and have a natty new t-shirt to show for it). Eliza is coming to stay for the weekend, and Jennifer and I are taking her shopping on Sunday - my gosh, three generations of Aldin women at the mall. Look out world! Next up, getting my mind wrapped around prep for Thanksgiving dinner, which is the Next Big Thing after the wedding - I bought Eliza a darling little party dress to wear to both her aunt Jennifer's wedding and Thanksgiving dinner, and maybe Christmas too if she hasn't outgrown it by then. How is it possible that I can see the holidays right around the corner? This week's mail brought me and election ballot and a Grammy ballot, coicidentally on the same day.
September 27
Wedding plans at Casa Aldin; busy, busy, excited.
It's also so hot that I can't even sit in the room where this computer is for very long at a time (no A/C in here), so will write more when it cools off.
August 21
The radio show fundraiser did terrifically well this morning - as I said to Music Director Maggie, I guess this means I have to keep doing it, then? I'm going to officially ban Mark Humphrey and Rex Mayreis from donating any more money for at least a year, though. Rex is going to have to get a second job to support his donating habit; he gets up at the crack of still dark out and drives to KPFK from wherever the hell far east of here he lives, answers phones in the pledge room during my show, and then pays money for the privilege? Nertz, as Jimmy Durante used to say. I really appreciate all the regulars who loyally call in every time there's a fund drive. But these guys have to cut it out for awhile.
Then errands, shopping (Jennifer starts a new job Monday so I picked up some things for her) and this afternoon I had a visit from my (much) younger half sister and her two children, who live in Carlsbad; she is the baby of my large extended family, born after I was already grown and gone, so we never really spent much time together, especially as she was raised in Italy and I was born and raised in New York. Anyhow, they had been living in Texas, as her husband's work took them there, but he died of cancer a few months ago, and they've now relocated "home" to California. Kate and Eliza met us at the store where Josh works in Hollywood, and we all went to lunch at a nearby restaurant, where Eliza charmed all comers as usual, and at the end of the meal Josh and I had our standard discussion about tipping. He thinks I overtip, and maybe I do by a buck or two here and there. My take on this is that servers stand on their feet eight hours a day for minimum wage, at the beck and call of people who often treat them like lackeys, and they usually have to divide their tips with bus boys and etc., so I don't think that the extra buck or two will break me and it might make a difference to them. For all I know these folks might be single parents, working double shifts to feed their families, and so forth. Anyhow, I always toss in a bit extra. Josh says that they make plenty of money and that I grossly overtip. It's not grossly - I might round up instead of doing an exact percentage, and then might add in a couple more bucks when, like today, we had a really good, helpful and cooperative server who went out of her way in the matter of refills and extra napkins and setting up Eliza's highchair and all that. This is Not A Big Deal to me, but Josh is always on my case about it. However, it was my credit card so I got to decide the tip. So there. (He'd have a FIT if he saw how much I tip in New Orleans!)
I am taking some time off work to rest and think; have been through kind of a lot lately, what with moving my entire office and all, and am more tired than usual. I feel the retirement bug nibbling; Social Security and Medicare are calling my name, but they are probably not going to be enough to live on, and I have no pension or retirement plan at work. There's this granddaughter (and her possible future sibling) who's going to need a nanny, though, and the kids could pay me something for doing that...I guess the real question is, am I ready to give up my annual trips to New Orleans for good, because once I retire I won't be able to afford to travel any more. And I'm not sure whether I could afford to keep doing the radio show, either; I'd have to check last year's taxes, but I think it costs me about $3,000.00 a year out of my own pocket to buy the records that I play on the air. I do get quite a lot of things sent me me for free, sure; but not all of those are, shall we say, things that I feel fit the format of the program (and some of them just flat stink, too, you have no idea). I have a very respectable personal collection of records going back several decades, but the audience needs to hear what's new out there, as well as what's been around for awhile, and not all the record labels send me their new releases. So there are things to think about.
August 16
President Obama made me miss visiting with Eliza tonight. I was on my way from work to Josh and Kate's house to hang out with them for the evening, when I ran smack dab into the street closures for the fundraising event the President is hosting tonight. EVERY street that could have taken me to their house was closed and guarded by police, and I had to go waaay out of my way just to get home. It took me FOUR HOURS to do what should be a 45-min.drive. Oh, Mr. President, after I voted for you and everything, how could you let your mean Secret Service detail keep me from spending time with my beautiful grandbaby?
I was all the more sad because I had not seen her for awhile. I usually let her babysit me every Saturday night, but I worked all weekend - and when I say all weekend, I mean ALL WEEKEND, because this was The Big Move. We rented a U-Haul, packed our business lives of the past 35 years into boxes, and shifted it all to the new office on Saturday; Sunday was spent unpacking, and trying to cram twice the stuff into half the space. This morning we learned that, oh joy, the phone company very promptly disconnected our old phone lines just as they were told to, but didn't connect our new ones at the new office. This meant, not only no phones, but no internet access on our computers (no DSL lines) and no fax machine. MANY frenzied phone calls later, we were able to persuade them to put a recording on the old office phone line giving my cell phone number as the new company number until we can get our permanent phones installed. This Has Not Been Fun. The rest of today was more unpacking and head scratching, and a little bit of the fun stuff (putting posters and photos up on the walls and so forth). Tomorrow, more of the same, and so forth, until we are finally settled in.
The one non-work thing I was able to accomplish this weekend was to call my pal Tony in the UK on Sunday, and leave him a Happy Birthday message on his answering machine. I knew he wouldn't be home - he was out frivoling, exactly as he should have been - but I wanted him to get to hear my voice on his birthday.
August 10
Hard to believe that when I wake up tomorrow morning Eliza will be one year old. Like all grandmothers, I think it's gone by too fast. The first year has been full of adventures for all of us as we got to know the new person in our lives. Together we've been through colic, teething, learning to sit up by herself, holding her own bottle, learning to crawl, to eat (semi) solid food, to pull herself up to a standing position, to stand all by herself - and taking a bath in the big bathtub, with a great deal of splashing and giggling. She can't talk, but she can make herself known - da means daddy, ba means bottle (and sometimes banana), and keys, oddly enough, clearly means keys. And puff means, not a magic dragon, but a baby food item called puffs. She can point to things, and she knows her books and lots of the words and pictures in them. She's already, in just her first year, been to Disneyland, had a limo ride, and is close pals with both Elmo and Minnie Mouse. She loves her Baby Einstein videos, and to sit on my lap and play patty-cake and sing "the itsy bitsy spider." She loves to play in her bouncer and to go on walks (well, she rides in her stroller like a princess while the rest of us walk) to the park near her house or to the coffee shop on my hillside, where she sits on Jim's lap and charms the waitresses and gets carrots all over herself and anyone else who ventures too near. She loves her mommy and her daddy and her aunt Jennifer and me, and we love her right back. This is the best adventure; as I see the winding down of own my life coming slowly around the horizon, watching this little girl grow and play is a lot of fun. I used to say that my children were my stealth bombs to the future - that I had raised amazing kids who were good human beings and would make the world a better place. I was right about that - and now they are carrying it on with yet another generation. I sent Eliza home the other night wrapped in a blanket that I had wrapped her father in 33 years ago; Jennifer found an old photo of Josh strapped into his carrier with that same blanket keeping him warm.
Parenting has lots of ways it can go, and I was very lucky that my kids turned out so well despite, or because of, their slightly unorthodox single-mother upbringing. You have a lot of choices in parenting; if you are abused as a child, you can choose to perpetuate it by handing it down to your own children, or you can choose to break the cycle of abuse by giving them nothing but love. I chose to look very hard at the way I was raised, and to take from it every good and fun and wonderful thing that happened and pass those things along to my own children; and I then took every bad thing that happened and made a specific and concerted effort to eliminate the negative stuff from my vocabulary of parenting skills. For instance, my maternal grandmother, whom I adored, was a racist from the word go, and I am grateful that her frequent verbal expressions of prejudice never became part of my own mindset. My own children never heard those words until they started school, and it was a point of pride with me that they had no idea what the words meant when they first heard them, and had to come to me for a definition! Babies are not born hating babies of other races. Prejudice and hatred are learned behaviors, and babies learn them from their parents. We are responsible for who our children are; when they are born they are like blank pieces of paper, and what we write on them is part of who they will become. I am incredibly proud of the people my children have grown into. And now Josh is taking every good and fun and wonderful thing from his own childhood and giving it to Eliza, and is also remembering my frequent mistakes and vowing not to repeat them. At this rate we will have perfect children in just another generation or two!
Any minute now Eliza will be learning to walk, and then look out, world, here she comes!
August 7
Had a good time on the radio this morning; did a birthday set for Eliza, who amazingly will be one year old this coming Wednesday. She is standing up by herself these days! Then tonight she came over and babysat me. We watched the Dodger game together, and Vin Scully's velvet voice lulled her to sleep in her carseat. Josh installed a program on my computer that is supposed to download my radio shows onto my computer so that I can post links to each show on the playlists page, but honestly? I can't figure to how to actually do that yet; he will show me more next time he comes over.
Went to Phillip Walker's funeral on Monday, and then got home to the news that Mitch Jayne of the Dillards had died of a very fast-moving cancer. The obit said he was 80, which is as hard to believe as that Eliza is 1.
Jim and I are getting very good at communal crossword puzzle solving. It seems that the gaps in my knowledge of everything are pretty neatly filled by his intelligence and vice versa. Had fun at the coffee shop this afternoon doing the Times puzzle; the waitresses, bless their cotton socks, save them for me whenever a customer leaves a paper behind.
This weekend is going to be -- not fun. My office is moving, for the first time in 35+ years, this coming Saturday and Sunday. I have been shifting boxes of stuff over to the new place a few at a time for a couple of months already, but this weekend is the rent-the-truck-and-do-it experience. I am told that I am too old to be doing this. However, none of the people who tell me I am too old to do it are offering to do it FOR me, so there we are.
August 2
Mitch Jayne of the Dillards lost his fight with cancer this morning at about 11:30 a.m. at the VA Hospital in Columbia, MO.
July 24
Sorry to learn that singer and songwriter Chuck McCabe passed away on Friday.
Bluesman Phillip Walker has died at age 73. A good musician, and long ago a good friend, although I had not seen or spoken to him for some years. A great gentleman. Funeral arrangements are pending. His HighTone Records album "Some Day You'll Have These Blues," produced by Bruce Bromberg, is one of the all time best postwar blues albums I've ever heard.
July 15
After work today I went over to Josh and Kate's, watched another episode of "Treme" (still trying to get caught up on the first season), and played with Eliza for awhile. I was feeling kind of low today - this would have been Keith's birthday, and while I miss him every minute of every day and with every breath I take, still, it's a little extra hard on his birthday and on March 6, the day he died. So it was great that I was able to romp with my granddaughter, whose laughter makes it impossible to stay sad for very long.
Taked to Joe Frazier today; he'll be my guest on the show Saturday, so we went over the game plan and I gave him directions to the station. Spent the morning moving boxes from old to new office, and doing paperwork, then had lunch at a Mexican restaurant way out on the end of the Santa Monica Pier with some friends from Maine and England; because the restaurant is directly over the ocean on the end of the pier, they were absolutely astounded to see dolphins swimming along just below us.
June 17
My office is going to be moving later this summer, and we are in the preliminary stages of uncovering 35+ years worth of dust and blowing it off to see what's under it. Fun, finding things we had all forgotten were there. Some of it goes to friends, some gets donated, some gets trashed, some gets sold on Craigs List, some stays with us to make the move. I am covered with dust all day, and sneezing. It will be hard, leaving the office I have been in for 22 years, and I will miss being able to look out the window at the ocean every day. But it was time, and it's right, and hell, by the time I get settled in the new place and everything gets sorted it will be almost time for me to retire anyway!
Everyone on my hillside is watching the Lakers playoff game tonight - it's the last game, for all the marbles. I can tell how well they're doing, or not, by the sound effects bouncing off the canyon walls; when they score a run - oops, I mean basket - loud cheers erupt. When they miss one, or when the Celtics score, there are loud groans and boos, and the umpires - oops, I mean the referees - get called names I am not allowed to repeat in a family blob.
June 14
Kate and I spent Sunday At The Park With Eliza; she crawled on the grass (where pigeons were pecking), she played in the sand and got grit in her fingers, she swung on the swings that hundreds of other small germy children had played on, and I gritted my teeth and did NOT follow her around with a can of Lysol. My own kids all played and swung and never got sick, but I was mighty carefree in those days, or just ignorant. I *did* wash her little hands in the car on the way home.
Among the many new-since-I-was-having-kids developments is something called Puffs. Nothing to do with Magic Dragons, sorry Peter me darlin' - these are some kind of air-puffed little bites which pretty much dissolve in the baby's mouth. Banana flavored, apple flavored, sweet potato flavored. Reading the label, always a big mistake, I see WAY more sugar than I would give a baby; why don't we just cut up a real banana, a real apple, and so forth? Grandma is SO old fashioned.
Anyhow, this weekend will be Eliza's first visit to the House of Mouse. My kids all loved Disneyland, back when it was more affordable (do you know, it costs $73 for adults these days?!?) and I guess they loved it so much that it "stuck" (Jennifer has for many years purchased their annual pass, which admits her 365 days a year and includes free parking, and honey, she wears that thing OUT.) So Josh and Kate and I are driving down there right after my show Saturday morning, and Jenny and Bruce will meet us there sometime later (but not a LOT later, as we have 11:45 lunch reservations) and Eliza will get indoctrinated into the magical world of all things Disney. Josh has a video camera, I have regular camera, and my friends can expect to get bombarded with pictures shortly after we return.
The Dodgers have no offense. Oh, and their pitching's no good either. And Manny Ramirez is about over; can't field anything other than pop flies and seems to have lost his hitting since they made him stop taking steroids ;-)
May 30
Billy Bragg, Martin Carthy, Eliza Carthy and more - The Imagined Village.
May 29
Jim and I went out last night to hear our pal Billy Vera's show at Vitello's Restaurant (no Robert Blake jokes, please. The restaurant has heard them all, many times.) We were originally going to be joined by Jim's radio partner Ray Regelado, but he felt kind of puny so decided to stay home. When we got there we were seated at a table with a bunch of Billy's other friends, right at the front of the stage. I had chicken cacciatore, very good, and Jim and I split a salad, ditto, and a cannoli (no Godfather jokes, please. I've heard them all, many times), and I forget what Jim's entree was but he said it was very good. Billy's show was SO much fun, and very interesting; I've known him for many years now, but somehow parts of his long music-biz history and many of the songs he's written had slid past me. I sure got a good education last night! We had to leave early because the alarm clock goes off at 4 a.m. on Saturdays to wake me up for the radio show. I must be crazy.
Speaking of which, only a couple more weeks till the Pledge Drive starts. Get your dialing fingers ready!
Eliza is getting another tooth, and we're all hearing about it; between the fussing and the drooling she's not too pleased right now. It used to be pretty common to rub some whiskey or rum or whatever kind of hard alcohol was in the house on babies' gums to ease the pain, but that's gone out of favor; my own trick was to take teething rings and pacifiers and whatnot, as well as teething biscuits (the really hard ones) and put them in the freezer overnight, then give them to the baby to gnaw on - the cold numbed the pain. Now the trend is to give them over the counter medicine! I dunno.
Funny post-Katrina story from a friend in New Orleans:
We (Josh and Kate and I) took Eliza to her first baseball game at Dodger Stadium on Saturday. (She had actually been to a Dodger game once before, when they took her to a spring training game in Arizona, but this was her first one at Chavez Ravine). She was fine, except for not wanting to go to sleep - there was just too much going on! She did the wave, sort of, and sat on daddy's lap while mommy fed her some squash, and then I put her in her stroller and walked her along the concourse, but every time I thought she might go to sleep there was a home run, or a close play, and the crowd erupted in roars, and she woke back up. Due entirely to her presence there we won the game. Of course she immediately fell asleep in the car on the way home. I'm still not sure how I got out of there without buying her a cute Dodger t-shirt.
April 24
Every time I go out to Viva Cantina to hear Loafer's Glory they're better. Well, the name is a bit of a head scratcher, but musically they're just wonderful. And last Saturday Tom and Patrick Sauber (who are members of LG along with Bill Bryson and Herb Pedersen) came down to the station and did the show with me. I thought that they would bring a stack of CDs and a playlist and we would do as we did last time they came on the air. But no, they had a big surprise for me, which was that they brought banjos and guitars and fiddles and mandolins and played LIVE on the air in between playing records. Just so much fun! Woke me right up.
Eliza is crawling now; she does about 25 mph from room to room like a little rocket. Have to watch her every second. Today Kate and I (Josh had to work) took her to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, which she enjoyed despite not being able to, you know, actually read yet. Peter Yarrow was performing on the children's stage, and she sat in her stroller and surveyed the territory while he sang Puff the Magic Dragon and This Land is Your Land and Going To the Zoo and so forth; then Kate and I found a shady spot on the grass and played with her while Peter autographed about 500 books for people who were standing in a really long line to meet him and get their pictures taken with him, and THEN Eliza had her first limo ride. Not bad, eight months old and has already tasted the lap - well, the back seat - of luxury. Peter had never met her (last year at this time he sang to her when she was still inside Kate's tummy, but he had never actually met her as a person) so we all went back to his hotel (hence the limo ride) and then went to eat in Westwood; Eliza charmed him, flirted with him, posed for pictures with him, and then promptly fell asleep just in time for the three grownups to get some good visiting time in over a late lunch. Peter is, I think, my oldest friend (not because he's 72, but because we are coming up on fifty years of friendship soon); gosh, it seems like only yesterday....
While I was at UCLA, before Kate and Eliza arrived, I ran into Ian, who was there to visit his pal Joseph Wambaugh; Ian said that Jim was somewhere around, but that they had arrived together and then split up. During my wanderings I stopped into a tent, mostly for a place to sit, and an author was giving a reading. I don't remember his name except that it was a three word name (like Samuel Longhorne Clemens, only that wasn't it) and that his current book is on the NY Times best seller list.
The guy was a jerk. An asshole. Pretentious, arrogant, self-centered and bitchy. He was telling a long involved story about how great he was, when it segued into "and so I wrote this" and he started to read from his new book. Oh, man, it was incredible. Beautifully written, clear, moving, emotional, stopped me in my tracks. People were sitting there with their mouths open in surprise, and I probably was too. Let that be a lesson to me. You can't judge a book by looking at the author.
I looked for Jim as I wandered around; it's usually easy to spot him in a crowd, as he is 6'7", but didn't see him anywhere. Bought a storybook for Eliza, and resisted the temptations of the food court; fortunately, just as I was about to succumb to the evils of Haagen Daaz, Peter arrived. Jim is going back to UCLA tomorrow because he has a book-signing commitment - I think it's his Angels Flight book, but it might be one of the, er, others. Not sure whether I will go or not - Mark is coming into Hollywood tomorrow for a movie - did you know that Luise Rainer is still alive at 100?? And is appearing tomorrow afternoon at the Egyptian at a screening of "The Good Earth," for which she won a Best Actress Oscar sometime back before the earth's crust cooled? So Mark will be around for that, and I might have lunch with him, if I don't go to UCLA with Jim.
April 11
Went over to Josh and Kate's tonight to watch the premier episode of the new HBO drama set in New Orleans, called "Treme." Terrific writing, cast and acting. I think they’ve got their ears sharply tuned to the post-Katrina despair, anger and frustration, along with an adamant refusal to surrender, that was and is the prevailing theme of the ongoing recovery efforts in New Orleans. The Mardi Gras Indian theme “won’t bow – don’t know how” runs through the show like an undercurrent, informing the script and the players.
I think that the Elvis Costello storyline will continue in future episodes. It’s based on real life, since he and Allen Toussaint recorded an album about the whole Katrina experience called “The River in Reverse” – I think we are going to be seeing some of that in the next episode, if I understood the “coming attractions” correctly.
Does anyone else think that the restaurant owner character is playing it like Susan Spicer, headband and all?
Great music – great to see/hear Kermit playing.
I was stunned by the dialog, though. I don’t have HBO at home, so was not aware that the really strong language (and the full nudity!) was so commonplace on cable TV these days. While I don’t know anything about the nudity, of course :-), the language actually is accurate! That's how the musicians really talk in New Orleans. But I was sorely tempted to cover Eliza's ears! And people actually have sex on television now?
Loved the show. Can’t wait for the next episode! I now know what my Sunday nights are going to be spent doing for the foreseeable future, as long as I don't wear out my welcome at Josh and Kate's house. Maybe I should offer to bring pizza next week...!
HBO has put up a web site for "Treme"with lots of links explaining more about New Orleans music and culture here.
March 24
Chicago plans library re-naming to memorialize Steve Goodman, who wrote "City of New Orleans," "You Never Even Call Me By My Name," and "Go, Cubs, Go!":
According to the Tribune today, "Rep. Mike Quigley, D-Ill., introduced the measure to have the Lakeview post office, 1343 W. Irving Park Road, renamed for Goodman. The lawmaker said the bill is supported by the entire Illinois congressional delegation, the Old Town School of Folk Music and musicians including John Prine, Bonnie Koloc and Corky Siegel."
Word is if everything moves along there would be renaming ceremony in a few months.
Quoting the Trib, a post office works because, "James Bau Graves, executive director of the Old Town School of Folk Music, judged it 'entirely fitting' since the business of everyday life inspired much of Goodman's work."
Works for me. I didn't know much about Steve's music until that magical summer of '84 when I found out he was sick, then I learned what a legend he really was in the music business. Goodman died only a few days before his beloved Cubs clinched in Pittsburgh that year.
Later this summer, I'll post some fun about "Go Cubs Go" and how Steve roped Jimmy Buffett into being a Cub fan, but I'll keep it to one story today.
My personal favorite of Goodman's Cubs songs is "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request". There is a line in there where the dying fan is laying out his funeral wishes and says, "have Keith Moreland drop a routine fly in right". I asked Keith about it and he was proud to be part of the song.
"Steve Goodman was ill and I was in the clubhouse was day and the phone rang," said Moreland. "Usually there are no phone calls in the clubhouse. Yosh Kawano, our longtime clubhouse man, called me and said, "Keith, there's a call for you." I said we didn't take calls there, but he told me it was Steve Goodman. Yosh knew who Steve was. I did, too, because I'm a country music fan and I had listened to a lot of music he had written. Steve said, 'Hello Keith. I'm Steve Goodman and I'm a songwriter,' and I told him, 'Steve, I know who you are.' He said that was great and told me he had written a song that mentioned my name and wanted to know if he could play if for me. I said sure and he strummed it and there was the line about come to Wrigley Field and watch Keith Moreland drop a fly ball. He said, "Would that be all right?" I told him absolutely yes, that it wouldn't bother me, because I had dropped my share of fly balls, the same as any player who goes out there and I always tried my hardest to catch everything. It's a great song, Steve was a great guy, and it doesn't bother me in the least."
Here's Joe Liggins doing "The Honeydripper."
Great dinner last night with Jim at The Stinking Rose. I'm sure no one will want to come near me today - I bet I am extruding garlic odor like crazy - but so good! I was supposed to spend a couple of hours after dinner working on Saturday's show, but just fell into bed, too tired to move. Another day.
Tonight - BLUEGRASS! At Viva Cantina - going out to hear Herb and Tom and Patrick and Bill. Drat that early morning alarm clock - I can only stay for one set!
After a couple of decades at the same location, my office will be moving in a couple of months; much planning, measuring of both the old and the new places, much figuring out how to fit everything into the new place, and where; I will need a vacation when this is over! Unfortunately it's not moving any closer to home so I will still have the long daily commute.
March 20
Went to hear Noel Stookey's show a McCabe's last night. He was wonderful, and it was great to get to see/hear him. Also at the show was Joe Frazier (remember the Chad Mitchell Trio?) and we visited quite a bit. Joe has a book in him, and it needs to come out. I plan to nag him unmercifully until it does.
John and Deann came and made radio with me this morning, after which I ran errands, came home, cooked a huge vat of jambalaya, ate, and visited with friends. Eliza did her usual trick of working the room with charm oozing from every tiny pore. No visit to Viva Cantina tomorrow night for me; turns out I am taking care of Eliza all day and part of the night so that Josh and Kate can spend the day with friends at a (belated) party for Josh's birthday. Tuesday night Jim is taking me to The Stinking Rose, a restaurant on La Cienega Blvd. that is all garlic all the time. This is a late birthday dinner present, so he's treating. He took Leo (his cat) to be fluffed and folded and blow dried this afternoon at the kitty salon; Leo's a Persian with incredibly long hair, so this was his pre-summer haircut.
Wednesday night Tom & Patrick Sauber and Bill Bryson and Herb Pedersen are playing bluegrass at Viva Cantina; I'm going, and I hope Jim is too.
The Dodgers are playing exhibition games in Arizona; I watched a bit tonight between bouts of washing dishes. Didn't see anything that impressed me.
March 19
Turned on the radio this morning to hear the news guy say, in a dolorous tone, "Dodger broadcasting legend Vin Scully..." and I stopped breathing. Stopped. Breathing. Until he followed with "...was hospitalized overnight after a fall in his home, but should be released in time to call Sunday's exhibition game." Big exhale. I have been listening to his voice all my life. May he have as many more years as he wants.
March 15
WHAT a weekend. Josh and Kate went to Las Vegas to celebrate their second anniversary, and left me holding the baby, literally. Lots of grandma/Eliza bonding went on, and I now know or re-learned many things I had forgotten, including that when you are spoon-feeding a baby pureed squash, if she sneezes right as it goes into her mouth, everyone at the table will be covered in bright orange goop and she will have a pleased smile on her face.
And all our birthdays are over for another year; Jennifer, Josh and I are all early-March babies, and we closed it out by them taking me, last night, to a Thai restaurant for a huge meal. Leftovers were distributed on the usual Aldin Family basis of whoever could grab the most got to keep them. Jennifer bought me a large bouquet of roses, which is adorning my table and making the room smell great.
Monique, long time (like, multi-decade) weekend hostess at the coffee shop on my hillside, gave her notice a couple of weeks ago and yeterday was her last day. It was, coincidentally, my birthday, so when Eliza and I arrived for breakfast there was a chorus of "Happy Birthdays," a cupcake with one candle (very tactful of them) was brought to the table, and a card signed by all the staff was presented. I pulled out my "goodbye and thanks" card and handed it to Monique, and when it came time to pay the check there WAS no check; the girls had pooled their tips to buy me breakfast. Jim (who I think was absent from school they day they gave out Romantic Gestures) says there is a trip to Astroburger in my near future, and that his new book will be out next month. One of his OLD books, on the history of local landmark Angels Flight, may soon be seeing a substantial bump is sales, as after many years of being shut down Angels Flight (a small funicular railroad track in downtown Los Angeles that used to go up and down Bunker Hill, before they leveled Bunker Hill to build part of the new courthouse) is reopening today. They've moved it a couple of blocks from where it originally was.
March 12
Happy birthday to my wonderful son Josh!
March 11
Last night was bluegrass night. Todd and I drove out to Burbank to hear Herb Pedersen, Bill Bryson, and Tom and Patrick Sauber play at a Mexican restaurant called Viva Cantina. Oh man, these guys are wonderful. I had forgotten how good it feels to sit there and let that music wash over me. They did mostly the Monroe/Flatt & Scruggs/Stanley Bros. songbook, with a few of Herb's tunes and some instrumentals thrown in. I could only stay for one set (that dratted alarm that goes off every morning long before dawn means I have to turn in early on weeknights) but it was terrific. The food is, well, not the greatest, but the music makes up for it. They are there every two weeks, so I will be back on the 24th for sure, hopefully with Jim. While I was there I drafted Tom and Patrick to come back and do Alive & Picking with me again, April 117th, and also while I sat with Harley Tarlitz I talked him into doing one too, June 26th.
Today is Josh and Kate's second wedding anniversary, and on Saturday morning right after my radio show they are bringing Eliza and all her worldly goods over to my house and going to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate. Hooray, a whole weekend with my granddaughter! And when they get back on Sunday evening they, and Jennifer and Bruce, are taking me out to Thai food for my birthday. We do NOT discuss how old I am. Shut up.
March 5
Happy birthday to my wonderful daughter Jennifer!
January 30
The Grammys are tomorrow, and as a result there are a lot of friends coming in to town. My pal Jurgen is here from Austin, and he spent some time yesterday going through my stacks of old 78s and finding a few things to buy from me for his jukebox at home (yes, he has a jukebox that plays 78s. Or maybe he has several.) No sooner was he out the door than Chris Strachwitz called, in town for the Grammys, let's have dinner. He had heard of a Oaxacan place on Olympic near Normandie, so we went there, and thanks to the magic of cell phones Jurgen was able to join us there; he and Chris hadn't seen each other in quite awhile so it was nice to be able to make that happen. The food was not as impressive as other Oaxacan places I've been, but the company was great!
I'm babysitting Eliza tonight. Eliza is teething. Nuff said about that.
January 22
Here's the L.A. Times obit on Jerry McCabe:
January 18
Jim Capaldi emailed me the sad news that John Seeger has died.
John's son Tony is a friend of mine, who teaches in the Ethno department at UCLA. Hard going for him, losing his uncle Mike just a few months ago and now his father. Although -- born in 1914, that makes him (counting on fingers) 96? No, 95, would have been 96 in February. What a good long life!
January 7
Hilarious video du jour. The Ross Sisters sing a song about potato salad, and then.... you'll see, though you may not believe. Hint: make sure you watch past the first 45 seconds or so, as it gets more unbelievable the farther in you get. I am pretty much speechless, except to say that these girls sure are, um, flexible! Thanks to Tom F. for the heads up.
January 3
Guitar player du jour: from Botswana
One would think that with the holidays I'd have so much more time to get things done. Not this year. Maybe it's the new granddaughter, maybe it's work, which seems to be increasing exponentially (and yes, I *am* grateful that at my age and in this economy I still have a steady job!), but whatever the reason, we all go back to work tomorrow and I don't really remember having had any time off!
Live music shows have slowed down a lot over the holidays, but things will get back in gear this coming week. The calendar of events that I read on my radio show has been a lot shorter the past two weeks. However, as soon as tomorrow night there's a show that tempts me (Tim Eriksen at Coffee Gallery) so we'll see how tired I am by tomorrow night. It's a long drive to Altadena from where I live.
My New Years Eve was spent on a hot date with a four month old, so that her parents could go out to a party. I am becoming better acquainted with Elmo than I ever wanted to be. Kate's sister gave Eliza a bouncy-thing - I don't know what it's called, but it's a frame mounted on springs, you put the child into a sort of sling in the middle with her toes barely touching the floor, and she bounces up and down on the springs. Eliza loves it. Much bouncing and giggling took place, although I can't really take any photos of her in it because the motion makes the pictures come out all blurry.
Jennifer had a great time in North Dakota. She sent home photos of her and Bruce, climbing mountains of snow and sledding down hills, and she said that she really liked his family and vice versa. She did mention that she was glad to get home to a place where you don't have to put on three sets of long underwear just to go out for breakfast. His family threw her a bridal shower, and they were gifted with lots of Target gift cards, which will be put to good use (!) and, the perfect gift for the Star Wars geeks, light-saber chopsticks. I am always learning new and hilarious things from my children; Jennifer told me that there is a Star Wars equivalent of Wikipedia, called Wookiepedia. More than I ever wanted to know...
December 26
Well, so, the holidays. Yes. On Christmas Eve I had a little gathering here, starring Eliza In Her Christmas Dress; she was passed from lap to lap and greatly admired by all present. Other than Eliza, there was also a bounteous repast (hey, I can open cartons as well as the next person) and lots of good conversation. Then Christmas morning Josh and Kate went off to visit her family, and I drove Jennifer and Bruce to the airport, where they caught a plane to Bismarck via Denver. Or so they thought. In actual fact they got to Denver just fine, and are still there, having spent last night in a motel near the airport and tonight is looking about the same. There's weather, there's flights being cancelled, there's all that stuff. On Christmas evening Todd and I went to Andy and Ria's Christmas gathering, where I saw some of the same folks who had been at my place the night before (small world !). This morning was the wonderful world of radio, so I was up at four, and tonight I went to Tom and Claire's for their Boxing Day party. Jim was supposed to come with me, but he had gotten an infection in his foot which turned into cellulitis, so he spent Christmas night at Kaiser's ER getting it looked at, and is now home communing with a bottle of antibiotics. I took him a plate of goodies from Tom and Claire's feast, so at least he won't starve to death. Tomorrow I hope to do absolutely nothing, but of course I'll do it creatively.
Wow, Paul Butterfield on To Tell The Truth. Thanks to Geoff Muldaur for sending me this link. I had no idea this even existed!
December 16
I'm a grandma again, for the second time this year! Olivia Reed Pickering made her debut in Chicago today, coming in at just over five and a half pounds and 20 inches tall. I am starting a collection of beautiful granddaughters! Everyone's doing fine. I wish they weren't so far away, but I will get to meet her in February.
December 8
Mike's memorial service was Sunday. I couldn't go - defeated by time, distance, money, and the need to have at least one hand on the wheel at my office, since Mitch DID go. He is bringing me home a copy of the program and greetings from many friends. I tried to write something to be read at the service, but that got away from me too; so many memories, but hard to put them down on paper in any way that would have made sense.
Still no news from my "other son" John and his wife Jeanine in Chicago, who are expecting their daughter any minute now. They promised a full report as soon as she made her grand entrance; well, Eliza was twelve days late, so I won't start worrying for awhile. Two granddaughters in the same year - three, if I count my goddaughter Jeneda's daughter, who was born in late October on the Navajo reservation outside Flagstaff.
Josh and Kate took Eliza to Palm Springs for the weekend to visit friends, so I had a nice leisurely time of it. Did errands, did laundry, did radio (although since John and Deann were the guests hosts I didn't really have to do anything beyond push a couple of buttons.) Then on Sunday I did a favor for a friend and helped him shift things around in his apartment some. The manager of his building had to let a workman in to do some kind of repair a week or so ago, and when the manager saw the state the place was in he backed out, mumbling under his breath about the Health Department (I think the phrase "death trap" was used.) So I went over to his place to help, although most of what I did involved sitting in front of a shredder, feeding things into it. These men - ! Although, in fairness, it's not only that. The guy, who is a really good person and good friend, is plain and simply a hoarder. Some men are hunters, some are gatherers - this one gathers, and gathers, and gathers. A lifelong bachelor, he has so much clutter in his place that it makes my place look neat and clean by comparison! Many hours of work later, things looked a bit better; I agreed to go back this coming Sunday and help some more, at which point he will make The Big Decision about whether he will rent a storage unit and simply shift some of his clutter to another location. I hasten to add that he is NOT a "pig" - there are no dirty dishes in the sink or bugs in the bathroom, and he is scrupulously clean about his own person - there's just so much "stuff" in his apartment that it has taken over his life. Sometime last year I helped another friend, also a bachelor, in his mid-sixties, who had the same problem. He DID rent a storage unit, and moved quite a lot of stuff into it, and so "passed" his apartment's inspection by the board of health. He paid his storage bill for a year in advance, and just the other week got a bill for the second year, at which point he realized that for an entire year he had never once been to the storage unit and couldn't really remember what was in it. There's a lesson there somewhere. I hope he doesn't pay the second year. I hope he calls Out of the Closet or Goodwill and tells them to meet him at the storage unit with a big truck and two strong men, and that he turns his back and shuts his eyes and lets them take it all.
November 19
Some amazing bluegrass clips on YouTube. This one is Bill Monroe & the Bluegrass Boys doing "Uncle Pen" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2XT9u7iw9o
Funny quotation du jour: "Wanting to meet an author because you like his work is like wanting to meet a duck because you like pate."--Margaret Atwood.
November 16
I’ve been thinking about Robert Palmer a lot the past few days, as the anniversary of his passing comes around, a new book of his collected writings has just been published, and yet another year goes by without him. Nobody will ever know how lucky I was to have this incredibly special person as a friend. He had the most open ears of anyone I’ve ever known, and did his best to pry mine loose (without, I’m sorry to say, ever really succeeding). “What the HELL is that noise?” I’d ask as he played some foreign-sounding stuff in a language I didn’t recognize. “Oh, Mary Katherine, it’s pygmy rain chants,” he’d reply, evidently expecting me to react as if it was the Holy Grail, which maybe to him it was. I’m a four-four person, and he was way out there in the land of seven-nine where I knew I was never going to be able to follow. Fortunately, he spoke my language even though I couldn’t speak his, so we communicated in what was probably the musical equivalent of baby-talk to him, although he was always too kind to say so.
Bob was a good friend, and I cared a great deal about him, but his addictions scared the crap out of me. I was single-parenting two small children, and was dead set against them coming into contact with drugs of any kind; during the many times he came west to stay for weeks at a time at my apartment in Hollywood, he drank cough syrup by the pint to ease the uncontrollable pain without violating my rules. When that didn’t cut it he went out to score, never bringing anything back with him beyond the glazed look in his eyes that told me that at least for the moment he didn’t hurt any more.
And drugs or no drugs, he could write; words came pouring out of him like water out of the Grand Coulee Dam. As chief pop critic of the New York Times he wrote record reviews, live concert reviews, chapters on whatever the current book in progress was and still found time to write me four, five, or six-page single-spaced typed letters, all of which I still have, talking about whatever wonderful music he was listening to, shows he was seeing and people he was meeting along the way.
His enthusiasm was contagious and his unlimited love of music was profound. He also had the most amazing ability to write in his head without benefit of (in those days) a typewriter. We went to the first night of Bob Dylan’s Saved tour, up in San Francisco, and after we got back to our hotel room he said, “Okay, now I have to turn in the review.” Neither of us had taken notes during the show, and we had driven up from L.A. with no typewriter, so I expected to see at least a notebook come out and the process begin. Nope. He picked up the phone and called a number at the New York Times, spoke for a moment to someone he knew, and then was connected to a tape recorder, into which he began dictating, cold, with no notes. “Bob Dylan D-y-l-a-n comma whose current concert tour opened last night at the Warfield W-a-r-f-i-e-l-d Theater in San Francisco comma displayed an unusual sense of…” and on it went, a long, at least ten-paragraph review into which without pause or hesitation he inserted punctuation cues, paragraph breaks and created a little literary masterpiece. I was frozen into silence, afraid to break the flow, but as soon as he put the phone down he casually resumed the conversation we’d been having before he made the call. I was floored, and humbled. If that’s what being a real writer meant, I knew I’d never get there.
I got particularly lucky when, as he was working on Deep Blues, he came to stay with me during a dry spell and I offered to compile the discography that would accompany the book, to take that laundry-list chore off his hands. He lit up like a Christmas tree, and we sat crosslegged on my living room floor pulling albums off my shelves and sorting them into piles of “yes” and “no.” But then things went really dry, and he went back to New York with no sign that the book would ever be finished. A few phone calls later, I was getting really worried; the publisher, unreasonably enough, was demanding the finished manuscript, which was already months late. I went to New York and stayed with Bob and his ginger cat Snooky, who were, for the moment, living like two crusty old bachelors in a penthouse apartment that looked like it had been through the blitz.
The manuscript was in chaos. Two lately-finished chapters which he had sent to me for proofreading I had brought back to New York with me and were sitting in plain view on the coffee table, but where was the rest of it? Ah. Part of it was on top of the refrigerator. Of course. And another chapter in the bedroom, having evidently been thrown against a wall, because the pages were all over the room. My role was clear: den mother, nanny, whatever you want to call it, he needed to finish the damn book, and I simply refused to leave New York until he did. And then, a miracle. A week later it was done, all was in perfect order, and I typed the final pages of the discography on his machine, trying to pretend I didn’t see the hypodermic needles in the trash can.
Then I got really lucky; I got to work with him. When I was asked by MCA Records’ Andy McKaie to compile and annotate a box set of the Chess Recordings of Muddy Waters, I agreed, but suggested Bob do the notes; he had done so much research on Muddy during the writing of Deep Blues that I figured he could write them in his sleep. I sent him a list of the tracks I had chosen, and he made a couple of excellent suggestions for changes. Then we waited for the notes. And we waited, and waited. In desperation I started to write them myself, figuring that when his finally arrived we could dump mine.
What kind of mojo he used I don’t know, but when his notes finally showed up they were an absolutely perfect segue from what I had already written; not a thought duplicated, not a redundant sentence in the lot. Andy simply used mine and his, side by side, a perfect fit. The resulting Grammy Award nomination for Best Liner Notes was, Bob assured me, for both of us, but I knew better. The Grammy certificate on my wall has both our names on it, but it was his words that made mine shine.
When he was in L.A. he often guest-hosted my blues radio show. Since his own collection was three thousand miles away, he’d go through my shelves, pulling out albums I’d forgotten I owned and choosing tracks that I had no idea were on them, always bringing something fresh and insightful to the studio and revitalizing my own programming style for weeks after each visit. If I was working on liner notes while he was here he’d make helpful suggestions, untangle sentences, offer comments, but never condescendingly, from the New York Times/Rolling Stone critic to the neophyte. He did me the honor of always treating me as a colleague, and sometimes made me believe I deserved it.
When, five or so years before his death, he moved to my favorite city in the world, New Orleans, we saw each other more regularly. I’d make the cross-country train journey a couple of times a year; we’d meet for lunch or dinner, and I’d fuss at him for not taking better care of his health as we walked, ever more slowly, through the streets of the French Quarter. I knew he had abused his body pretty thoroughly for many years but had no idea, until quite near the end, that he was so seriously ill. He always brushed aside my concerns and questions about his health, and insisted instead that I tell him what shows I had seen, what new records I’d gotten for review, and what reissues I was working on.
And then one day he simply told me the truth. We were sitting on a park bench in Jackson Square in the pale New Orleans winter sunlight, and he looked me in the eye and said that he wanted me to know how much my friendship had always meant to him, and my heart stopped. I knew, but I didn’t want to know. He was very reassuring; I was not to worry, Yoko Ono had offered financial assistance, and he was going back to New York to have a liver transplant. Everything would be fine.
We talked regularly from then on, and two days before he died I spoke to him for the last time. He had recently married JoBeth Britton, an amazing woman who had somehow managed to get him to clean up his act, eat healthier food and take better care of himself, but she couldn’t work miracles. His body was disintegrating before her eyes, and the doctors wouldn’t, couldn't, do a transplant until his health stabilized.
From his hospital bed he told me that he loved JoBeth and that she was aware of his end of life wishes and would see that they were carried out. We said all the things that old friends say to each other when they know it’s for the last time and are given the chance. I somehow kept my voice steady as I agreed with him that it was probably not necessary, and yes, he was probably going to be fine, but that it was good, nonetheless, to say them. I was surprised to find, as I hung up, that tears were pouring down my face. Two days later JoBeth called to let me know that she was honoring his wishes and taking him off life support.
And then I got the phone call that he was gone, and a call asking me for a quote. Then another, and another, and I took the phone off the hook and sat down to work on some liner notes. It seemed somehow the right way to remember him. Still does.
November 10
Had a long weekend in Irvine at the FAR-West regional Folk Alliance Conference. Mark covered the radio show for me so I could be gone. Saw a lot of old friends (lunch with Renee Bodie, dinner with Josh Dunson, etc.) which was nice. The hotel was the Hyatt Regency Irvine, very nice, so I had a little bit of luxury-lapping. The restaurant was amazing: for lunch one day I had grilled sea scallops over mushroom risotto with asparagus. Lie on the floor kicking and screaming good. The night that Josh D. and I had dinner we decided to just order a whole bunch of appetizers. Crab cakes! an incredible chicken quesadilla! Teeny lamb chops! a great salad! (And Josh had sushi, which I kindly allowed him to have all to himself. I don't eat food that is still squirming on the plate when they bring it out. Ewwww.)
Meanwhile, yesterday was Mary Travers' memorial service in New York, which Peter organized, and from all reports it went very well. There are, oddly, bits of it popping up on YouTube (type in Mary Travers, then tell it to sort by newest first). Judy Collins, not to anyone's surprise, sang Amazing Grace with such ethereal beauty that I'm surprised the whole church didn't just float off into the clouds.
After work today I
went over to Josh and Kate's and babysat Eliza for
awhile; came home tired, and was trudging up the stairs when Jennifer
called me back down to her door, opened her screen and stuck her hand
out -- with a ring
on it! She and Bruce are now officially engaged. Their rings, why am I
not surprised, came from one of those machines where you put a quarter
in and a plastic bubble comes out with a toy inside it. Bruce said that
the first two quarters he put in each came out with a different ring in
it. Hers actually looks like one that I got many years ago in a
Crackerjack box. My favorite ring ever was one that I made back in the
Sixties by braiding one
of Peter's old guitar strings as I sat in his dressing room watching
him change to a new set before a concert. I wore it until my finger
turned green, which was about an hour after the concert ended...anyhow,
their wedding date is not set yet, but will be sometime this spring,
perhaps sometime around her birthday in March. We can celebrate at
Party Gras
when I get home from my "big trip" to Chicago (to meet my "other son"
John and
Jeanine's daughter, who will be born in December) and Memphis (for the
Folk Alliance Conference) and Mississippi (talk talk talk) and New
Orleans (eat eat eat). Turns out that KPFK's next Fund Drive will be in
late January,
so I should be here for about the first two weeks of it and then gone
till it's over. No, I am NOT doing that on purpose. Course not. Heh heh.
October 26
Last night went with Tom and Claire and Mark to Royce Hall at UCLA to hear Ralph Stanley & the Clinch Mountain Boys. Dinner first, at a Middle Eastern place on Westwood Blvd. whose name seems to be Grand Opening, since that's the only sign I saw on the front of the building. The concert was billed to start at 7:00, and the opening act, Cherryholmes, started right at 7:00 p.m., and at 8:15 p.m. were still playing; an unusually long set for an opening act! Claire spoke to a friend who was ushering that night, and was told that some of the publicity went out with a mistake on it, announcing the starting time as 8:00. So the opener had to play long, to make sure that all the people who arrived thinking it was an 8:00 curtain didn't miss Ralph Stanley's set.
Cherryholmes (a family group with mom, dad and four kids playing various instruments) were quite entertaining, bouncy, enthusiastic and tight. I had seen them about ten years ago opening for Del McCoury at a church hall in Pasadena, when they were cute little kids who could really play; now they're mostly grown up and can REALLY play. The clear star of the show for me was Cia Cherryholmes, the banjo player and singer with an extraordinary command and stage presence. But although the audience was very receptive, it was clear that everyone was waiting for Dr. Ralph, who came onstage at 8:40 to loud cheers. For the first 5-6 songs he did nothing except introduce the band members (James Alan Shelton was a standout on guitar), and I was getting kind of worried - are we only getting Ralph as the emcee? Finally he took over the vocal mike, and did a string of duets with band members including his grandson Nathan Stanley and his son, Ralph II (known as Two), who was making a special guest appearance during an off week for his own band. Ralph only played banjo once, as arthritis has taken his hands to the extent that he can only just about manage to clawhammer one song; Steve Sparkman now handles the banjo chores for the band and does a great job. Ralph soloed on the hair-raising a cappella "Oh Death," and "Man of Constant Sorrow," and sang harmony on a lot of other songs, including several from his old Stanley Brothers repertoire with Nathan or Two taking Carter's part. A terrific evening, even though by the end of it I was so tired that I yawned all the way home in the car with Tom and Claire.
Stopped to visit Eliza on my way home from work this afternoon; she was having a hard day, fussing a lot and had a little upset tummy. Josh, who is being a stay at home daddy these days, really has his hands full.
The late great Emperor of the World, New Orleans' own Ernie K-Doe.
September 16
Mary Travers died tonight at home in hospice care, peacefully and surrounded by her loved ones. I first met her in 1962, and we had an extremely volatile relationship (strong words were exchanged, loose objects were thrown, and so forth) up until about ten years ago, when things took a 180 degree turn and we managed to become friends. I'm glad of that, now. BBC Radio called me tonight and asked for an interview; hard to reduce the vital life force that was Mary Travers to three minutes worth of sound bites!
For those who have asked about cards and flowers: In lieu of flowers the family has suggested a contribution to the Mary Travers Healthcare Fund at Danbury Hospital in CT.
September 10
Sunday
August 16
Spent the afternoon making a huge pot of jambalaya, then Jim and I drove over to Josh and Kate's so he could meet Eliza. I tried to teach her to pronounce "parallelogram," but I guess four days old is still too young. Then we went on to Claire's party, at which we ate a lot of great food and visited with Ellen and Art and a bunch of other folks. At some point during the festivities I backed Tom Nixon into a corner and breathed fire at him till he agreed to come in and do a radio show with me <g> so my goal of getting all these excellent old music programmers back on the air by hook or by crook is working! Am just waiting to hear from Tom Sauber; everyone else has said yes!
Friday August 14
Tonight I drove Jennifer and Bruce down to a restaurant in Hollywood, and right on Vine Street a bit north of Sunset there's a huge wreath and many candles on the Walk of Fame star for Les Paul and Mary Ford.
Had a long talk with Alexia today. There will be a memorial for Mike at some point in the future but it will be awhile.
Claire is having a party tomorrow evening, and I am making a big pot of jambalaya to contribute; on my way to her place am stopping to visit the kids, ostensibly to drop off some food for Josh and Kate so they don't have to cook, but really to have more snuggle time with Eliza. I put together a shamelessly maudlin set of baby songs for tomorrow's show. Well, you know, my only son has had his first child - that's my excuse at the moment.
Tuesday August 11
Eliza is here and all's well. 7 lbs. 2 oz., 21 inches tall.
Sunday August 9
Went to dinner and a show at the Magic Castle last night with Chris and Janet, bluegrass pals from San Diego, and violated the club's rules by leaving my cell phone on all night, hoping that I would get The Call. But no. My granddaughter is taking her own sweet time about being born; she's is now ten days past her original due date of July 31.
August 10, 2009
Mike Seeger, Singer and Music Historian, Dies at 75
By BEN SISARIO, The New York Times
Mike Seeger, a singer and multi-instrumentalist who played an important role in the folk revival of the 1950s and '60s, died on Friday at his home in Lexington, Va. He was 75.
The cause was multiple myeloma, a form of blood cancer, said his wife, Alexia Smith.
Although a quieter voice on the national stage than his politically outspoken, older half-brother, Pete, Mike Seeger was a significant force in spreading the music of preindustrial America during an increasingly consumerist era. In 1958 he helped found the New Lost City Ramblers, whose repertory came from the 1920s and '30s, and in his career he recorded or produced dozens of albums of what he called the "true vine" of American music, the mix of British and African traditions and topical storytelling that took root in the South.
Mr. Seeger's dedication had a strong effect on the young Bob Dylan, who wrote fondly of him in his 2004 memoir, "Chronicles: Volume One." Although only eight years his junior, Mr. Dylan called Mr. Seeger a father figure - for helping the under-age Mr. Dylan with his paperwork - and rhapsodized about him as the embodiment of a folk-star persona.
"Mike was unprecedented," Mr. Dylan wrote, adding: "As for being a folk musician, he was the supreme archetype. He could push a stake through Dracula's black heart. He was the romantic, egalitarian and revolutionary type all at once."
But Mr. Seeger made his mark less as a star than as a careful, steady student of his beloved Southern music. He was born in New York to a prominent musical family. His father, Charles Seeger, was a well-known ethnomusicologist, and his mother, Ruth Crawford Seeger, a composer and folk-song collector. Besides Pete, Mr. Seeger's sister Peggy also became a noted singer.
The intellectual pursuit of folk music was part of Mike Seeger's life from an early age. At 5 he made a recording of the old British folk ballad "Barbara Allen," his wife said in an interview on Sunday.
Mr. Seeger played banjo, guitar, autoharp and other instruments, which he learned from old records and in some cases from the musicians who played on them. A dogged researcher, he sought out musicians who had been lost for decades and introduced them to an eager (and young) new audience. One was Dock Boggs, a banjo player from western Virginia whose records were prized by folklorists. Mr. Seeger brought him to the American Folk Festival in Asheville, N.C., in 1963.
Mr. Seeger's most recent album was "Early Southern Guitar Sounds" (Smithsonian Folkways), in 2007, and he played autoharp on Robert Plant and Alison Krauss's Grammy Award-winning album "Raising Sand" (Rounder), also released in 2007. In his career Mr. Seeger was nominated for six Grammys.
In addition to his wife, his half-brother Pete, of Beacon, N.Y., and his sister Peggy, of Boston, Mr. Seeger is survived by three sons, Kim, of Tivoli, N.Y., Chris, of Rockville Centre, N.Y., and Jeremy, of Belmont, Mass.; four stepchildren, Cory Foster of Ithaca, N.Y., Jenny Foster of Rockville, Md., Joel Foster of Silver Spring, Md., and Jesse Foster of Washington; another sister, Barbara Perfect of Henderson, Nev.; another half-brother, John Seeger of Bridgewater, Conn.; and 13 grandchildren and step-grandchildren.
Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company
Friday August 7
My dear friend Mike Seeger died tonight, in hospice care at his home, at peace and not in pain.
Tomorrow I'm doing the radio show early, then to breakfast, then coming home and hanging around here for awhile because I'm having a new mattress set delivered. Unfortunately I can't lift the old mattress and box spring by myself, so tomorrow when the delivery guys come, you KNOW they are going to pull the old ones off the frame and be overwhelmed by all the dust bunnies that are under there (or in my case more likely dust kangaroos), plus a miscellanous sock or two and who knows what all else. The new bed is a big surprise - Josh and Kate bought it for me, thinking that it was probably time mom had a new one, as I've been having trouble sleeping for quite some time and it may be the fault of the lumpy mattress. How old is the incumbent set, anyway? Hmmm, let's see now (counting on fingers); well, it's at least 35 years old, so yes, I guess it's time.
Thursday August 6
I'm told that Mike is mostly sleeping now, making his transition inexorably, quietly, and painlessly. Hard to be so far away, but there's nothing I could do even if I was there except help Alexia around the house, and believe me, my domestic skills aren't much help to anyone! And as one goes, another comes; the doctor today said that both Kate and Eliza are in good health, everything's normal, and we'll see her when she decides it's time to be born.
Sunday August 2
Some friends of Mike's went to play music for him this weekend; he enjoyed it, but asked that no more visitors come. He wants to be quiet now, in what time is left. Because he lives so far away there was no way I could have gotten there in time anyway, but we have said what needing saying, and since then I've been forwarding him literally *hundreds* of emails that have come pouring in to me for him and Alexia. This is really hard; as I counted up the years I realized that he is one of the few friends I have left from Ash Grove days; we met in the early 1960s when he and his group came out from the east coast to play there, and in one way or another we have been in touch ever since. He was incredibly helpful when I was preparing the Newport Folk Festival reissue series for Vanguard back in the early 1990s, and then of course these last ten years I have been his "booking agent" so we've been in very regular contact. And in between there have been lots of meals together (Lebanese food in Westwood, yum!) and other adventures, like the time we sat around a conference table in the UCLA Ethno department some years back and he tried for a solid hour to teach me to play the jews harp (he was stunned to finally realize that he had met someone who just couldn't do it!). My ex, Mark, of course, sailed through the lesson, because he has been field collecting recordings of jews harp playing for years and is an expert; Mike eventually decided to blame it on my plastic dentures, which alter the natural shape of my mouth. Yeah sure. Anyway, if he lives till then his 77th birthday will be on August 15th, and whether he is still with us or not I'm going to do a tribute to him on my radio show that day.
Saturday August 1
Well, Eliza was supposed to be born today, but so far no sign. The day's not over yet, but I'd guess that, like her parents, Eliza is just running a little bit late!
Wednesday July 29
It was a hard day at work today, as the news of Mike's final illness has made it onto the net via emails being passed around, and I was swamped with phone calls and emails. Did not speak to him or to Alexia today, as it was their last day at the hospital and they are retuning home tomorrow morning, and the hospice care will be there for them. But have forwarded them over 100 emails of well-wishing from folks near and far.
Had dinner tonight with Josh and Kate; just three days till Eliza is due! We ate at a Chinese place, and I suggested that Kate have some kung pao chicken (one of the hottest Chinese dishes I know) in hopes of getting things moving along, but she sensibly passed.
Tuesday July 28
My good friend Mike, who has been battling leukemia for some time, was recently diagnosed with an additional cancer, called multiple myeloma. And he called today to say that he has now decided to stop the treatments, and is entering hospice care. After we hung up I wrote him an email that said everything I needed to say and I hope was everything he needed to hear from me. Selfishly, it's hard for me to let go, but of course I respect his decision. He's in his late 70s, has had a good and productive life, and it's his choice to make. He knows better than anyone what's right for him. And as sad as I am about this, I'm glad that he is able to end his life in the same forthright manner in which he has lived it.
It's a (nother) girl! My "other son" John and his wife Jeanine, who live in Chicago, just had their first ultrasound, and it's a girl. She's due in December, and that means I get two granddaughters the same year!
April 18
A funny story about how I met Dick Waterman:
Dick Waterman was then a respected booking agent in Cambridge, running his Avalon Productions and representing a lot of traditional blues artists (this was before he became Bonnie Raitt's manager and also before he started handling Buddy Guy & Jr. Wells). Many of the artists he booked would play at the Ash Grove, and the pattern was that he would call up and say "I have Son House (or Skip James, or Fred MacDowell, or Mississippi John Hurt, or whoever) coming to the west coast; can you do a week in June?" and then the financial terms and contract issues got done between him and Ed (the owner of the club).
April 12
Well, I guess this qualifies as a Happy Easter, all right. My other son John and his wife Jeanine, who live in Chicago, are in town; they came over tonight and we met Josh and Kate for dinner at Miceli's, and I was presented with yet another sonogram and the amazing news that they're going to have a baby too!!! So I am going to be a grandmother twice this year, on July 31 and again on December 3 (all dates approximate). Oh my God, the diapers I'm going to be changing!
April 10
Jim and Guy and I were sitting at the coffee shop on my hillside this afternoon, and the conversation wandered around, as it does; and Jim and I shared some apple pie, as we do; and after an hour or so Jim got up to go have dinner with Ian and then go with him to the noir film series at the Egyptian, and Guy got up to go off for a walk, and I came home. And these quiet little times that don't have any heavy meaning, that are just the everyday connections that I make with friends, have become part of the brightly colored patchwork of my life. I have been sitting in almost the same spot at that same coffee shop for nearly forty years; back when I first started going there my daughter Jennifer (42 on her next birthday) was barely old enough to sit up in a highchair, and she drew patterns in her cracker crumbs on the highchair's silver tray. It was just one long soda fountain counter then, with one waitress, my dear old friend Addie, who later, when I was alone and pregnant with Josh (35 on his next one) threw me the baby shower that brought me so much that I needed. Addie, by then in her seventies, still came trudging up the hill to unlock the place and start the first pot of coffee at 6:00 every morning, until the day she didn't, and her sister-in-law Frances the cook and Milton, then the assistant cook, called and called but got no answer so finally went down the street to her apartment and found her on the floor, all dressed for work with her apron over her arm, blown out painlessly like a candle by God before she could get out her front door. And I remember when they expanded the place after Addie died, put in tables and chairs and booths, and how Berta, my dear friend from the Village who had come out to L.A. to join me in working at the Ash Grove, went to work at the coffee shop after the club closed, and she taught Milton how to make eggs Benedict, and being a New York woman she made them put egg creams on the menu too, and eventually they hired a bunch more waitresses, who've come and gone through the years, each with a life and a story someone should write. I've known every waitress by name; I know which one worked extra shifts so that she and her husband could put a down payment on a house that had to be near a good school for her son; I know which one worked two jobs and single-parented a kid, which one came in to work on even the warmest days wearing long sleeved tops that didn't always hide the bruises on her arms, and which one has been sober for over a year now, and how hard that is for her. I know that European tourists aren't used to tipping, because they don't have that custom there, and how when you stand on your feet eight hours a day for minimum wage, every dollar that you don't get makes a difference. I know Monique, the weekend hostess/cashier, who lost her dearly-loved father to cancer and then single-handedly cared for her mother for years, seeing her drift ever-further away into the long goodbye of Alzheimer's Disease until she too finally died, and how Monique watched the Neptune Society boat out of sight and then straightened her shoulders and went to work to get her Extras Union card so she could make some money, and now every time she has a few flashing seconds of film (even way in the background) on a network TV show, everyone in the canyon tunes in to watch. And I know Milton and Miguel, the cooks, and I know that Milton has diabetes and isn't supposed to eat sweets, so when I bring back pralines from New Orleans for everyone I just break off a tiny bite of one for him instead of giving him a whole one. And I know that his wife Margo had surgery recently, but is doing better now, thanks, and I know that he has an adult daughter who's a quadraplegic in an assisted living facility, and that paying for her care is a big part of why at long past retirement age he still stands on his feet ten hours a day in a tiny kitchen where in the summer it's over 100 degrees every day, and although he has never taken a vacation day in thirty years he always has a smile for everyone and always remembers that I like my french fries well done and my fruit salad without any canteloupe. And I know Miguel's son Ernie, who used to work there on weekends when he was in high school, handing out menus and seating people. And I know the busboys and the dishwashers and their families and their stories; Rafael has a small son back in Mexico, and he sends home money to his wife every week. I know many of the "regulars" who eat there every day (and I remember the ones who've died, too, like Paul Pepper, who couldn't stop smoking until it was too late, and John Nolan, a really good writer who hand-carved the wooden sign that hangs over the door, and John Milford, who built the booths when he was between acting jobs). It's a community in the best sense of the word, because whenever somebody in the canyon sells a story or sells a painting or gets a speaking part or places a script or gets an advance from a publisher or sweats out an audition for a role in a tiny non-Equity theater, everyone congratulates them on their success. And when there's an occasional celebrity sighting (Kevin Costner used to stop in now and then, and Jennifer saw Jessica Simpson once, and Lord help us all Lindsay Lohan used to live just two blocks up the hill, and having paparazzi and helicopters there every damn day made it hard to get through the one lane canyon street I live on, so nobody wass really thrilled about having her there, but we all agreed that it was better than when Madonna lived up here and built a helipad on her front lawn, because when she sold her house and moved away they practically had a block party to celebrate) everyone is very cool until they pay their check and leave, and then it's "wow, did you see who was here?" And I know that most late afternoons when I get home from work Jim will be there, and we'll talk, or share sections of the paper, or I'll bring him the latest issue of Blues & Rhythm, or we'll do the crossword puzzle together (in ink, of course!), and he'll drink too much coffee and I won't drink any, and on winter days he covers my always-cold hands with his warm ones and we're always comfortable together; and whenever I walk in the cafe door on a weekend morning there's a chorus from them all of "good morning, Mary Katherine!" that makes me feel, as I am, at home.
March 15
Photos and details of my trip to Chicago, Memphis, Oxford and New Orleans can be found here.
This was my birthday weekend and boy, am I exhausted. Jennifer took me to Disneyland yesterday, where I put in several strenuous hours (and did something painful to my right shoulder and lower back) on the rides. She also treated me to a spectacular lunch at the Blue Bayou restaurant there. Boy was that great. Crab cakes, shrimp remoulade, mahi mahi, steak, salads and veg. Urp! Then we went out to the Deeper Valley to her and Bruce's soon-to-be-old apartment and I spent a couple of birthday hours packing her kitchen into boxes; we wrapped everything in newspaper, and taped up and labeled all the boxes. As a gesture of thanks for my help, she and Bruce then took me to dinner at Victors - so, TWO free meals on my birthday. This morning Claire came over and tried her best to hammer some computer skills into my head so that I could get the photos from my recent trip up onto a web site so people could see them. It was only partially successful; as long as she was here, standing over me, things seemed to go fairly well, if slowly, but as soon as she left and I tried to do some by myself....anyhow, we interrupted the tutorial to go to my hillside cafe and have lunch with Jim, and a plan was hatched whereby Tom and Claire and Jim and I are all having dinner together next weekend to further celebrate my birthday. Tonight Josh and Kate took me to a great place on LaCienega called The Stinking Rose; as you can figure out, the primary theme is garlic. Since garlic is one of my five basic food groups (along with chocolate and a few other disreputable things), I was a happy camper. I should keep a running total and see what's the maximum number of free lunches and dinners I can stretch out of one birthday.
The internet is a truly amazing thing. I have been thinking for quite some time about someone I knew as a child, and wondering whatever happened to her, as she had a really rough time of it when she was young. Tried Googling her, but never found anything. Lo and behold, she found ME, because of my web site. Incredible.
January 3
I haven't written much here about my friend Stevenson Palfi, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately. He was a good friend of mine, a smart, funny, devilishly handsome guy who became like a brother to me. We met and fell passionately in like while he was shooting his Professor Longhair documentary called Piano Players Rarely Ever Play Together, a prizewinning film that's just recently become available on DVD, and if you've never seen it and love New Orleans and its music I highly recommend it. Stevenson had moved from his native Chicago to New Orleans after spending a summer there working at the front desk of the Maison DeVille Hotel in the French Quarter. The hotel was close to Preservation Hall, and he found himself drawn to an 80-something year old banjo player named Manny Sayles (Emmanuel, really, but everyone called him Manny) who was a longtime member of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band; Manny became the subject of one of Stevenson's earliest music documentaries. He met his lovely wife Polly Waring there, and not long after I met them they rejoiced in the birth of their daughter, my darling Nell.
Anyway, Stevenson and I became close friends, joked and flirted our way harmessly through the possible pitfalls of a relationship that was always determinedly platonic, and whenever he was in L.A. or I was in New Orleans we spent a lot of time together. Life went on, things changed, he and Polly separated and eventually divorced, but our friendship continued, with one hiatus, for about twenty years. When my dear friend Keith and I would visit New Orleans the two of them would go off to visit the local bars together, and I was really glad that they, too, ended up with a friendship that enriched both their lives. When Keith died of a massive heart attack in March of 2005, it was Stevenson who let me cry, and cry, and cry, and in a series of late night phone calls he helped me start to heal from that awful loss.
And then, barely six months after Keith died, came Hurricane Katrina, and then the levees broke. Stevenson's house was on Banks Street in Mid-City, the area which other than the 9th Ward was hardest hit in all New Orleans. He was forced to evacuate, ending up in Tunica, Mississippi for several weeks. When he was finally allowed back into the city it was to find that his home, which was also his office and editing facility, had taken eight feet of standing water, and nearly everything he owned was destroyed.
He had homeowners insurance, he told me in a series of breathless phonecalls, but was having a hard time trying to collect. He spent every morning for over two months wearing hip boots, rubber gloves and a protective mask, cleaning out the filthy, stinking, toxic, mold-covered mess that had once been his home, and then spent every afternoon on the phones to various insurance companies, trying to slog his way through the bureaocracy and put through his claims. It was enough to make anyone depressed, but Stevenson had other problems as well, which long predated the flood. He had not been able to work for quite some time; two car accidents, one close upon the other, had left him with a shattered collarbone and shoulder that never really healed properly, and lifting the heavy videocamera with which he made his living became first painful, and finally impossible. He had a half-finished documentary in the works about New Orleans musician Allen Toussaint, and it was becoming clear that he was not going to be able to finish it, despite having gone into debt and borrowed money to make it. The medication that the doctors had given him for a lower back injury also caused by the car crash had unintended physical side effects which left him more depressed than before.
Since the flood, with his own home unlivable, he had been staying with his former wife Polly, and one evening in December 2005 while she was out of the house he stole the gun she kept for protection. A few days later, on December 14, he went back to his house; after writing a four page longhand letter in which he absolved those he loved of responsibility and railed against FEMA and the insurance companies for their lack of understanding and assistance, he left the note on his desk, went upstairs, lay down on his bed and put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
There's no good way to find out that kind of news, but I found out about it in maybe the worst way possible; an anonymous email from a stranger, the morning after his death, saying something along the lines of "sorry to hear about your friend Stevenson." I was stunned, and scared - wait, what? sorry to hear WHAT?? - and then began the long and difficult quest for solid information. Less than three months after Katrina, few people in New Orleans had working telephone service yet; I called his house line and his home-office line and left increasingly frantic messages on his machines. Polly's phone wasn't working, and Nell wasn't answering her cell, but I finally reached Barry Smith at the Louisiana Music Factory, who confirmed that it was true.
Parents who commit suicide leave lasting scars on their children; it's a deep, dark, harsh, hardly forgiveable sin, and it casts a shadow over subsequent generations that never really goes away. Even when someone says, "My grandfather committed suicide before I was born," the statement itself speaks of enormous, somehow contagious, incurable, inheritable pain. Those left behind feel profound guilt and self-reproach (how could I have talked to Stevenson less than a week before he killed himself and heard nothing in his voice, even though at that point he had already stolen the gun he was going to use? How could I have been so self-involved that all those times he told me how hard it was to throw out the accumulated possessions of a lifetime because the mold had rendered them untouchable, I didn't hear the cry for help behind the words? Why did someone so popular and with so many friends -- there were hundreds of people at his memorial service -- pick up a gun instead of picking up a phone?) and eventually anger at someone I once loved so much, ranging from "how could you do this?" to "how could you do this to me?" to the ultimate unanswerable question, "how could you do this to Nell?"
Nell was the joy of his life, a bright, shining, goldenhaired child who was not supposed to live. When she was born, with a combination of birth defects any one of which would have stunned most new fathers into silence, Stevenson refused to believe the doctors who said she wouldn't make it (they had been right the two previous times that Polly had given birth, first to their stillborn son and then to a premature daughter who lived only an hour). He paid no attention; he went into the pediatric emergency room and picked up the tiny child who, in her baby pictures, has so many tubes and wires attached to her that you cannot see a human being at all, and he said "this child will LIVE." He held her, talked to her constantly, willed her to live by simply refusing to believe that she would die. For the first three months he and Polly never left her alone. Nurses and doctors came, shook their heads, and went, but Stevenson and Polly stayed with Nell, praying constantly, calling specialists all over the country, and telling her and everyone else who'd listen that everything that was wrong with her was going to be fixed and that she was going to be fine. Fourteen staggering operations and six years later, the child who had been pronounced brain-dead at birth started first grade, right on schedule with the other children her age; the child who doctors originally said was in a permanent vegetative state and would never be able to walk, talk, read or write ended up dancing her way lightly through elementary school, then high school, and finally entered LSU in Baton Rouge; she would have graduated college with honors with the rest of her class if her father hadn't derailed her education and her life by putting that gun in his mouth. She was only eighteen when he died, and she will never get over it. She will never be the same person again; she adored her father, and when he killed himself the light in her eyes just went out. I still see her every time I go to New Orleans; we maintain the tradition that we started when she was just a little girl, of having one nice "dressup" dinner together in a fancy retaurant during my stay; but she doesn't want to talk about Stevenson. She doesn't want to hear how much he loved her or how important she was to him. She sits quietly, always unfailingly courteous to her father's old friend, looking at her plate, picking at her food, and occasionally glancing at her watch under the table where she thinks I won't see her, wondering how much longer she'll have to stay. When I ask her, with the easy familiarity of someone who has known her all her life, what her own plans for the future are, when she might start looking for a job, or when she might be going back to college, she just shrugs and doesn't answer.
The last time I was there she gave me a reliquary with some of Stevenson's ashes in it, and a container of more of his ashes which, when the time is right, I'll be putting into the ocean at Malibu, where we loved to go for long walks. I'm trying to think of the right words to say when I release his ashes into the water, maybe some perfect poem or song lyric, but all these years later the only words I can find to say to him are still "how could you do this?"
I guess I should make it clear at the beginning that this "blob" (so called because it's formless, shapeless and has no content) isn't a regularly scheduled event. I make sporadic notes here when the spirit moves me, when it's not too hot or too cold, when I have something to say, when the planets are in the right alignment, etc. When it gets too long, I delete the oldest entries; ahhh, how ephemeral is life. If I don't post every day it does NOT mean that I'm dead. :-)
May 12
RIP Duck Dunn.
Our family day at Disneyland was a big success; Eliza went on lots of rides, spent some quality time with Minnie Mouse and Piglet, and announced that the Ariel Undersea Adventure ride was "too scary" and she wasn't going to go on it any more "until I am 8 years old!" I also saw the California Adventure park for the first time - fortunately they let me take the motorized wheelchair from one park to another - and just didn't feel the magic. That night I gave her a bath in the motel room, and we snuggled down together with a book while the four big kids closed down Disneyland.
Lost a(nother) good friend this week. That's how it happens; you blink, and they’re gone. Take a breath in, and they take a breath out and are gone in that heartbeat of time. Thomas Henry “Hal” Freeland III died of a heart attack at age 82 at his home in Oxford, MS. Just sitting talking quietly to his wife Judy, and in an instant he was gone. I hadn’t seen Hal for awhile; the last time I was in Oxford, a year ago February, he wasn’t in the law office when I went by to visit Tom and Joyce. I fell hopelessly in love with him the minute I met him, however many years ago that was – twenty? more? – because that courtly-Southern-gentleman-lawyer thing that he had going on just charmed me into instant friendship. I loved talking to him – all those Freeland boys have voices like warm maple syrup, and Hal’s Mississippi drawl was the best because he was the oldest. When his son Robert died the voice got a little bit raspier, but he still stood up every time I entered his office and he still pulled out chairs and opened doors for me and asked after my kids as if they and I were the most important things he could possibly want to talk about right at that moment. He was a big man with a big laugh and a straight wide open innocent stare that said he had nothing to hide, although of course he did. And I can’t believe he’s gone, just like that; I blinked, and he died, and that’s all there’s ever going to be.
Josh and Kate have decided that Eiza will be starting school this September; she'll be three in August, and there's a Montessori school near their house. Wow, my baby girl is starting school!
Next Sunday (the 20th) I'll be emceeing the Topanga Banjo Fiddle Contest - they'll be dedicating the beginners stage to the late Frank Javorsek, a lovely gesture.
The kids all took me out for a great Mothers's Day dinner a couple of days early. Friends, most of my time these days is spent with Eliza or at work, leaving little time any more to tend to this blob. I'll write when I can.
April 13
Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer are in town, and last night we all went to the Magic Castle together; my pal Mark came over that afternoon and we all met up at the Castle for dinner. We saw a couple of good magic shows, which made it a later night than I like on a weeknight, but this morning I didn't have to go to work; my good friend Ed Archer's mother Thelma died last week at 103 (!) and today was her funeral. The weather was certainly appropriate; pouring really hard with rain and very gloomy, perfect for a funeral. Tomorrow I will have my darling Eliza overnight, and then on Sunday morning I'm taking her to breakfast and then to McCabe's, where Cathy and Marcy are doing a childrens concert, before returning her to her parents.
April 3
Here's a story and some video of my friend Peter Feldmann paying a visit to Earl and Louise Scruggs in their home - Peter got to play Uncle Dave Macon's banjo!
April 2
Sunday was a busy day; Mark came over early and we went out to Pasadena to the swap meet, where we immediately ran into Billy Vera, who was clutching a handful of 45s. I really didn't think there WERE any records Billy didn't already own! During our wanderings we found a lap steel guitar that had once been owned by a musician I remembered from the late 60s or early 70s, John Forsha, whose widow was selling off a few of his instruments. I got a chance to visit with her a little bit and she refreshed my dim memory of him; I remembered that he had played on Fred Neil's "Dolphins" album, because I went to the sessions at Capitol, and I had seen his name on Judy Henske's High Flying Bird LP and on Tim Buckley's debut on Elektra. On the way home I said to Mark, "You know, I think he played on a Stone Poneys session, too." And I checked when we got home, and I was right, there he was! Mark took the lap steel home to his place, gave it a new set of strings, and wrote a little tune for it. Anyhow, after the swap meet we went to a Thai Music and Culture Festival - Hollywood Blvd. was blocked off from Western to Normandie and there were booths, stages, food, etc. Rather than deal with traffic and parking, we had Jennifer run us down the hill to the Metro station at Hollywood and Vine, got off one exit later at Hollywood and Western and there we were! I had the *best* mango and sticky rice I've ever tasted, and took some photos which, you're tired of hearing about this, I can't figure out how to post here. Got home from that, put my feet up for ten minutes and then went right back out again. Jim and I had dinner at Astroburger the other night, and during the meal our pal Ian Whitcomb turned up to join us; he had an appointment that got cancelled and found himself at loose ends, so he drifted over to hang out with us. We had a lovely visit together, and he reminded me about his upcoming Cantalini's gig, so last night I went out there. Had the usual really good Italian food and the usual really fun Ian music; half the meal ended up coming home and being my lunch today. Us Italians are all about the big portions!
We are figuring out Easter; the holiday really belongs to Kate's parents, who are devout Catholics and go to church and so forth on that important day, so I will keep Eliza overnight the night before, and after she falls asleep I'll pretend to be the Easter Bunny and hide a few eggs for her to find early Sunday morning before Josh and Kate come to get her and they all go off to spend the day with Kate's family. Not real eggs, since she is allergic to eggs, but chocolate marshmallow bunnies or whatever I can pick up this coming week. Farther on up the road, as Bobby Blue Bland used to say, we have a family day planned at the end pf this month at the House of Mouse. Jennifer and Bruce, Josh and Kate and I will all take Eliza there for a day - it takes five adults to ride herd on her when she gets to racing around. She is looking forward to visiting with her close girlfriends Daisy Duck and Minnie Mouse.
March 29
Well, the trip report is done, but I am having a hard time posting photos. If I can't sort it out myself I'll send up a flag and Claire will come and help me.
Meanwhile, it has been a time of bad news and hard losses. My old friend Frank Javorsek died of a heart attack this week; I first met him when we both did radio shows on KCSN back in the late 1970s. I am shocked and saddened. Many generations of music students passed through his capable hands; I have strong memories of Frank at both the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest and the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddler's Convention, shepherding his students on and off the contest stage and backing them up on guitar when needed. Another old bluegrass buddy, Doug Dillard, is in Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville, semi-conscious and intubated, suffering from emphysema. And the great Earl Scruggs passed away; a most wonderful opening paragraph of a story by Steve Martin, published earlier this year in The New Yorker, describes him so perfectly:
Some nights he had the stars of North Carolina shooting from his fingertips. Before him, no one had ever played the banjo like he did. After him, everyone played the banjo like he did, or at least tried. In 1945, when he first stood on the stage at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville and played banjo the way no one had heard before, the audience responded with shouts, whoops, and ovations. He performed tunes he wrote as well as songs they knew, with clarity and speed like no one could imagine, except him. When the singer came to the end of a phrase, he filled the theatre with sparkling runs of notes that became a signature for all bluegrass music since. He wore a suit and a Stetson hat, and when he played he smiled at the audience like what he was doing was effortless. There aren’t many earthquakes in Tennessee, but that night there was.
Sunday was our annual Party Gras, and despite a storm that wouldn't have been out of place in New Orleans, many friends splashed their way to our doorstep in the pouring rain to eat jambalaya, wear the silly Mardi Gras beads I passed out, and help celebrate our family birthday party with us. Jennifer came over a couple of days before and helped clean, and everyone pitched in to make it happen. It was lovely.
My hillside cafe, radically renovated, has reopened. But I haven't been there, and most likely won't go back. Jim has reported in, as has Jennifer, that the food is very good but the ambience has been totally destroyed; it's no longer the cozy local cafe with slightly chintzy old-fashioned decor; it's now industrial-looking, stripped to bare floors and bare walls (I am told it's very LOUD in there now) and has no warmth at all. So Jim and I go to Astroburger, an inconvenient distance away, and when we do crosswords now, it's here at my place. Changes, changes.
March 12
I'm home - and it was great. Will write a long "trip report' and post some photos here as soon as I can get everything organized. Before then, however, mountains of laundry are staring at me. You know how that goes.
January 25
Very sad news today. My old friend Dick Kniss passed away; he was the longtime (40+ years) rock-solid bassist for Peter, Paul & Mary, and also did about ten years as John Denver's road bassist while PP&M were on hiatus. He was one of the nicest people I ever knew, and will be greatly missed.
Good things are happening in radio land. You can all go back to listening to KPFK on Saturday mornings; a whole bunch of my pals are hosting shows in the old Alive & Picking slot, taking turns - Tom Nixon, Ben Elder, Mark Humphrey, John and Deanne Davis, and I hope one other (still waiting to hear about that one). I'm really pleased that it all worked out.
NAMM was great! Ran into a bunch of old friends, heard lots of plucking and strumming and so forth - my feet hurt and my ears are ringing, but it was worth it! Will try to upload a photo here but have been having a struggle with it lately.
Now: do NOT worry if I don't write very often any more. Getting ready to leave on my trip soon, and also working on THREE writing projects that must all be done before I go. So, you know. I'll be baaaaack.
January 14
I really like this whole retirement-from-radio thing, and have now extended it further; for over a decade I've been running an internet blues music discussion group, and I've decided to retire from that too. A pal who runs a smiliar music-related mailing list is going to take over running the one I've been doing all this time. It's time to downsize my whole life, pretty much; I am actually starting to sell off my collection of books, records and memorabilia. It's money in my pocket right now, which is always useful, and in the longer term it means there's that much less "stuff" that the kids will have to deal with when That Time Comes.
Mark did the radio show this morning, and it was great! Glad to hear him back on the airwaves.
Going to the NAMM show in Anaheim next weekend; hope to run into some of my old pals there.
January 8, 2012
Yesterday was the first morning the alarm did not go off at 4 a.m. for the radio show. I didn't notice, of course, being asleep. When I did wake up at about 6:30, it was to find a small person burrowed tightly next to me under the covers, one tiny fist clutching the sleeve on my nightgown and the other holding her (stuffed) kitty. I watched the miracle of her breathing in and out for awhile, till she stretched, sat up and immediately, with no yawning wakeup period allowed, started chattering full tilt about what we were going to do that day. This, folks, is why I retired from the radio show. I would not have missed those precious early-morning minutes with this two-year-old angel (who, in case you hadn't noticed, has me completely wrapped) for anything you could offer me. She will only be two for a minute - we will only have a heartbeat of time in which to have splashy baths and hair combing and princess nightgowns and bedtime rituals together. Do I love the music? You betcha. Do I love her more? Don't even ask.
When her mommy came to pick her up we all went to breakfast together at Victor's; she inspected the science of pouring syrup into the open squares on grandma's waffles, then decided she was big enough to drink ice water out of a real glass. When we got that mopped up and she recovered from the shock of her ice water bath, we all read "The Monster at The End of This Book" (and how well I remember reading that exact same book to her daddy 34 years ago!) and then I was dropped off at home and started my day. Errands, shopping, and my big treat: a matinee bluegrass show! Loafers Glory sold out their evening show, so they added a 3:00 p.m. set, and I called Bob Stane at the Coffee Gallery and pleaded to be allowed to switch my ticket to the earlier start time. Loud cheers! They were great, as always, and even greater was the fact that I didn't have to make that long drive back home alone in the dark. I find that as I get older, driving in the dark become more and more challenging, so I am trying to cut it way back.
My pal Rex has some adorable little kittens he is trying to find homes for. If you know anyone who wants one (or two), let me know via email and I will forward it to him. He and the kittens are I think, in Pasadena/Altadena or thereabouts.
Trying to schedule our annual Party Gras, in order to have it in hand before I leave on my trip. Oh, I like the sound of that - let's say that again. Before I leave on my trip. I am leaving soon for my trip. Ahhhh. Memphis (folklore conference, barbecue, visiting friends) and New Orleans (food, music, music, food, food, music. Sleep, not so much.) And this year will be most special because not only is Tony coming over from London, but Josh, Kate and Eliza are coming too! Can't wait to take Eliza to the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas.
December 31
Disappointing news: Tony has decided not to come to L.A. for the Grammys after all, but is reverting to our original plan, and we will meet in Memphis and travel together to New Orleans, as in previous years. Sigh. Meanwhile, Neil's plans for a visit are proceeding on schedule.
Did my last radio show this morning. Last? Well, last for NOW anyhow. One never knows, do one, as Fats Waller used to say. Lots of nice calls and emails from listeners saying goodbye. As soon as I got home the kids brought Eliza over to play with me, and also brought my new "smart" phone, their Christmas gift. So far I have figured out how to program numbers into it, I think; at this point the phone is still smarter than I am but I expect that will turn around soon. Eliza and I have had a lovely day together, and she is now freshly bathed, wearing her Disney Princess nightgown, sitting on the futon in my office watching her perennial favorite, "Lady & the Tramp." At 8:59 we will turn on the New York Times Square celebrations, count backwards from ten, and retire peacefully to bed, looking forward to whatever adventures the new year may bring us.
December 27
Christmas was great! Josh did all the heavy cooking - a huge pot of spaghetti, a huge salad, and I made a pan of garlic bread. Apres djeuner, Eliza was the focus of attention, as she enthusiastically tore open all her presents. Her favorite, we think, was a Disney Princess tea set I gave her, with little cups and saucers and spoons and a teapot and a sugar and cream set, all in solid, unbreakable, very pink plastic. The kids gave me a cell phone - I know, I already HAVE a cell phone - however, this one, apparently, can waltz, count to a hundred, etc. as it is a "smart" phone. It may be smarter than I am - I don't know - it hasn't actually arrived yet. It's being shipped to Josh's office and will be here any minute now, providing it's smart enough to find its way to my house.
Not only is Tony coming over from the UK in February, but I just got an email from Neil telling me that he is coming back too - in a couple of weeks! London comes to L.A.!December 22
The epiphany du jour is that without the radio show, I no longer need to keep all these CDs. Many of them can go! Not all, of course - but I've started pulling stuff off shelves and putting it in stacks to sell off. Perhaps my daughter and her husband can be persuaded to load several boxes into the back of their giant vehicle and take them all down the hill to trade in at Amoeba Records after the holidays. I have *got* to get rid of the "but I might need this for something someday!" mentality that has made me the Clutter Queen of Hollywood. The kids have threatened to make me watch a show called "The Hoarders" or some such title, about people who have so much junk in their homes that they can't walk from room to room. I'm not THAT bad....yet....am I?
An old friend sent me a lovely Christmas gift in the mail, which is greatly appreciated. But even better was the kind note about our friendship that she wrote in the card. There are a handful of people in my life that I have known for a long time - Peter, of course, with whom I'll be celebrating our 50th "anniversary" this coming August. Berta, and Vicki, whom I've knows since Ash Grove days - the mid-60s, so that would be (hastily counting on fingers) 46-47 years now. Same for Chris Strachwitz, whom I met when he used to come into the club in the mid-60s, and I went to his 80th birthday party this past July. I first met Esther Crayton back in the late 60s when her late husband Pee Wee used to play at the Parisian Room regularly, and we've stayed friends all thsee years. And my friendship with Dick Waterman, who once mistook me for Jackie DeShannon - no, really! - is also well into its fourth decade. Jim O'Neal, let's see, we've known each other since the mid-70s sometime, so that would be...35 years? Mark, whom I met in the late 70s when he moved out here from Oklahoma - and we had been "pen pals" before that! And the friend who sent the card and gift, with whom I go back at least 35 years now. But that's not many; the older I get, of course, the more of them go on ahead. I thought that Keith and I, and Stevenson and I, would be lifelong friends; and so, I guess, we were, only that their lifetimes ran out long before mine did.
December 21
It's the holidays, so am busy doing Christmas prep for Eliza, whose new friendship with Dora The Explorer needs to be appropriately acknowleged (i.e. gift-wrapped). I had the postponed surgery, finally, which was not any fun at all but did bring out the hero I always knew was in Jennifer, who has been rising every morning at 5 to clean and dress the wound and change the dressings before I go to work, and the same again when she gets home from work each night. Stitches come out on the 28th, and as far as I know she will be off the hook after that. Then there is a new writing assignment - liner notes for a forthcoming CD - and another, possibly, in the New Year if certain licensing glitches can be overcome. And, lingering in the background, the need to put together my final radio show, which will happen on New Year's Eve. So what with one excuse and another I haven't written much here.
Tony may be coming out here; he's been nominated for a Grammy Award, and the ceremony is here on February 12th. He is investigating flights from London to L.A., etc.; we were already set to meet in Memphis and travel to New Orleans together later in the month, but now it seems he will need to come out here the week before. Well, that would be lovely, but am holding off any hilarity until he actually books his tickets. Oh, Lord, houseguests = if this comes true I must draft Jennifer to help me clean the place!
We're busy at work right now, and will be till the end of the year, after which I should have time to breathe. I was very proud of myself for going back to work the day after the surgery, but now think maybe that was a mistake. I should have admitted that I needed a day or so to rest, and am paying for it with a slower recovery time than I expected. I don't think my mind has caught up yet with the reality of just how old my body really is.
December 11
Bill Tapia, Virtuoso Ukulele
Player, Dies at 103
By DOUGLAS MARTIN
Here's a promo video for Ralph Stanley's new album.
Had 50% of my guest hosts on the show this morning (Jim and Art) and they did a great job. Then we went next door for breakfast and then my weekend really began. Kate and I took Eliza Christmas shopping, and then Kate and Josh left her with me overnight so we could bond. The usual bath and bedtime rituals were observed. This morning we got up and and went to - ugh - Denny's for breakfast. Without my coffee shop up here I have to completely redo my decades-long eating habits; now that I have to go down the hill to find food, I really HAVE to find somewhere decent to eat!
December 8
Had my first Cuban food before the Loafers Glory show at Boulevard Music last weekend; the restaurant is right across the street from the club, and while the Loafers were doing their sound check Mark and I walked down the block and had dinner. Reasonable prices and really good food! The guys were great as always, and sang me some of that wonderful bluegrass gospel, also as always. They dropped tantalizing hints about their new CD, which *may* be done in time for me to play it on the air on December 31. Or may not.
The news appears to have leaked out that I am leaving KPFK, and in addition to receiving several kind emails and calls from listeners, I have had some email discussions with station management. There may, and I use the word advisedly, be some news for you. If there is, I promise I'll let you know.
Time and change are getting me down. The coffee shop on my hillside, where I have been eating for forty years and more, has closed. All the workers are out of a job (but fortunately they are all eligible for unemployment insurance, since they were laid off due to closure); a few of the waitresses havealready found other work. I don't know what Milton will do; at nearly 80 he's going to be a tough sell to modern restaurants who want their cooks to be young, sexy and CIA graduates, and he's none of the above. I scraped together a tip for him that I hope will help tide him over, and I saw other regulars slipping Christmas cards to him too during the closing week, so with that and his unemployment I hope he will be okay for awhile. There's already a sign in the window showing that a liquor license has been applied for - my Lord, are they turning our coffee shop into a BAR? This is a quiet, residential hillside community; I don't know what a bar will do to us in the way of traffic, noise and drunks going home at closing time. Yikes. Jim and I have been doing our crossword puzzles together there for ages; we are trying to find another place to do them, but Dennys is so soulless, and the few other places we can find aren't set up the way we need them. Oh dear.
Have been doing some Christmas shopping, from local small stores and merchants and mom and pop places whenever possible.
*****************************************************
Hillary Clinton calls on world not to discriminate against gays
December 06, 2011|By Kim Geiger, Los Angeles Times
Reporting from Washington —
Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton called on world leaders for the first time Tuesday to stop discrimination against gays and lesbians, announcing that the United States would use diplomacy and $3 million in aid to help expand the rights of gay people around the world.
In a speech to mark Human Rights Day, which is celebrated Saturday, Clinton declared that protecting the rights of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people is "now one of the remaining human rights challenges of our time" and compared it to the battles for women's rights, racial equality and religious freedom.
Speaking at the United Nations' human rights body in Geneva, she noted that obstacles to gender equality in much of the world "rest on deeply held personal, political, cultural and religious beliefs."
"Some seem to believe it is a Western phenomenon, and therefore people outside the West have grounds to reject it," Clinton said. "Well, in reality, gay people are born into and belong to every society in the world."
She challenged other governments to join U.S. efforts against gender discrimination hours after President Obama directed U.S. agencies working overseas to help combat the criminalization of sexual orientation and to enhance efforts to protect gay and lesbian refugees and asylum seekers.
Clinton announced the launch of a Global Equality Fund to assist civil organizations that promote equal rights for gays abroad. She said the U.S. had committed more than $3 million to start the fund.
The initiative builds on the Obama administration's effort to promote the rights of gays and lesbians at home. The Pentagon this year dismantled its ban on gays serving openly in the military, and Obama recently directed the federal government not to defend a law that defines marriage as between one man and one woman.
Single-sex marriage is banned in most states, and harassment and discrimination against gays persist in many communities.
"I speak about this subject knowing that my own country's record on human rights for gay people is far from perfect," Clinton said. "So I come here before you with respect, understanding and humility."
A senior State Department official in Geneva said Clinton "was very intent on making [her speech] respectful in tone but firm on principle."
"She came not to wag a finger, but to really invite a conversation," the official said.
Clinton likened the religious and cultural explanations for abuse of gays to the reasons given to justify "honor killings, widow burning or female genital mutilation."
"Some people still defend those practices as part of a cultural tradition," Clinton said. "But violence toward women isn't cultural. It's criminal. Likewise with slavery; what was once justified as sanctioned by God is now properly reviled as an unconscionable violation of human rights."
November 28
Mary Katherine waves goodbye: A major decision, but oddly, not a hard one. I've been doing a radio show in one form or another for over 35 years now, and all this time I have always said that when it stopped being fun I would hang it up. And that time has come; it has stopped being fun. Getting up at 4:00 a.m. on Saturdays? Not fun. Working every single weeknight evening on prep for the coming Saturday's show, instead of playing with my granddaughter or visiting with friends or, you know, just having time to read a book? Not fun. Listening to countless recordings of mediocre singer/songwhiners to find the few jewels that I just love and really want to play? Not fun. Going in to the radio station to find missing or broken equipment, the control room a mess, and things not being done that should be? LONG ago stopped being fun. The fundraising pledge drives, so essential to the radio station's continued well-being but so incredibly draining to do? NEVER were any fun. When I wrote the note to Maggie (the station's Music Director) last week, telling her that I was ready to go, I saved it in my unsent mail for a couple of days, wondering if I might just be a little tired or momentarily depressed or something, and it would pass. Nope. When I finally hit that "send" button yesterday afternoon, I promise you I felt nothing but an immense relief. I am SO MUCH looking forward to returning to a life in which I *can* go out to hear live music on Friday nights because I won't have to get up at 4 the next morning, and for that matter can go out to shows on Saturday nights without falling asleep during the first set because I have been up since 4 *that* morning. I can go away for a weekend. Did you hear me? I can go away for a whole weekend, yes, starting on a Friday night if I want to, without having to say, no, sorry, can't leave till after I do the show Saturday morning. For 35 years I have been planning my entire life around the obligation of doing the radio show, for which, of course, I not only get paid nothing, but which actually costs me anywhere between $2,000 and $3,000 a year to do. I get a lot of records for free, yes, but I have to BUY at least as many more.
But the most important thing is this: listening to music, which I used to love, has become a chore and an obligation. I HAVE to listen to this huge stack of stuff that comes in the mail every week, knowing that most of it is going to be garbage but it all has to get a fair hearing. If listening to music has become a burden; if my favorite part of doing the radio show has become having guest hosts sit in with me so I don't have to program anything that week? Wow, REALLY time to let it go. I have enjoyed it, mostly; but now it's time to say goodbye.
There are some folks in public radio who hang onto their shows with a death grip, because it's all they have. I feel sorry for them; their entire identities and lives have become wrapped up in doing their radio programs. Me? I have a whole big huge busy exciting wonderful life. Terrific kids (and grandkids) whom I adore and who adore me, a full time day job, a vast circle of friends I rarely get to see, projects producing and annotating reissues, my occasional freelance writing work, my annual trips to see my "second family" of friends in New Orleans, my work on the Grammy committees, and a lot more. I don't need to hear my name on the radio every week; I already know who I am. And frankly, my life is winding down now, and I am becoming acutely aware of what time I have left, and the need to spend it wisely. I'm not getting any younger - au contraire - and I want my children and grandchildren and old friends to get as much of my time and attention as possible. So I am leaving radioland in order to give myself time to enjoy being alive while I am alive, and there it is. Last show: last Saturday of the year, December 31. New year: new start. I have loved serving the music all these years. Thanks for listening.
Oh: I'll continue to maintain the calendar on my web site.
November 26
Thanksgiving was great - I fed 22 people, at two sittings, and Casa Aldin was crowded all day and evening with good food and good friends. I am going to be washing dishes for a lonnnng time to come.
Tom Sauber was a champ on this morning's radio show, although we had some technical issues that made it something of an adventure. Then I drove out to Santa Monica, had lunch with Mark, and then went to Boulevard
Music to buy my tickets for next Saturday's Loafers Glory show. Can't wait!
Am working on my February travel to Memphis and New Orleans, making sure all the reservations are in place and everything is booked. Josh, Kate and Eliza are coming too.
Another member of my New Orleans family of friends has gone. Quick and clean, the same way Keith went.
Coco Robicheaux, New Orleans hoodoo bluesman, has died
Updated: Friday, November 25, 2011, 10:15 PM
By Keith Spera, The Times-Picayune
http://www.nola.com/music/index.ssf/2011/11/coco_robicheaux_rushed_from_ap.html
Hoodoo bluesman Coco Robicheaux collapsed Friday evening at the Apple Barrel on Frenchmen Street and was taken away by ambulance. He was reportedly pronounced dead after arriving at Tulane Medical Center. He was 64.
Robicheaux was not performing at the time; he frequented the Apple Barrel on his off-nights.
Known for an especially gravelly voice, a swamp-blues guitar style and a fascination with subjects of a spiritual and/or mystical nature, Robicheaux lived an especially colorful life, even by the standards of a
New Orleans musician. He released several albums over the past two decades. He was a mainstay of the Frenchmen Street entertainment district, a familiar figure both on- and off-stage. He was also a
regular on the schedule of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.
Robicheaux made a memorable appearance during the opening scene of the second episode of the first-season of the HBO series “Treme.” In a fictionalized incident, he sacrificed a rooster in the studio of
community radio station WWOZ-FM.
He was also a visual artist, sculptor and painter. He created the bronze bust of Professor Longhair that stands near the entrance of Tipitina's.
November 25
Peter Narvaez RIP
Special to The Globe and Mail
November 25, 2011
When Peter Narvaez came to St. John's in 1974, he knew almost no one. He had just come from the U.S. to an archival job at Memorial University's Folklore Department. A musician, he had been playing and recording since
high school, but produced no big hits. He unpacked at his hotel, and walked to the Continental Bar downtown at the foot of Bates Hill to hear a young musician named Ron Hynes.
And Hynes played one of Narvaez's songs.
This story, a legend in the St. John's music scene, aptly illustrates the different yet complementary aspects of Narvaez's work. He wrote a song that preceded him to his new home and introduced him to a new community. In a
bar was Hynes, whom Narvaez would befriend, play music with and write about.
The folklorist, ethnomusicologist and musician died on Nov. 11 of lung cancer, which had been diagnosed in 2008. He was 69.
Peter Narvaez was born Peter Reuben Aceves on March 16, 1942, in Brooklyn, and grew up in Boonton, N.J. His father, George Aceves, was from Mexico, a labour organizer in the furrier trade, and his mother, Borinquin Maria
Narvaez, was from Puerto Rico. She ran an antique business. He had one sibling, an older brother, George.
An uncle taught him to play guitar and he formed his first band in high school, Pete & Jimmy With The Rhythm Knights. DJ Alan Freed was championing rock 'n' roll on New York's WINS radio station, and they connected. Freed
produced the band's sole 45, *So Wild* (Castle Records, 1959) and published the song. One of the band's gigs was opening for a group called Tom and Jerry, an Everly Brothers cover band. Tom and Jerry later became Simon &
Garfunkel.
Narvaez was also influenced by Chuck Berry and Bob Dylan.
In the early 1960s, he started going to nightclubs in Greenwich Village and listening to the blues. He loved the sound, and that performers sang about everything - "drinking, sex, and gambling ... crop failures, welfare lines,
death, God" - as he said in a 1986 interview. And that they sang for everyone. He started a jug band. Having earned a history degree from Drew University in New Jersey in 1963, he then went to the folklore department
of Indiana University in Bloomington, and earned his MA in 1967. One of his fellow students, Neil Rosenberg, would later become a colleague and fellow musician.
In 1968 Narvaez formed Homegas, which had one release on the small but authoritative Takoma Label in 1971. "There is talk of reissuing it in vinyl," Rosenberg said. "It was an underground favourite, but gained zero sales."
Narvaez then moved to Maine, taught at a free school for a year, and then took a position at Bliss College in Lewiston. He was quickly promoted from associate professor to dean of students, but the institution was in
financial trouble. Paycheques stopped, there were accusations of malfeasance at the highest levels, and by 1972 "the upshot was that that was the end of Bliss," Rosenberg said.
Narvaez gigged for a year, until Rosenberg, by then with the Folklore Department at Memorial University in St. John's, urged him to apply as an archivist with the Folklore and Language Archives.
Narvaez was hired in 1974, and was soon a lecturer and then professor, beginning a career of tremendous research and output, and connecting to a music scene that was already attuned to his style. Rosenberg was one of the
few owners of the *Homegas* release, and it was this album that Hynes had heard and was playing at the Continental Bar.
Narvaez's musical influence was huge. As one example, in 1975 he gave a young musician named Kelly Russell a tape of fiddler Rufus Guinchard. Russell was with a then-fledgling Figgy Duff, and a folk music revival
followed. (Narvaez also played harmonica on the first Wonderful Grand Band album.) Along with English musician Denis Parker, he basically crafted the provincial blues scene. His bands included Bopular Demand, Cookstown Jukes,
Rowdy Blues and Divin' Duck. His last group was The Superpickers, with Sandy Morris and Glenn Collins, which released a recording this year.
Narvaez's abbreviated CV of writing and research runs for five pages. His academic writing ranges from Hynes' song *Sonny's Dream*, to former premier Joseph Smallwood's broadcasting career, to Robert Johnson and his mythic
Faustian bargain, to berry picking and fairies.
"He responded to popular culture, he was interested in working-class culture," Rosenberg said. Narvaez's PhD dissertation for Indiana University in 1986 was on a song booklet, *Come Hell or High Water*, produced during
the Buchans miners' strike in 1973.
Jazz, Newfoundland wakes, African-American folklore, Newfoundland folk custom, vernacular music from Mexican streets and music of the outports were among the topics of his hundreds of publications, journal
contributions, recordings, radio and television productions and appearances, archival depositions and professional and critical activities.
"I liked how he disregarded the false dichotomy of 'high' and 'low' culture," said CBC radio host Jamie Fitzpatrick, who conducted one of the folklorist's last interviews.
Narvaez, who retired in 2005, was past president of the Folklore Studies Association of Canada and the Association for the Study of Canadian Radio and Television. Among his awards, he received the Marius Barbeau Medal from
the Folklore Studies Association of Canada (2006) and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Newfoundland and Labrador Folk Arts Society (2010). He edited three volumes of essays, including *Of Corpse: Death and
Humour in Folklore and Ppopular Culture *(Utah State University Press, 2003).
His CD of original blues, *Some Good Blues*, was nominated for both Music Industry Association of Newfoundland and East Coast Music Association awards in 2003.
Narvaez changed his last name soon after coming to Newfoundland. He gave two reasons: one was that he was a bit disenchanted with his father and the other was that it was easier for people to pronounce. He was married four
times: first when he was in his early 20s and still in university, to Rinda Metz - they had a daughter, Jamille. They divorced in the early 1970s. In St. John's he married Ann Anderson, then Anne Budgell, and, on Nov. 7,
1998, Holly Everett.
Narvaez was a generous, clever man, open-minded and full of genuine good humour. "As a colleague I appreciated the way he dealt with difficult subjects at meetings," Rosenberg said. "He brought people together. And he
was a lot of fun to play music with."
Narvaez leaves his wife Holly, daughter Jamille (Rivera), granddaughter Jessie and brother George Aceves.
November 21
I love this video. Can't help it. Three girls, three voices, three empty cottage cheese containers. Yowza!
I just realized that I won't be doing a "regular" radio show for several weeks; Tom Sauber is coming in this Saturday, and then it's December, when I'll have special guest hosts doing Christmas shows every Saturday through Christmas Eve; I'll be back hosting it myself on New Year's Eve. But before then, I have Thanksgiving prep; am doing a sit-down dinner for 16 people this Thursday, and having cleaning, chopping, dicing, and stuffing to do. And the day before Thanksgiving my pal Billy has a recording sesssion, and I get to go! Yippee!
Eliza came over right after my radio show on Saturday and we spent the day together. Jennifer and I decided it was time for a trip to the mall (my Lord, three generations of Aldin women turned loose in a mall - look OUT!) and needless to say Eliza especially enjoyed the Disney store. Jennifer got new contact lenses and we did some pre-Christmas looking and touching but not yet buying. Then we had lunch (the child's menu included Eliza's favorite, macaroni and cheese) and when we got home I tried to put her down for a nap. That didn't work out so well. Dropped her off to Kate at home and then headed west for dinner with Mark and a visit to McCabe's, where I heard Roland White's band again. It was great; Roland and I went into a tiny room off the lobby and he recorded a promo for my radio show, AND, best news of all, Tom Sauber (who sat in with the band on fiddle) agreed to come in and do the show with me this Saturday!
November 16
Eliza and Kate and I went to the Skirball Cultural Center on Sunday, where my old friend Peter Yarrow was doing a concert and book-signing. Hundreds, literally hundreds, of children under the age of about 8 were bouncing up and down, singing, clapping and running around screaming. Before the concert we went into a side room where there were about 500 copies of Peter's newest book in boxes, and we (well, Kate and I - Eliza wasn't really much help) unwrapped them all out of their cellophane so that Peter could sign them, then re-wrapped them for sale to the public.
About a third of the way into the concert Eliza decided that running around on the outside patio chasing bubbles was more fun than sitting in an auditorium, so she and Kate went outside, and after the show Peter sat a a table signing yet more books, doing the shake and howdy thing, and having his picture taken with (it seemed like) every single person in the place. MANY hundreds. Then, finally, we had some quiet family time to get caught up on news about our children and grandchildren. It's always a treat to get to visit with him, and although Eliza was in restless squirmy mode, I was able to get a photo of them together.
Then it was bluegrass time, as another old friend, Roland White, came into town for a few gigs. I went to the Viva Cantina show last night, where I got to meet some radio show listeners because Roland outed me from the stage and they came over at the break to say hello; and the music was so wonderful that I'm going to see the band again at McCabe's this Saturday. The show was grrrr-eat. And there were more musicians in the audience than onstage. Seriously? Just at my table: Pat Cloud, Ross Landry, Harley Tarlitz, Blaine Sprouse (until he had to get up on stage), Bill Bryson (ditto), and David Naiditch; next table, Tom and Patrick Sauber (Patrick got press-ganged by Roland to help with the sound, and I understand that he played some in the second set, but I had to leave, as usual, due to my relentlessly early wakeup time) and lots more. The band is Roland on mandolin, his wife Diane on rhythm guitar, Herb Pedersen on banjo, Bill Bryson on bass, Blaine Sprouse on fiddle. And they can flat get it! Can't wait to hear them again on Saturday night, especially since I don't have to get up early on Sunday morning so can stay for both sets!
October 28
David Rea has died. This from Tom May:
Goodbye, David......
Terry Currier, from Music Millennium in Portland, and I got to the hospital yesterday just as our old pal, David Rea, passed away. He had been ill much of the summer.
I did many, many gigs with him the last years of his life after re-meeting him at the Napa Valley Folk Festival, where we both performed in 1994. I had met him originally in
Toronto in the 1970's.
He was a character of the first order, with songs and tales to keep you entertained for as long as you cared to listen. He was fortunate in last 10 years to
live with Kathleen Stokes in Portland, who he loved dearly and who loved him.
So many folks out this way are unaware of his amazing history and importance in American Roots Music. Here is a just a little bit of what David Rea,
picker/songwriter extraordinaire, and my good friend, did with his life.......
Born in Ohio, near Akron, in 1946, David began playing Bach on the piano at age 5. By the age of 12, he was playing banjo and guitar. Smitten by the music of Merle Travis and
Robert Johnson in his early teens, David also learned from the blues and bluegrass recordings that came north with the rubber workers in Akron's factories. Late at night, under the covers, he'd
listen to rock n' roll records played by legendary DJs, who later became friends: Alan Freed, Mad Daddy, Big Wilson and Murray the K.
In 1964, when he was 17, David moved to Toronto, where he had his first commercial success at the center of what was one of the world's hottest acoustic music scenes. David worked with Gordon
Lightfoot to create the filigree guitar style on Gordon's debut album, "Lightfoot!" David played some live shows with Lightfoot in the early years (1964/1965), before Lightfoot could afford fulltime
sidemen.
Having established himself as a topnotch sideman, David appeared with some of the finest artists of the 1960s, including Ramblin' Jack Elliot, Joni Mitchell, Richie Havens, Judy Collins and Tom
Rush. At this time, David also played with many old time bluesmen, such as Reverend Gary Davis, Mississippi John Hurt, Roosevelt Sykes, Lonnie Johnson, Skip James and Son House.
David's complex guitar style was heard again on the landmark Ian & Sylvia albums, "Nashville," "Lovin' Sound," "So Much For Dreaming," and "Full Circle."
While working with this popular folk/country duo, David's friends, Neil Young and Joni Mitchell, urged him to write his own material. Ian & Sylvia soon recorded his songs, "Pilgrimage to Paradise," The
Minstrel," and "Ninety Degrees by Ninety Degrees."
In the late 1960s, David wrote and recorded songs with Felix Pappalardi, producer of the English band, Cream. This partnership resulted in David's two solo albums on Capitol Records, "Maverick
Child," in 1969, and "By the Grace of God," in 1971, which featured members of Pappalardi's band Mountain, with the Young Rascals, Kenny Buttry, Vassar Clements, Tommy Jackson and Norbert
Putnam. David also co-wrote several rock classics for Mountain, including, "Mississippi Queen," which earned a Gold Record. The song has a life of its own, and is used frequently in other media,
including a recent use in the soundtrack of the 2010 Sylvester Stallone movie, The Expendables.
In 1970, David played on "Jesse Winchester" (Jesse's debut album, produced by Robbie Robertson of The Band), and recorded with the Clancy Brothers on "Show Me The Way" and Judy Collins on "Whales and Nightingales."
Following Richard Thompson as lead guitarist for Fairport Convention, David joined the group in "The Manor Sessions," in 1972. His third album, "Slewfoot," was recorded in 1973 for Columbia
Records with members of the Grateful Dead and New Riders of the Purple Sage.
In 1976, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) produced an opera written and composed by David, inspired by the story of San Francisco's eccentric, self-proclaimed "Emperor," Joshua Norton. Its success
was followed by several other CBC projects. In 1988, he created "David Rea's Robert Johnson," a three-part series about the famous bluesman, and "Music Don't Mind," a dissertation on the convergence of African and
European music as the foundation for American music. David was awarded the 23rd International Gabriel Award for Excellence in Broadcasting for the Robert Johnson series.
During much of the 1980s, however, David took time out to raise his three children, playing only short tours and selected festivals and projects. His skills remained in demand, though, as he played on
albums by David Maloney and others. David also wrote a wealth of new songs that came out on "Feelin' Good," in 1986, and on "The Brass Ring," in 1993. While on tour with Ramblin' Jack Elliot, in
1995, David fell in love with the Pacific Northwest and moved from California to Bainbridge Island, just west of Seattle. David's 6th album, "Shorty's Ghost," was released in 1997,
His seventh album was released in August, 2000 and is aptly titled, "David Rea - Times Seven." With cover art work by his long-time friend Joni Mitchell, the CD provides a sort of retrospective.
He was making plans for a new album that he had hoped to start working on soon.
www.tommayfolk.com<http://www.tommayfolk.com/>
Tom does not mention David's decades-long struggle with alcoholism that eventually took its toll. A fine musician.
October 10
Spent the last two days in Santa Barbara. The Fiddle Contest was great, as always; it's a chance to visit lots of old friends (including one, Barry, who I hadn't seen in decades) and I get to spend the day hopping on and off the stage, herding youngsters. Mark Humphrey won First Place in Advanced Singing and Second Place in Advanced Guitar; alas, his prize money and more was left right there in Santa Barbara, as he bought a banjo with it the next day! Josh, Kate and Eliza arrived mid-afternoon; Eliza skipped around at the front of the stage saying "Grandma, look! It's me!" Had dinner that night with Peter and Francine, as is our tradition, at Harry's Plaza Cafe, also our tradition. Then back to our motel, where Josh and Kate brought Eliza over from their room and deposited her on my bed and went out to their own dinner. Eliza and I played with flash cards and then she fell peacefully asleep. This morning she deliberated her wardrobe choices carefully, after which we all went to breakfast at a great place on the beach called The Boathouse. Eliza frolicked on the sand for awhile and then we took her to Chaucer's Books, where she wanted to bring the entire children's room home with her! When the kids left for home I went to Folk Mote Music, where Mark bought the aforementioned banjo, Jensen's Music, where I didn't buy anything, and Book Den, where Mark bought a book on Nepal and I passed up a copy of Stan Hugill's book on sea shanteys because it was $50!
October 7
A whole month since I last wrote! Web site problems, which never did get fixed by the ISP but which somehow presented me with a complicated workaround option that I am presently using, are one excuse. I've also been very busy with music-business meetings for the last six and next four weeks, after which it will ease up. And things are busy at work, too (which is good!) and Eliza takes up what little time I have left.
Well, what have I been up to...have had some good visits from out of town friends, and we've broken bread together and gotten caught up on our news. Alas, as I get older the "news" is more and more about who has died since I last saw them! Bert Jansch, founding member of Pentangle and an amazing and gifted guitarist, died earlier this week, way too young. Folk and bluegrass singer Liz Meyer finally lost her decade-long fight with cancer last month. And so forth. There's some good news to balance that; Roland White called to tell me that he will be out here next month to do several shows (see the calendar page) and that his band for this tour will be himself on mandolin, his wife Diane Bouska on guitar, Blaine Sprouse on fiddle, and Herb Pedersen and Bill Bryson from Loafers Glory/the Desert Rose Band! I am *so* there, as the children say.
My son in law Bruce's birthday is around the corner, and Jennifer and I concocted a great surprise. We started dropping hints a couple of weeks back about how I was thinking I really should join the rest of the world and get a "smart-phone" or I-Phone, but don't really know enough about them. We strung that out for a couple of weeks while Jennifer emailed his family in North Dakota and we all put in for a collection. Set a date for him to come with us to the Apple Store where, he thought, he was going to help me learn about the new I-phones. Got him there and sprung it on him that we were really there to buy HIM an I-Pad for his birthday. He about fell over. We had him SO fooled. Jennifer had her camera on him when we told him the truth and he looked stunned! (But in a good way.) He is now playing with his new toy 24/7 and doesn't answer Jennifer when she talks to him.
My car had, I thought, kind of squashy brakes and was making a weird skreeking noise, so I took it to the mechanic. Three days and MANY hundreds of dollars I don't have later, it's home, skreeking noise is gone, and it has a bunch of new innards, and new windshield wipers, tires have been rotated, oil changed, new transmission fluid and a new pulley put in BUT the brakes were fine. Grrrr. Bless it's heart, this thing is really an old crock. Soon as I hit that lottery I am going to get a new(er) car.
Am thinking longingly about my annual vacation in February. It hasn't been decided yet whether I am going to Folk Alliance in Memphis or just going straight from here to New Orleans and back. Josh and Kate may bring Eliza to New Orleans for a couple of days while I'm there - she's a tad young for the Bourbon Street sleaze, but is the perfect age for the Audubon Aquarium and the Zoo and the St. Charles Streetcar ride and....my pal Tony is going to fly over from London and join me either in Memphis, if I do go there first, or in New Orleans. I am *really* looking forward to it.
On Halloween I am having some things removed that shouldn't be there. Very minor, nothing to worry about. I did have a thought that the doctor might show up dressed as Frankenstein - in which case he is NOT cutting me open!
Radio in the morning, so I should probably go pull some records! Sunday I am emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention; if anyone is going, come to the contest stage and say hi! Josh and Kate are bringing Eliza up for it and we will all get to stay overnight and spend some time together up there on Monday, hooray!
September 7
Welcome to computer hell. The web host I use recently decided to change the destination path to which I upload this web site, and somehow when they made that change they ALSO changed the source path in my computer from which I update the site, so that I can't get anything out of my computer onto the site. Claire came over, poked around, scratched her head and said the words I love to hear: it's not your fault. So we found a scratch solution for a week or so, which was that I updated the calendar and emailed it to Claire, who then emailed it to the web site! Craziness. Repeated emails to the host solved nothing. Tonight, for a minute, it's working again, so I hasten to update everything - but who knows how long it will last. Don't worry if there are longer gaps than usual between updates here.
Eliza and I are having a great time together, despite the heat and the aches and pains that come with being in my sixties. Last weekend we went to the Los Angeles County Fair: she loved it! Pigs, cows, chickens, ducks, rabbits. I didn't: heat, crowds, deep fried avocados (yuck). Note to self: next time don't go on Labor Day weekend, on a Saturday, on Opening Day. Dummy!
Watched a new PBS special on Peter, Paul & Mary tonight. That world was so huge a part of my life for so long that it made me kind of sad to see it again and to know that those times are never going to come again.
Radio show resumes this Saturday. Am putting my records together for my Bill Monroe special and thinking about how much fun it is to do radio, and how much I wish it didn't mean getting up at 4:30 a.m. on Saturdays. EVERY Saturday. Sigh.
My annual music biz committee meetings are rolling around again and lots of friends are flying in to L.A. for them; next month I emcee the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention again, then Thanksgiving, then Christmas, and where did the year go?
August 23.
Too much sad news today. Andy Cohen called to tell me that old time fiddler Paul David Smith died this morning at 77. I was lucky enough to get to meet him last February at Folk Alliance, where I presented him with the Mike Seeger Scholarship Award; I think there are a couple of photos of him on my trip page. Here he is playing.
And this, from my New Orleans pal Ben Sandmel:
Guitarist, singer and emcee Glen Croker, the last surviving old-time
member of the Hackberry Ramblers, passed away on August 23 in Lake
Charles, LA, at age 77, following a lengthy illness.
Born in Lake Charles in 1934, Shuler began playing steel
guitar in the early 1950s with Eddie Shuler and the Reveliers. On
the way home from engagements with the Reveliers, the young Croker
would stop by the Silver Star Club in Sulphur, LA, to hear the
Hackberry Ramblers. "And it's a funny thing about that," Croker
recalled; "I can remember saying to myself: 'Self, one day you'll be
playing with that band!' And thus it came to pass."
Croker joined the Hackberry Ramblers in 1959, 26 years after the band
was co-founded by Luderin Darbone and Edwin Duhon. Croker stayed
with the Ramblers through their final performance in November of
2005. His
swaggering, soulful style and use of electronic amplification brought the Ramblers a post-war honky-tonk
tinge that added blues, R & B, rockabilly, and classic country
songs to their already-diverse repertoire. This stylistic
incarnation was the sound most often heard when the Ramblers started
touring nationally in the late 1980s, following an appearance at the
New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. When first founded in
1933, the Ramblers had embodied the acoustic string-band sound of that
era, and then evolved, during the ‘40s, into a large western swing
orchestra. Despite his modernizing influences, Croker always
stayed connected with the band’s traditional roots, in part by singing
in French on many Cajun
numbers.
Croker appeared on the Hackberry Ramblers albums Jolie Blonde (Arhoolie,
released in 1963), Cajun Boogie (Flying Fish, released in 1993,
re-released by Hot Biscuits in 2003), and the Grammy-nominated Deep
Water (rHot Biscuits, released in 1997), and on the anthologies Boozoo
Hoodoo (Fuel 2000, 2003) and Christmas Gumbo
(Flambeaux, 2004.) Croker was also prominently featured in the
PBS documentary film Make ‘Em Dance: The Hackberry Ramblers’
Story (http://www.pbs.org/independentlens/makethemdance/)
directed by John Whitehead of Fretless Films, St. Paul, MN. Make
‘Em Dance which was broadcast nationally on the PBS series Independent
Lens in 2004. He enjoyed the fulfillment of a life-long dream
by performing at the Grand Ole Opry in 1999. The attached song,
“Poor Hobo,” captures all the best elements of Croker’s style as a
guitarist and singer.
In addition to his musical talent, Croker was known, as the band’s
emcee, for his snappy patter. His shamelessly corny bandstand
jokes elicited groans around the U.S. and in France, Holland, and
Canada. "I really am a nice guy, once you get to know me," Croker
often said; then, after a dramatic pause, he would add,"…but that
getting-to-know-me part is rough." He will be sorely
missed.
James Glenwood Croker is survived by his devoted wife, Nell, two sons,
two daughters, three step-children and numerous grandchildren.
Funeral arrangements, which have yet to be announced, will be posted at
www.hackberryramblers.com
.
August 22
Spent the weekend in San Diego - the Summergrass festival, which I had not been to before, turned out to be a great event. Loafer's Glory stole the show, with the Grascals running a close second and Wayne Taylor & Appaloosa representing the suits and ties tradition. All the bands were really good, and even the "not quite ready for prime time" kids groups showed that in a couple of years they'll be there too. I walked about a hundred miles on Saturday. Okay, maybe only fifty.
Sunday morning had lunch with my half-sister and her son in Carlsbad, then went to - now wait a minute before you laugh hysterically - the Richard M. Nixon Library and Museum in Yorba Linda. I can hear a chorus of WTH?, so let me explain. Mark came to San Diego with me, he wanted to see it, and it was right on the way home. End of story. By the way, they have done an amazing job with the place - the 9 acres of property includes the house he was born in (still in its original location), the side-by-side graves where the former President and his wife Pat are buried, the Air Force One helicopter that flew him away from the White House for the last time (and had earlier been used by Presidents Kennedy and Johnson), and a Presidential limo that he had used. The grounds are gorgeous - apparently Mrs. Nixon loved roses, and they have some seriously good gardens there. The gift shop? Exactly as you would imagine.
August 16
There's been lots of Grandma time with Eliza lately; Josh and Kate went out of town for the whole weekend, so I had Eliza at home with me from Friday afternoon to Sunday evening. Mark invited us to enjoy the luxury of his apartment building's swimming pool, so we did that on Sunday afternoon, and she splashed happily in the cool water. There was a petting zoo at the local farmers market, where she warily eyed her first up-close goats, chickens and two rather large white ducks. We tried the pony ride again, and again no luck. Anyhow, the kids skated home just in time to pick her up and give me fifteen minutes in which to get showered and dressed before Jim came along and collected me and our neighbors Alessandra and Jimmy to go out to Cantalini's in Playa del Rey to hear our pal Ian Whitcomb and his band. We all had a lovely time (nice to eat with people whose food I don't have to cut up into small bites), and then last night I went, for the first time in ages, out to Ian and Jim's weekly Monday night "salon" in Pasadena, at which I again got to commune with people older than two. Lovely to see Regina after so long! And Opal and Ellen Nations were visiting from the Bay Area, so I got to see them briefly, which was a nice surprise.
This weekend I'm going to the Summergrass bluegrass festival in San Diego. No, Vista. Well, somewhere down there. Note to self, Mapquest it before the weekend. This is actually going to be a nice bit of serendipity, as I was disappointed at not being able to hear Loafers Glory's show in Pasadena because I had the baby all weekend, and they're playing at the festival, so I'll see them there. No, wait. I had ELIZA all weekend. She is two now (as of August 11th), has graduated to pull-up diapers (if she was MY kid she would have been potty-trained six months ago, but that's a whole nother issue), and I am trying to get out of the habit of calling her "the baby." Anyhow, I have a half-sister (and her two grown kids) who live in Carlsbad, which apparently is quite close to where the festival is, so we are going to have lunch together Sunday before I drive back up to town. I hope the kids can come too, but it all depends on their work schedules. I have almost no living family other than my own kids/grandkids, so it's nice to get to see my half-sister every now and then.
August 13
My friend Pete Howard's wife Cheryl died this morning. Devastating news, even though expected.
August 9 Delois Barrett Campbell RIP
CHICAGO (AP) — When she sang "Fly Away," Delois Barrett Campbell's voice soared to the church rafters and her joy raised the roof.August 4
The gospel legend was the oldest of the three singing Barrett Sisters, who electrified audiences worldwide with their powerful harmonies. She died
Tuesday at a Chicago hospital at age 85, daughter Mary Campbell said. Delois Campbell's health had been deteriorating and she had been hospitalized at
least twice in recent months.
"I believe she was born to sing," Mary Campbell said of her mother. "Each time she sang it was as if she were performing to a cathedral full of
people, no matter how small the group was."
The Barrett Sisters, raised on Chicago's South Side and coached to sing by an aunt, grew up to become what music critic Howard Reich of the Chicago
Tribune has called "the greatest female trio in gospel history."
The trio shared a gospel lineage with the greats. In the girls' youth, Thomas A. Dorsey, now considered the father of gospel, was stirring up
change as music director of Chicago's Pilgrim Baptist Church, where he mixed the worldly and the sacred during the Great Depression. In high school,
Campbell joined the Roberta Martin Singers, a touring gospel group that emerged from the church's youth choir.
The popular music of the Andrews Sisters also influenced the Barrett Sisters, and as young women, they practiced blending their voices on both
religious and secular songs. The Barrett Sisters recorded their first album together, "Jesus Loves Me," in the mid-1960s.
New generations discovered the Barrett Sisters when they appeared in the 1982 documentary "Say Amen, Somebody."
New Yorker film critic Pauline Kael described the trio as "dramatic, physically striking women with ample figures in shiny, clinging blue gowns."
She wrote that they "sing so exhilaratingly that they create a problem." Kael wanted more music, less talking, in the film.
The film opened doors for the Barrett Sisters, Mary Campbell said. "That's when they began their European travels," she said. "It gave them the
publicity they couldn't afford."
The sisters appeared in Patti LaBelle's 1990 television special "Going Home to Gospel." In 2008, they received the Ambassador Bobby Jones Legend Award
at the Stellar Awards, the national gospel music awards show.
Campbell's husband, the Rev. Frank Campbell, died in 2000. The couple had four children; two are deceased.
The surviving members of the Barrett Sisters, Rodessa Barrett Porter and Billie Barrett GreenBey, sang with guest vocalist Tina Brown in March 2011
to celebrate Campbell's 85th birthday at a gospel concert in a Chicago church. Campbell, her voice diminished to a whisper, watched from a chair
near the altar.
In a video clip from the concert, Brown paid tribute to Campbell. "She is my personal queen of the gospel," Brown said.
Campbell said her mother was visited on Monday by singer Jennifer Hudson, who said she grew up listening to the Barrett Sisters.
"She was by her bedside," Campbell said. "It meant a lot to us."
Funeral arrangements were pending.
We have coyotes up here in the foothills, and tonight they are louder than usual, and out much earlier than usual. I often hear them between 1 and 4 a.m. (love that insomnia!), but it's not even 9 yet and they are already yodeling in (dis)harmony. Maybe it's the heat bringing them out earlier; and there are more of them tonight. They are howling at each other across the canyon, and the way that everything echoes up here it sounds like there are twenty of them! Unlikely, though.
It has been hot, and I haven't really been moved to write anything much. Eliza will be two next week, and there are some party supplies in the offing (Ariel paper plates, Mickey Mouse paper cups, an Elmo balloon, and so on). Not sure what the kids have planned or when, as the weekend of her actual birthday they are going out of town and I will have her here all weekend. Am thinking about taking her to the beach. Mark can swim really well, so I will plant him firmly beween her and the ocean and let her dig in the sand and get her toes wet and so forth. Sun block, floppy hats, and away we go. I had hoped to get to the Loafers Glory show in Pasadena that weekend, but can't really take her out to a sit-down formal auditorium concert. Not fair to the musicians (all good friends of mine), nor to the folks who paid good money to hear a concert undisturbed by a two year old!
Less success last weekend at the pony rides. I got her up on a pony, no problem, but for some reason it decided to shake its head back and forth several times, and she was off that critter like a rocket, clinging to me and screaming. I got her quieted down, and we gave away her ticket to a grateful mother with six kids (!) and removed ourselves to the more serene atmosphere of the choo choo train, which she enjoyed very much.
Even though it's on a weeknight, I'm going to a Hank Williams Sr. tribute at Joe's in Burbank coming up Labor Day weekend. Billy will be playing, as will a couple of other friends, and Jim will be there. Mark may come too! Don't know how late I'll be able to stay awake, though.
Getting ready to re-start the engine for the radio show, which resumes September 10. Picked up a huge pile of CDs that had been collecting for me at the station, and am planning my first show. I have always said that when it stopped being fun I would hang it up; the idea of getting up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays is already not fun, and I don't even have to do it for another month. And no, I don't want to do the show on tape. Sure, I could go into the station some weekday afternoon and tape the whole thing, but there is something about talking to a dead microphone vs a live one that just doesn't work for me. If there is no one out there when I'm doing it, I don't feel like I'm really doing it. I know that's not the most logical sequence of thought in the world; you'll just have to believe me. It's live or it's nothing.
My radio pal Joe Frazier is in the hospital; send good thoughts his way, please. I have the guys booked to come in and do a show on October 1, by which time hopefully all will be well. But he had to cancel a Chad Mitchell Trio concert, so I KNOW he's not feeling right! Musicians *never* cancel gigs unless they absolutely have to. I personally know a musician who broke two ribs in a car accident one afternoon, and went on stage that night, did a full show, and THEN went to the hospital to get his ribs strapped up. I do think there may have been a bottle of whiskey in play in the dressing room during the intermission, strictly for medicinal purposes, of course!
Speaking of radio show, I need to put a tentative schedule up on the playlists page. Basically, I come back September 10 with a tribute to Bill Monroe show, as his 100th birthday is Sept. 13. The following week (9/17) a regular show (trying to catch up with new releases), then on the 24th Mark will be guest-hosting for me as I have Grammy committee meetings all that weekend. Then on the 1st of October is the Joe, Art, George and Jim show, and on the 10th I think I am finally whipping part one of the Jett Williams interview into shape. Wait, did I say October? My gosh, where has this year gone? The older I get the faster it goes by.
The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill sent a representative out here this past week to discuss acquiring my collection. It's getting to be time for me to think about dealing with it while I am still (relatively) compos mentis, so that the kids don't have to sort through all this stuff and try to figure out what's worth $5 vs what's worth $500 after I'm gone. Am also in correspondence with Northwestern University, which despite its name in not in the Northwest (silly me) but is in Illinois! If any arrangement is made, I told them that I will need to hang onto at least part of my record collection as long as I am doing the radio show. Once I retire from that, of course, everything can go. If neither University ends up making me an offer I can't refuse, then the kids suggest that as soon as I retire from my day job I should learn the wonderful world of Ebay and start selling it off piecemeal; they think I would probably make more money that way anyway. We Shall See.
July 13
Went to lunch with Billy today at the Farmers Market; he's feeling a lot better, and we both enjoyed our outing. Because his house is so near Josh and Kate's, I went over to the little park by their house on spec, and sure enough, there was Eliza, choogling down one of the slides, being carefully watched over by her longtime nanny. The huge smile that erupted when she saw me walking toward her was a real heartwarmer. "Hi Grandma! I'm on the SLIDE! I'm at the PARK! I played in the SAND!" That little girl has me so wrapped, I can't even tell you.
A GUIDE TO TYPES OF MUSIC
JAZZ: Five men on
the same stage all playing different tunes.
BLUES: Played
exclusively by people who woke up this morning.
WORLD MUSIC: A
dozen different types of percussion all going at once.
OPERA: People
singing when they should be talking.
RAP: People talking
when they should be singing.
CLASSICAL: Discover
the other 45 minutes they left out of the TV ad.
FOLK: Endless songs
about shipwrecks in the 19th century.
BIG BAND: 20 men
who take it in turns to stand up plus a drummer.
HEAVY METAL:
Codpiece and chaps.
HOUSE MUSIC: OK as
long as it's not the house next door.
Sad times for Jennifer and Bruce. They had to have Smudge put to sleep tonight. Bruce got her when she was just a tiny kitten about 6 weeks old, and she was well over 17 when she just couldn't make it any longer. That's a good long life span for a cat, but it's so hard for them, especially Bruce, to say goodbye.
July 10
This weekend was crazy busy and lots of fun; yesterday I got to spend the morning visiting with a musician friend who is recuperating at home from recent prostate cancer surgery. We joked, we talked, we ate lunch, we had a great time. In the afternoon I drove home and then went with Bruce and Jennifer in their car to Disneyland, where Josh and Kate and Eliza already were. We all had lunch together (and how did people ever find each other in a place that big before we had cell phones?), and Eliza got to see a parade, complete with uniformed marching bands and cheerleaders/dancers in sparkly costumes. After lunch we went on some rides, and then I took Eliza back to the hotel (Josh had booked us adjoining rooms at a nearby place) and the four "big kids" closed Disneyland (and then a nearby Tiki bar) down while Eliza and I snuggled down to read bedtimes stories. This morning, while Josh and Kate had a rare chance to sleep in, Eliza and I patronized the hotel's coffee shop ("PANcakes please, Grandma!") and then -- oh boy -- the swimming pool! Resplendent in her Ariel bathing suit, she splashed, she kicked, she jumped in (to the shallow end, of course), and she had a great time. Then we climbed out and she stretched herself out to drip dry on her Mickey Mouse bath towel on one of the poolside lounge chairs, looking for all the world like a miniature movie star. This afternoon, when they dropped me off, I went to the coffee shop and did crossword puzzles with Jim, and am now writing this instead of doing laundry and prep for work tomorrow.
July 5
Heard from Roland White that Kenny Baker, the great (some think greatest) fiddle player in Bill Monroe's Bluegrass Boys, has suffered a stroke. Cards can be sent to him at:
Kenny Baker**Later ETA** he has now passed away, a great loss to the bluegrass music world.
c/o Sumner Regional Medical Center
555 Hartsville Pike
Gallatin, TN 37066-2400
July 4
June 26
When I made the jambalaya for Tom and Claire's party yesterday, I filled a plastic container for Josh and Kate to take home for a snack. They called tonight to tell me that Eliza, the hard to please kid when it comes to food, LOVES it, and kept asking for more. Wow. This is great news - it's been hard to find things that she'll eat. I generally only make jambalaya in big pots for parties or large gatherings, because it's kind of labor intensive and not really worth it to make in small batches, but I guess there's going to be more of it in my future!
June 25
So Tom and Claire had a party, and I made a big pot of jambalaya for it, and then the kids dropped Eliza off and I got to stay home and play with her instead of going out. Jim, kind soul, offered to deliver the jambalaya (and I had a momentary unworthy thought as to how much would actually be left in the pot by the time it got there), and Eliza and I had a lovely evening together. Bath time included a small plastic boat and several miscellaneous fish, swimming around her as she washed. She sang a tuneless little bath-time ditty ("my ARMS are clean and my NECK is clean and my HAIR is clean") and then we dried her off ("my MICKEY Mouse towel, Grandma!") and got her into her pajamas ("there are RAINbows on my pants, Grandma!"), and since dinner hadn't quite filled her up she ate a box of raisins and a cup of organic yogurt (brought here by her parents, I assure you!) and we had a private screening of Lady & the Tramp, sitting together on the futon in front of the TV, with her head burrowed into my shoulder giving me a running commentary. She sang along to "Bella Notte," and again I despair at her complete lack of pitch; she must get her singing talents from some long-ago tone deaf ancestor. Jennifer, at this age, had perfect pitch and sang like a lark. No kidding.
My pal Chris is going to be 80 next weekend, and despite the long, expensive and arduous journey (a bus, a train, another train, another bus, and a subway: 15 hours one way!) I am going to his birthday party. He will only be 80 once, after all, and we have known each other since the mid-60s! Fortunately my office is closed that Monday for the 4th of July, so I can do the 15-hour return trip that day and I won't miss any work.
Got an email today telling me that one of the long-ago Ash Grove waitresses had died. I hadn't seen or spoken to Annita since I stopped working at the club in 1971 or thereabouts, but of course I remember her, and those days, and those times. She is frozen in time in my memory now, a short blond funny very bright girl with rimless glasses, full of enthusiasm (oh well, we were ALL full of enthusiasm in the 60s!), and a good worker. I am sorry she is gone. According to the note I got she died of cancer, but it was a very short illness.
June 19
Yesterday morning I did my last Alive and Picking radio show of the summer; am now on hiatus until September, when I am supposed to return to radio ranch the Saturday after Labor Day. A whole summer of not having to get up at 4 a.m. on Saturdays; a whole summer of not having to spend at least part of *every single* weeknight listening to recently-arrived CDs for potential airplay. Gosh, what will I do with myself?
The question answers itself: Eliza came over yesterday afternoon and stayed overnight. She will be two in August, and is now talking incredibly fast, rattling off long sentences of which I understand about five words out of every ten, and singing and dancing around the room. She drags my guitar over to me and says "SING, Grandma!"; she strums my dulcimer and my autoharp and giggles at the sounds they make. Bath time last night was enhanced by the presence of Nemo swimming around her in the tub, to the accompaniment of much giggling and splashing (lots of water on the floor, not so much in the tub, the sure sign of a successful bath). After a viewing of "Snow White" and a peaceful night's sleep we walked to the coffee shop this morning (she finished off her impeccable ensemble with her Disney Princess sneakers, which light up) with Jennifer and Bruce, and Eliza wrapped herself around some pancakes. So my Grandma time, plus my promised visits to sick friends, is going to do it for me this summer. I am supposed to go to North Carolina in February, and if that works out I'll do my New Orleans trip at the same time, but till then I am sticking close to home.This does NOT, however, mean that I intend to take up housecleaning, or anything. I will still be much too busy for that.
Sorry to hear that Clarence Clemons passed. Big man, big heart, good musician. Speaking of musicians: Ian, just *five days* after brain surgery, is making his gig at Cantalinis tonight. English people are CRAZY. If it wasn't Father's Day I'd go out there and give him stick about it, but the place is going to be slammed crowded so I'll just keep the nag on hold till we see each other again.
Living right underneath the Hollywood Sign has its good points, although I can't actually think of any right offhand, and its bad points. Tourists are insane, did you know that? They stand out in the middle of the street with videocameras, shooting footage of an immovable object. VIDEO cameras! The thing just sits there on the hillside; it doesn't light up or move around - and they stand out there with traffic whizzing past them in both directions along the narrow canyon streets and take VIDEOS. Then there are the ones that try to drive up here to get closer to the sign; despite the clearly labeled street signs that say "NO access to the Hollywood sign" and "Dead end: not a through street," every weekend they drive their rental cars as far as they can up ever-narrowing dead end roads until, guess what, they get stuck. They can't turn around, and there are other morons right behind them hemming them in so THEY can't turn around; and then the police have to come and unsnarl them and get them out of there. Meanwhile if (God forbid) there was ever a fire up here, they are blocking the access roads so that fire trucks can't get through. Oh, and they leave trash all over the place while they're waiting to be rescued. This rant was occasioned by the recent publication of a new book about Hollywoodland (which is what this canyon area used to be called); lovely historic photos, interesting stories about former famous residents, and you know what? It's going to make it WORSE, because it's going to bring more traffic and attention to the neighborhood. There is now a "For Sale" sign on my next door neighbor Katie's house; she has lived there ever since I have been here, and that's well over 40 years. She SAYS she is moving to Orange County to be nearer her children and grandchildren, but in real life, she is tired of picking up trash and shooing away tourists who illegally park in her driveway while they're trying to find a good angle from which to take photos of the sign. Anybody want to buy a really nice little house?
I have never celebrated a single Father's Day. I didn't have a father myself (that I ever knew), and due to circumstances beyond my control (and don't I *hate* to use that phrase --- there ARE no circumstances beyond my control! Oh, wait...) I also single-parented all my kids. So theoretically I should have been entitled to Father's Day presents every year, as well as Mother's Day flowers and candy, since I always had to function as both. But now for the first time Father's Day actually means something in these parts, as my youngest son Josh is Eliza's daddy. Seriously cool. Josh and Kate are doing a backyard barbecue at their place, to which they dutifully invited me, and which I dutifully refused with thanks. They have their own family traditions to establish, and I am butting out. But it feels good to know that the next generation(s) are getting one extra holiday every year!
June 13
My pal Ian is going into the hospital Tuesday morning for brain surgery. And this is what it costs us to get old. I shake my head in disbelief as one friend after another falls prey to cancer, cataracts, hip and knee replacements, prostate surgery, brain surgery and breast cancer, and as friends younger than I am die. I sit at bedsides, empty catheter bags, hold hands, read, sing, rub backs, cook, and sit quietly, as needed. And glad to be able to do it.
Last weekend Josh and Kate and I took Eliza to Griffith Park, where she went on the pony ride by herself. This was a big deal. She sat up straight on her pony and looked very elegant (I was half expecting a Queen Eizabeth-type wave), and although Josh walked around the ring with her a couple of times she clearly didn't want or need him to, so he dropped back and let her do it on her own. We also went on the Griffith Park Railroad, a toy-train that chuffs around the perimeter of the pony rides, and she seemed to enjoy that too.
Mark's surgery went very well and there were no complications. I stayed with him for a few nights, and then he was able to manage on his own, so I came home. Now I am off nursing duty until the first week of July.
Disneyland has just raised their prices again. It now costs $80 for an adult to get in, and $60 for kids over 3. Who can AFFORD this?
May 30
And the hits just keep on coming. A friend of mine in New Orleans is in the hospital following a suicide attempt yesterday.
People commit suicide for so many different reasons, and it's almost impossible to stand on emotional guard duty all the time for every single person that we know. Easier by far to be there when we're needed (need help moving, can you spare a weekend? Need to borrow $50 til payday. Need some post-op nursing help. My car's dead, can you run me to the store and back?) Any of those can be done by any of us at the drop of a hat; but how do we tend to needs that are unexpressed until it's too late?
For some folks, and I can kind of understand this one, suicide is a free pass. Diagnosed with terminal cancer, with AIDS, with the long living death of Alzheimer's Disease, they do it to spare those they love from months or possibly years of emotionally draining, incredibly expensive care. I get that. Really, I do. But to be young, in good health, okay financially, and with a wide circle of friends to reach out to, it's a very dark place indeed that makes you pick up a gun or a needle or a bottle of sleeping pills instead of picking up the phone. And how can I be there for them if I don't know where they are?
May 26
Sometimes I just want to say SHIT, but I'm not supposed to swear around Eliza. Just learned that another close friend has cancer, though it seems to be operable, and he says (and more to the point the doctor says) that he will be fine because they caught it early. He has already scheduled his surgery for early July. So Cheryl has a terminal malignant brain tumor, Mark's going in early next month for another eye operation, and now here's another pal with cancer. I am going to be doing a lot of live-in nursing over the summer.
NOT for that reason, but anyhow: I should tell you that I am taking the summer off from doing my radio show. The station asked for volunteers to take a summer hiatus to give some new shows a chance to be heard, and I raised my hand and offered. I'll have my hands full with nursing sick friends (which means packing a bag and literally moving in with them to look after them post-surgery), then with an eventual funeral in San Luis Obispo when Cheryl passes, and also with more and more Eliza care, as the kids hope to travel some this summer. The station management took great pains to assure me that the show *will* be back in late August/early September. Am going to be on the air as usual for the next couple of Saturdays, then will be taking this break.
On a happier note, last year or the year before I got an email asking if I would donate the use of some of my photos to a book project. I get these requests all the time, and nothing much usually ever comes of it - but the guy just wrote me back to say that the book is now finished and ready to be published in August, and he will be sending me the agreed-upon free copy as my photo usage "fee." Also asked me to write a blurb for the back of the book. I said, well, um, you do know I'd need to actually READ the book first, right?
May 21
The word that I was waiting for has come, and it's not good news. My friend Pete's wife Cheryl has been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. They have three young children (one with special needs), and the whole family is devastated. I live *just* too far away and am *just* too old to be able to be helpful, so I sit here feeling useless. Of course in cases like this we are *all* useless, really. She will have the best possible hospice care at home, and it won't be long. I am profoundly sad.
May 15
I'm very worried about good friend whose wife is seriously ill. Trying to monitor the situation at long distance is nervewracking. Some major tests are set for tomorrow, after which I hope to get a chance to learn more.
Lots of pals in town this weekend; Friday morning I had breakfast with my old friend Bill Ferris, who was here briefly for a conference. It was great to catch up with him on all his news. Saturday, radio, and again the show did well in the fund drive - better than last week! - and then Jim and I had lunch with John Broven and Joe Bihari. Today I emceed the Topanga Banjo & Fiddle Contest (Eliza loved it, but Jennifer's allergies were driven insane by the ragweed), then had dinner with all the kids and Eliza. You have no idea how tired I am! Onward to the coming week, which will also be very full.
May 11
Several fire engines came up our hill this morning at 4:30, and two helicopters were hovering overhead. As any hillside dweller will tell you, there is nothing as terrifying as a fire up here where there is so much brush to burn. Apparently it was either a false alarm or not a fire after all, because they all went back down the hill a short time later and an ambulance came screaming up instead. Everything echoes off the canyon walls so much that it's impossible to tell exactly where noises are coming from, but by the time the ambulance went tearing away there was no way I could get back to sleep.
I'm really looking forward to this Sunday, when I will spend the day emceeing at the Topanga Banjo-Fiddle Contest and the evening with my kids and their spouses and my lovely Eliza; we are celebrating Mother's Day this Sunday instead of last, and the kids are taking me out to dinner. Yippee!
The radio show did well on Saturday during the Pledge Drive. Lots of calls, especially in the second hour. Hope it goes well again this coming Saturday.
Ah, the magic of Skype! My pal Tony, who lives in London, finally saw the light, as it were, and we had our first Skype conversation this morning. Well, this morning for me - eight hours later for him. It took a bit of fiddling to get everything right, but now we have the technology nailed - and it was LOVELY to see and hear him. I wish this technology had existed when Keith was alive; we both had enormous monthly phone bills, and of course we couldn't see each other as we talked.
Eliza loved the zoo, although the two-hour line of children waiting to meet Cookie Monster led us to take a pass. She communed with the elephants, the monkeys, and some other critters, and then fell peacefully asleep in her stroller. I did NOT rent a motorized chair this time, but walked everywhere; it was a nice cool day, and I am encouraged to walk when I can rather than using the chairs. I couldn't have gotten through Disneyland without one, but this time it was easy. I don't much like zoos, or the idea of keeping wild things in cages, but in real life, if Eliza is ever to see an elephant or giraffe or whatever, this is the only way it will ever happen. (SO hard to get a live giraffe or an elephant up the two flights of stairs to my apartment.)
May 6
I know, I know. Long time no blob. Things at Casa Aldin have been really busy (and you don't even want to HEAR the saga of how my car has been in the shop four times in four weeks for totally unrelated problems, nor do you want to know what that cost me). My primary excuse for not having time to write is that Josh and Kate went to Hawaii for a wedding, stayed a week, and left Eliza at Grandma's house. This was a lot of fun for Eliza (Disneyland with Grandma and Aunt Jennifer!) but Grandma is *really* tired. That little firecracker ran me ragged. The kids brought her back a bright pink ukulele from Hawaii, and I understand that there is a fridge magnet in my near future. And now that they are home, Grandma gets to rest? Not so fast; we're (all) taking her to the zoo tomorrow to meet some of the characters from Sesame Street. But before that, I have radio in the morning, and it's pledge drive time. Lots of great premiums - have been choosing stuff for a couple of weeks now - so I only hope there are folks out there listening/calling in their support.
Also have been having some minor-league health issues, which seem to be resolving themselves - another excuse for not writing. And then there are the old friends who have been dropping like flies:
Posted: Tue., May. 3,
2011, 12:09pm PT From Daily Variety:
Byrds manager Jim Dickson dies; Key folk-rock figure also worked with Gram Parsons, the Flying Burrito Brothers
Born in Los Angeles, Dickson worked as a record producer in the early '60s, cutting proto-folk-rock sides by singer-songwriter Hamilton Camp, progressive bluegrass units the Dillards and the Hillmen (which included future Byrds member Chris Hillman) and singer-songwriter David Crosby.
He took up management of Hillman and Crosby's fledgling new band, which was styling itself as an L.A. equivalent of the Beatles. Employing free studio time cadged by Dickson, then a staff producer at World Pacific Studios, the group cut early tracks as the Beefeaters and the Jet Set.
In 1964, Dickson received an acetate of the unreleased Bob Dylan song "Mr. Tambourine Man" from the singer-songwriter's publisher. His charges, a quintet now known as the Byrds, recorded it for Columbia Records (employing backup studio musicians), and it became the band's breakthrough No. 1 single.
Dickson and management partner Eddie Tickner handled the Byrds, who became the preeminent folk-rock band of the era, through a bitter split in June 1967. The pair subsequently worked with the Flying Burrito Brothers, a country-rock unit including Hillman, Byrds drummer Michael Clarke and latter-day Byrds member Gram Parsons.
Dickson produced the group's A&M albums "Burrito Deluxe," "The Flying Burrito Brothers" and the live "Last of the Red Hot Burritos," and is credited with helming some of Parsons' post-Burritos solo recordings.
In 1972, Dickson helped ex-Byrd Gene Clark re-record and remix his 1967 album "Gene Clark with the Gosdin Brothers."
Dickson later moved to Hawaii, where he became a competitive sailor.
March 30
Went out last night with Jennifer and Bruce to Joe's, a club that I have been hearing about for ages but had never been to, where they participated in swing dancing and I exercised my undeniable expertise at observing others, and was assigned to take pictures of them in action for Jennifer's Facebook posts. I like the club very much - a relaxed atmosphere, surprisingly good and cheap food, and thank goodness pals like Ray Campi and Jim were there too, so I wasn't as conspicuous as I otherwise would have been as the only member of the gray-haired contingent. A big part of my staying out til midnight was the fact that I didn't have to get up and go to work this morning - have I mentioned that my office has cut all jobs by 20%, so I am working (and getting paid for) only four days a week now instead of five? Yes, well. So Wednesday being my "day off," I was press-ganged by Jennifer into going out on a Tuesday night, and actually had a lovely time. "You should try swing dancing, mom, it's fun!" says Jennifer. Hell will freeze, says I.
More sad news on the net this morning:
Harley Allen
Respected songwriter Harley Allen succumbed to
cancer early this morning, Wednesday, March 30, 2011. Known as a
country traditionalist, Allen is credited with hits including Blake
Shelton’s “The Baby,” Joe Nichols’ “I’ll Wait For You,” and Darryl
Worley’s “Awful, Beautiful Life.” He was 55.
Allen, a songwriter at Harlan Howard Songs, has also had numerous
cuts by Alan Jackson, Dierks Bentley, Gary Allan, Garth Brooks, Josh
Turner and more.
Born in Dayton, Ohio, he was the son of bluegrass singer Red Allen,
and followed in his father’s musical footsteps at an early age.
Allen’s work often came from a unique perspective, such as the
compelling story song, “The Little Girl,” a No. 1 hit recorded by John
Michael Montgomery, that Allen wrote alone in a matter of minutes.
Former publisher Jewel Coburn describes him as an “unbelievably
prolific writer” with a heart as big as his song catalog. Jewel and
Barry Coburn signed him to their Ten Ten Music more than 20 years ago,
giving him his first publishing deal in Nashville.
They say he was a wonderful talent, whose music was always full of
surprises. Aided by a sense of humor, his impact on the local music
community was far reaching.
Allen had been battling lung cancer for a short time and was
released from the hospital yesterday. He passed peacefully at home with
his family by his side.
He is survived by wife Debbie Nims, son Aaron,
and daughters Katie and Maggie.
Details for visitation and a celebration of life are pending.
Eliza and I had a lovely visit
Saturday evening. After the kids dropped her off we played with her
flashcards, then she had some macaroni and cheese and we followed that
with the brush-teeth-put-on-pajamas ritual, and then she watched her
Pinocchio DVD for awhile. When I informed her that it was time to go to
bed, she carefully carried all her stuffed animals, one at a time, of
coures, to delay the bedtime thing, from the living room back into
Grandma's bedroom, and lined them all up on her pillow and covered them
with a quilt before getting in herself and fixing me with That Look,
which meant that she wanted me to get in with her and snuggle till she
fell asleep. So I did, except that I fell asleep too, and we woke up
together Sunday morning in a tangle of blankets and with her Big Bird
doll wedged firmly under my chin. I left the lights and the computer
and everything on - just fell asleep and slept straight through, which
hardly ever happens, so that was wonderful. She announced that she
wanted pancakes for breakfast, so we got her dressed ("And NOW my Snow
White socks and NOW my shoes and NOW my sweater," she chanted) and then
I manuevered the heavy stroller and her down the two flights of stairs
to the street and pushed her to the coffee shop. Best exercise I got
all week! While we waited for our breakfast she colored on the paper
placemat, explaining to me that "THIS one is pink and THIS one is blue
and THIS one is green." She's talking a mile a minute these days, can
count to twenty and say the whole alphabet - at 19 months old! What a
smart cookie!
And another milestone in Grandma getting older: I tripped and fell this noon, really hard, on the sidewalk between the Post Office and my car. Two good-looking young men raced to my side, helped me up, braced me while I checked for broken bones (none, thankfully), picked up my busted specs and asked whether they should call someone for me. I was just a few feet from my car, so I pointed to it and they helped me into the driver's seat. This getting old stuff is not for sissies. My left knee is badly bruised, my left wrist is quite painful, and the heels of both hands have asphalt burns and scrapes where I put them out to break my fall. But I was able to drive myself back to my office and gimp my way to my desk, so it wasn't nearly as serious as it could have been. And did my life flash before my eyes during those seconds while I watched in surprise as the pavement rose up to meet me? Not at all. I was thinking, "Not my ankle again, not my ankle again, PLEASE not my ankle again." And Someone Up There was listening. I had a Category Five sprain of my left ankle a couple of years ago, and believe you me that is NOT something I ever want to repeat; aside from the hassle of getting up and down the stairs of my apartment building on crutches, ever since then that ankle has been chancy to put too much weight on, and it tells me things every time it's going to rain. I quite welcomed the searing pain in my left knee when I hit the ground, because it meant the ankle was okay. Couldn't very well undress in the office, so waited till I got home tonight to inspect the damage - the knee is already an interesting color, but I think I'll live. Put peroxide on all the scrapes and bruises, and we'll see how it looks tomorrow.
And another milestone in Grandma getting older: I tripped and fell this noon, really hard, on the sidewalk between the Post Office and my car. Two good-looking young men raced to my side, helped me up, braced me while I checked for broken bones (none, thankfully), picked up my busted specs and asked whether they should call someone for me. I was just a few feet from my car, so I pointed to it and they helped me into the driver's seat. This getting old stuff is not for sissies. My left knee is badly bruised, my left wrist is quite painful, and the heels of both hands have asphalt burns and scrapes where I put them out to break my fall. But I was able to drive myself back to my office and gimp my way to my desk, so it wasn't nearly as serious as it could have been. And did my life flash before my eyes during those seconds while I watched in surprise as the pavement rose up to meet me? Not at all. I was thinking, "Not my ankle again, not my ankle again, PLEASE not my ankle again." And Someone Up There was listening. I had a Category Five sprain of my left ankle a couple of years ago, and believe you me that is NOT something I ever want to repeat; aside from the hassle of getting up and down the stairs of my apartment building on crutches, ever since then that ankle has been chancy to put too much weight on, and it tells me things every time it's going to rain. I quite welcomed the searing pain in my left knee when I hit the ground, because it meant the ankle was okay. Couldn't very well undress in the office, so waited till I got home tonight to inspect the damage - the knee is already an interesting color, but I think I'll live. Put peroxide on all the scrapes and bruises, and we'll see how it looks tomorrow.
March 23
Got a really unusual post-birthday present today; Kirk came over and grouted my kitchen sink. Most guys just give me chocolate.
AND, it's raining again.
March 21
Sad to say goodbye to Pinetop Perkins. A good long life well lived!
AUSTIN, Texas — Pinetop Perkins, one of the last old-school bluesmen who played with Muddy Waters and became the oldest Grammy winner this
year, died Monday at his home of cardiac arrest. He was 97.
Perkins was having chest pains when he went to take a nap and paramedics could not revive him, said Hugh Southard, Perkins' agent for the last 15 years.
The piano man played with an aggressive style and sang with a distinctive gravelly voice.
He accompanied Sonny Boy Williamson on the popular King Biscuit Time radio show broadcast on KFFA in Helena, Ark., in the 1940s. He toured
with Ike Turner in the 1950s and joined Waters' band in 1969.
"He is the blues, he is the epitome of it," Southard said. "He lived it, breathed it."
Perkins won a Grammy in February for best traditional blues album for "Joined at the Hip: Pinetop Perkins & Willie "Big Eyes" Smith." That
win made Perkins the oldest Grammy winner, edging out late comedian George Burns, who was 95 when he won in the spoken category for
"Gracie: A Love Story" in 1990.
Perkins also won a 2007 Grammy for best traditional blues album for his collaboration on the "Last of the Great Mississippi Delta
Bluesmen: Live in Dallas." He also received a lifetime achievement Grammy in 2005.
Even at his age, he was a regular fixture at Austin blues clubs, playing regular gigs up to last month. He had more than 20
performances booked this year, Southard said. After they won the Grammy this year, Smith and Perkins discussed recording another CD.
Perkins was born in Belzoni, Miss., in 1913 and was believed to be the oldest of the old-time Delta blues musicians still performing.
In an 80-year career, he played at juke joints, nightclubs and festivals. He didn't start recording in his own name until he was in
his 70s and released more than 15 solo records since 1992.
That drive to keep playing the blues is what kept him alive, Southard said.
Perkins also loved fast food and was a smoker until the day he died.
"Two cheeseburgers, apple pie, a cigarette and a pretty girl was all he wanted," Southard said.
Perkins, who had no survivors, will be buried in his hometown, Southard said, but details were not immediately available. An Austin
tribute will be planned to honor his life and music will be scheduled within the next week, Southard said.
He moved to Austin in 2004 to live with an associate since he had no family.
We had a great birthday/Mardi Gras party on Saturday. All the kids came over early and helped get it together; Eliza napped through the first hour or so and then joined us, decked out in Mardi Gras beads and adorableness. I made jambalaya as usual, and lots of friends brought things to share and lots of food (lasagna! steamed fresh vegetables! home made tamales! pear and walnut salad!) And Jim brought a huge chocolate cake, personally inscribed to the three of us who were the official celebrants.
And a few hours after the last party guest left, the skies opened and we had a deluge that lasted nearly 48 hours. I was sitting at the coffee shop on my hillside having a late lunch on Sunday when everything went dark. They had to close, of course - not only were there no lights in the kitchen, so Larry was having trouble seeing what he was cooking, but with no power the credit card machine wouldn't work. Jim lost power, though I didn't - he must be on the same circuit as the coffee shop, since he lives just a block away. He brought his laptop over and plugged it into my cable line so he could submit something that was on deadline, and then we went to the movies - a program of early 1940s Soundies at the Hammer, along with a Jimmy Stewart-Paulette Goddard musical film called "Pot O'Gold" that included every Irish stereotype in the book.
http://blogs.tennessean.com/tunein/2011/03/21/steel-guitar-innovator-ralph-mooney-dies-at-82/
Steel guitar innovator Ralph Mooney, who co-wrote the shuffling Ray Price smash “Crazy Arms” and added propulsive steel to hits by Buck
Owens, Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings and many others, died Sunday at his home in Arlington, Tex. He was 82, and had cancer of the kidney.
“He’s a pioneer of the steel guitar,” said Jerry Brightman, who played in Buck Owens’ Buckaroos band in the 1970s and often found himself
playing the parts Mr. Mooney created for Owens hits including “Under Your Spell Again” and “Foolin’ Around.” “He played with such drive and
energy, and approached things with such uniqueness.”
Mr. Mooney was a staff musician at Capitol Records in Los Angeles in the 1950s and ’60s, and with Capitol he played on hits from Owens and
on Haggard smashes including “The Bottle Let Me Down” and “Swinging Doors.” On those recordings, Mr. Mooney would press and release a
pitch-shifting foot pedal (his very first pedal was a self-styled setup, made from a bicycle pedal and bailing wire) that helped him
arrive at an identifiable sound. Later, when Mr. Mooney was in Jennings’ live band, the bandleader would call attention to his steel
player, saying, “Show ‘em the foot that made Merle Haggard a star.”
In more than two decades with Jennings — a stint that began around 1970 — Mr. Mooney offered a raw and edgy tone that could be heard loud
and clear amidst Jennings’ amped-up electric guitar. He also offered a link to classic country that helped root Jennings’ sound.
“Moon was the unifier within (Jennings’ band) the Waylors,” wrote critic and historian Rich Kienzle, in the liner notes to a 2003
reissue of Jennings’ 1976 Waylon Live album. “His sharp toned, economical style gave the band’s disparate musical elements cohesion.
… Waylon’s sound might have roared more than some purists and old timers might have liked. … But with ‘Moon’ riding shotgun, it couldn’t
have been anything but country.”
Born in Duncan, Okla., Mr. Mooney moved to California as a teenager in the 1940s, and he soon found work playing the steel in clubs and on
studio sessions. He didn’t focus on songwriting, but he and Chuck Seals co-wrote “Crazy Arms,” which stayed at No. 1 on Billboard’s
country singles chart for 20 weeks in 1956 and became one of the defining hits of a career that landed Price in the Country Music Hall of Fame.
In the 1970s, Mr. Mooney focused on his work with the Waylors. He contributed to classic Jennings albums including Dreaming My Dreams,
Honky Tonk Heroes and This Time — swaggering works that stood as highlights of country’s much-lauded “Outlaw Movement.” His steel part,
with swirling swells and staccato eruptions, is a central element in Jennings and Willie Nelson’s No. 1 “Mammas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow
Up to Be Cowboys.”
In the 1980s, Mr. Mooney continued his work with Jennings, and also aided Johnny Cash, Neil Young, Marty Stuart and others. Stuart ranks
Mr. Mooney among his primary musical heroes, and he brought Mr. Mooney back from a lengthy absence from music for the recording of Stuart’s
2010 album Ghost Train: The Studio B Sessions. On Ghost Train, Mr. Mooney played bracing steel, co-wrote “Little Heartbreaker (The Likes
of You)” with Stuart and delivered an instrumental version of his pivotal composition, “Crazy Arms.”
“I went to Texas two springs ago to see if he would come to Nashville and play on that record,” Stuart said. “We wound up going out and
playing a show with his church band. As we got back to his house, close to midnight, it was a full moon and a perfect night, and you
could smell the cactus flowers in the air. I helped him put his steel guitar back in the house, and then I drove off and thought, ‘This has
been one of the perfect days of my life.’ If I was a baseball-playing kid, it’d be like hanging with Babe Ruth. Moon was the most important
picker that ever came through my life.”
By January of 2011, word circulated in the music community that Mr. Mooney’s health had taken a turn for the worse. Stuart called him late
that month, before an overseas tour, and Mr. Mooney sought to assure him that all was well, whatever happened.
“I talked to him, and it was mostly about all the regular stuff we talk about,” Stuart said. “As we were about to hang up, he said, ‘I
love you, and everything is alright. The Lord knows what to do with me.’”
Mr. Mooney will be buried Wednesday at 10 a.m. at Pleasantville Baptist Church in Arlington, Tex.
March 17
No surprise, but still sad to hear that Ferlin Husky died today.
Had a great dinner with the kids last night at the Kitchen in Silverlake, and have now gotten so many birthday flowers that I've had to borrow an extra vase from neighbor Sherry! Tonight it's dusting, pre-cleaning for tomorrow when Jennifer comes up and we do the "big" cleaning and final prep for Saturday's Party Gras. Just learned that there will be an anti-war protest march that will block some streets in Hollywood on Saturday afternoon, and then the L.A. Marathon runs right through here on Sunday (when Jim and I are hoping to go tp the Hammer to see a program of Soundies), so our local commuting will be...slow.
March 14
It was nice to be back on the radio after many weeks away, and I got some nice calls and emails from folks who've missed me (!). There's a fair amount of new stuff to sort through, but this coming Saturday John and Deanne Davis are at the controls, which gives me an extra week to listen to all the new CDs that have come in. And although I've been home for over a week I am *still* unpacking!
Jim and I went out to Cantalini's last night to hear our friends Ian Whitcomb, Fred Sokolow and Dave Jones entertain the masses. They were a lot of fun, as always, and most wonderfully for me, their show always starts at 6:30 p.m., so I get home early. Food was good, too: chicken marsala and a salad for me, and something pesto-pasta-ish for Jim, and for dessert a giant slab of chocolate cake and two forks.
Speaking of cake, it's birthday time around Casa Aldin, and all the kids are celebrating theirs and mine. Our annual family birthday dinner will be Wednesday night, a date purposely selected because it's no one's actual birthday, and because we all get paid on the 15th of the month, so will have enough money to go out to dinner and have a good spread by then! Jim is dropping hints about a birthday cake to be delivered this weekend.
March 8 Here's the link to a temporary journal and some photos of my trip. 2011 trip
March 6
Six years ago today my dear Keith died. Hard to believe it has been so long. His good friend Justin went to the cemetery and left flowers from us both; Keith isn't actually buried there; it's his mother's grave, but his ashes were scattered there, and it's all we've got, so that's where the flowers go. This year's are lovely, bright and cheerful.
February 11
Had lots of fun last night doing the interview with Jett Williams and her husband Keith Adkinson. I took some photos in the studio of Jett with Mark, who was wearing his nifty Hank Williams t-shirt. She looks a *lot* like her daddy. Turns out Jett and Mark were born within a few days of each other, a few days after Hank died.
Mark Humphrey and Jett Williams at KPFK, 2/10/11
Today was my last day at the office before vacation, and now am packing and prepping and all the usual. Am babysitting Eliza tomorrow night so that the kids can go out to dinner, and will probably keep her overnight for some Grandma snuggle time. When they bring her over, Josh is going to install a web-cam on the laptop I've borrowed from Claire so that I can talk to Eliza and we can see each other while I'm gone. The miracle of Skype! And on Sunday, I get on the train and ride. Jennifer will mind the fort here at Chez Aldin, the station will cover the radio show with Fund Drive stuff, and Mark is ready to fill in if by some miracle the fund drive ends before I get back. Yeah, right.
At work today I sat transfixed in front of my computer, watching the world change before my eyes. When I was a child there was no TV, but we had a big cabinet radio, and younguns, guess what - in those days the radio WAS the internet. We sat transfixed on the floor in my grandmother's living room and listened to news bulletins, soap operas, comedy programs, western serials and music; but I never thought that the day would come when I could watch a revolution happening in real time halfway around the world. Nor, for that matter, did I ever dream that I would watch airplanes flying into towers in New York, or watch New Orleans drowning, or wave at my granddaughter on a computer screen from halfway across the country. The times, they are a-changing.
February 7
Trying to do too many things at once. I thought that the radio show was on hiatus for a few weeks due to the Fund Drive, but then I got an opportunity to visit with Jett Williams, who has co-produced a 16 CD box set (!) of old radio broadcasts by her father, Hank Williams Sr., and I couldn't say no. Thank God Mark is a Hank expert and is helping me organize the Q&A, which happens this Thursday. I guess the station will broadcast it at some point during the drive.
Eliza is speaking in sentences now ("Give Grandma big hug!" is one of my favorites), and wearing me out with her boundless energy. I just *love* the grandma thing!
Just heard today that Marvine Sease passed away.
January 2, 2011
Sort of a non-stop New Year, so far. On New Year's Eve Mark and I went to downtown L.A. and rode on Angels Flight (which cost us only a penny each, as it was the 109th anniversary of their opening, at which time it cost a penny to ride it). When we got to the top Jim was already up there, autographing copies of his Angels Flight book at a table, and Bill and Lynne from the Monday nights at Conrads were there cheering him on. Then Mark and I walked across the street to the Grand Central Market, where we found blueberries for $1 a basket, and tangerines for $1.50 for a three pound tub. After that it was off to Chinatown so Mark could buy some ginseng and cough syrup, and then to lunch at the Empress Pavilion, where I had my first encounter with dim sum. Dim sum, in case you too have been living under the same rock I was, is a style of service whereby you sit down at a table and they bring you tea, and they put a long paper ticket on your table. Then servers walk around to all the tables pushing huge carts of appetizer-size portions of all different dishes. They swoop the lid off and let you look at it, and they also tell you what it is, but in Chinese, which wasn't too helpful (we were the only non-Asians there and neither of us speaks Chinese. Well, I can say "ho la ma hon yin" but that's not very helpful since it means "how are you, elder brother" in Cantonese; it's the only phrase I know and I'm not sure any more why I know it or where I learned it). So we just shrugged and said "sure!" to everything they showed us. Every time a server put a little plate on the table he or she punched our ticket with a little stamp. We had no idea how much money we were spending (nor what we were eating, in most cases!) and I was getting nervous when we finally called it quits. We had eleven different dishes, most of which were excellent and only one or two of which I didn't much care for, which is a pretty good average, and all that food cost us only $34.
On New Year's morning I was up early and off to do radio, then came home and dismantled and chopped up the Christmas tree and put it into the recycling barrel. I should have worn work gloves for that, and would have if I had any, so my hands are telling me things today. Then Josh and Kate came over and picked me up and we took Eliza to the zoo. She communed with the elephants, the giraffes and various other critters, and seemed to really enjoy it. She looked at a huge Bengal tiger, then looked at me and said very clearly, "Meow!"
Today Claire came over and helped me with some web site stuff - the new year means new files are needed so I can post my 2011 playlists. Then we went to the coffee shop and had lunch with Jim. And THEN it started raining, again. Jennifer and Bruce, who went to Bakersfield to visit friends for New Year's Eve, are now stuck there, since the Grapevine is closed down in both directions due to snow! So I am feeding their cat till they get home, which I hope will be tomorrow.
An interesting website with a section on "How to Make Musical Instruments From Everyday Stuff" - by Dennis HavlenaDecember 28
http://www.dennishavlena.com/
Samples:
How to build a simple 12-course Hammered Dulcimer
How to make Highland pipes from PVC pipe
Simple 3-string banjo made from a tennis racquet
Make a real, 4-string upright bass using an upright washtub
Ready-made didjeridu sold at K-Mart for 97 cents
A very temporary "clarinet" made from the stalk of a zucchini plant
How to make a fiddle very quiet - for late night diddling ... and many more ...
Sad news on which to end the year. An old, old friend died on Christmas Day. Her name was Kate Rinzler, and you can see/hear her talking here. But long ago, before she was married to the late Ralph Rinzler, she was married to Ed Pearl in the early 1960s at the time that he owned the Ash Grove and I worked there. I used to babysit her little daughter Marni, now a grown woman in her late 40s or early 50s; Kate was one of the kindest people I ever knew. She was especially good to me during one very hard time in my life, when her gentle kindness and understanding was the most helpful thing on earth. I will miss her.
December 18
The holidays are here. Tree is up and decorated, with lots of help from my neighbor Jim (at 6 feet 6 or thereabouts, getting stuff down off my top closet shelves is a breeze for him, no ladder needed, and he reached over and put my treetop angel on without even stretching!). What presents there will be are all taken care of. Not much, but not much is needed. I *was* going to go to a holiday party at Tom and Claire's tonight, but Eliza has been pretty sick (ran a fever of 103, poor mousie) and I stayed overnight last night at Josh and Kate's trying to get her to go to sleep and stay asleep. Not much luck! So I only had about four hours myself last night - she did go to sleep at about 11 and was wide awake and raring to go at 4:45 this morning, and I took care of her till Kate woke up at 8, as both of them were short of sleep from being up with her the night before last. I am so tired that I'm afraid to drive in the dark and the heavy rain we're having, so I'll miss their soiree. I sent Jim with an apology and the items I had offered to bring. But Eliza does seem to be feeling better today; she ate some soft food, and the fever has completely broken. I did only the most rudimentary stuff here at home today, and plan to turn into a pumpkin around 8 tonight!
Another reason for no late night for me tonight is that tomorrow the most complicated part of my job starts; a procedure that we do twice a year, and it takes a lot of time and a lot of concentration, and is really the only part of my job that could be called even a little stressful, because it's exacting, detailed work that *has* to be accurate. So lots of sleep for me tonight, then lots of mail runs tomorrow (my pal Mark has gone home to Oklahoma for the holidays, so I am collecting his mail from both his P.O Box and his home, and storing it all till he returns, plus there is another regular mail drop I do for another friend) before work.
The "December to remember" Alive & Picking Christmas radio shows went off very well. Tom Nixon, John and Deanne Davis, and Ben Elder showed up and played great stuff; this coming Saturday, Christmas morning, will be my turn. In my copious spare time this week, I need to get going on programming it! During the guest hosting shifts the station had a fund drive going on, and I was pleased at how very well the show did in the brief bursts of fundraising that we did.
Fooling around on the internet, I Googled Maps-ed my pal Tony's address in the UK. The photos Google uses are apparently quite old; I was hoping to see his house covered in a perfect English fairytale Christmas blanket of snow, since the weather reports tell me that there is so much snow there that Heathrow Airport is closed! But although I found his house, there was a car he hasn't owned in years parked in front, and a clear blue sky above. Then I did the same to my own address, and saw this building before the most recent repaint job, and that was right after the last big earthquake! So yes, old photos, but still fun to get to see where he lives.
It's raining, it's pouring. Actual conversation overheard at the coffee shop today:
Customer (clearly a tourist visiting Hollywood): "You know, I'm actually kind of digging the fog and rain."
Exasperated waitress, who's tired of it all: "So go visit England!"
Speaking of weather and rain: For those many friends in far-flung places who read this blob as a way of keeping up with how our family is doing, yes, there *are* mudslides in the Hollywood Hills, but not my Hollywood Hills. The mudslides that are on the news are in Nichols Canyon and Laurel Canyon, to the west of us, and in another hillside area far to the east. Our canyon is pretty safe, being built primarily on granite, and with this amount of rain we are probably safe from fires for a long time too! And, touch wood, I have no leaks - yet!
Sad to note the passing of photographer and filmmaker George Pickow, husband of folksinger Jean Ritchie and co-founder with her of Greenhays Records.
NEW YORK, Dec. 19 (UPI) -- Photographer George Pickow, known for his
album cover photographs of musicians such as Lena Horne and Louis Armstrong, has died
in New York, his son said.
Pickow died of respiratory failure, his son Jon said in a New York
Times report. Pickow was 88.
Pickow, who died Dec. 10, photographed the cultural ferment of New
York City, particularly Greenwich Village, where he and his wife, folk
singer Jean Ritchie lived after their marriage in 1950.
Pickow helped his wife collect traditional songs from singers in
Appalachia and Britain, and contributed photographs to many of her
books, among them "The Swapping Song Book" (Oxford University, 1952), a
volume of songs from the Cumberland Mountains of Kentucky.
His subjects included Judy Collins, Pete Seeger, Dizzy Gillespie,
Tony Bennett, Louis Jordan and dozens of other musical performers in
the last half of the 20th century.
Originally trained as a painter, Pickow also photographed many
distinguished visual artists, including Thomas Hart Benton, Chaim Gross
and Edward Hopper. Many of his most striking photographs were shot in
black and white, and they show people plying their trades.
He was also an independent filmmaker and from the 1970s until
shortly before his death, he ran a small record label called Greenhays
Recordings.
Pickow was born on Feb. 11, 1922, in Los Angeles. He was raised in
Brooklyn and studied painting at the Cooper Union. He made training
films for the Navy during World War II.
Survivors include his widow, Jean Ritchie, and sons Jon and Peter.
© 2010 United Press International, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Thanksgiving at Casa Aldin was great. Food, friends, family, fun. Took me three days to finally finish washing the last of the pots and pans, but it was worth it!
Somehow it seems as though KPFK is having a fundraiser about every other month any more. I mean literally. We just had one in October, and I already had the entire month of December booked with guest hosts when they announced another pledge drive for December. Fortunately the station was willing to compromise, so instead of me having to cancel and reschedule all my guests (which would have been a DRAG, since they all wanted to do Christmas shows, and somehow those are much less timely in March), we are going to have a solid block of 45 minutes of music followed by 15 minutes of fundraising, and then another solid 45 minutes of music followed by a final 15 minutes of fundraising. But don't worry - there'll be another fund drive in February! (See? I mean, LITERALLY every two months!)
I've been spending a lot of time with Eliza, which means not a lot of time for this blob or anything else. But so worth it. She's talking a blue streak, walking and running everywhere, and we are having Fun With Flash Cards at Grandma's house as she learns new words every day. My weeks are full of work and radio prep, and my weekends are full of radio and errands and Eliza. No wonder I am falling behind with the blob.
Went to the coffee shop tonight, where Jim and I did our usual crossword puzzle together, and was stunned to learn that John, one of our "regulars," was found dead at home this morning. He was at the coffee shop on Sunday - I saw him and we exchanged our usual hellos - and <insert noise of finger snap here> just like that he is gone. Two of the waitresses went up to his house when they heard the news, and stayed there with him till the coroner's van came. So sad. What a nice guy.
Speaking of so sad - Elizabeth Edwards. Man. She did not for one second deserve what she went through in her life - losing her young son in a car crash, facing the glare of publicity as her husband had an affair with and then fathered a child by another woman, learning she had cancer and then fighting it - but she handled it all with dignity and grace and class. I really respect the way she lived her life.
My plans for the trip are coming along well. Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans - and Tony is flying over from England to meet me in Memphis, so I'll have a traveling partner again. I really like it both ways - I'm perfectly happy wandering around on my own, and I also like having someone to wander with.
Got a new digital camera; Jennifer recommended the one she uses, and lo and behold I hit a sale at Target and got that exact model, very cheap! She came up tonight and gave me a quick tutorial, but like anything else it's about fooling with it awhile and seeing what it can do. Fortunately, Eliza provides us with an endless supply of funny faces to practice on. Oh! Did I mention she has learned to say Grandma?
A good friend had a detached retina last month, so for awhile there I was pretty busy taking him back and forth - to the hospital for surgery, home from hospital, back for followups, etc. He went back home for Thanksgiving and during that time was able to drive some, so I guess things are improving.
LOVED that so many of my friends got Grammy nominations! (Didn't so much love that so many of them are competing against each other in the same categories!)
Am indecisive about whether to get a Christmas tree this year. Eliza is just a bit too young to appreciate it, and Jennifer and Josh are just a bit too old to care <grin>.
November 10
The wedding was great. Everything was perfect, the cake was gorgeous, the food was delicious, the music was perfect, the ceremony was short and sweet and a great time was had by all. Jennifer is floating three feet off the ground with happiness. In addition to about 100 of Bruce and Jennifer's friends, Jim came, Mark came, and my friend Berta and her kids drove across the desert from Flagstaff to be with us, then turned around and drove back again as they had an obligation there the next night. Bruce's parents and one of his brothers flew out from North Dakota for it, and the day after the wedding we took them to the Pasadena City College swap meet. Jennifer found a great pair of vintage shoes and two dresses, Bruce found some Star Wars toys, and I didn't buy a mandolin (but it was a close shave.) Now the kids are settling in to married life and deciding where to put all their gifts, and I am coasting toward Thanksgiving. I ordered the turkey and the ham today! This Saturday Josh and Kate are going to a friend's party, and I get to have Eliza overnight again. Yippee! She wore her pretty-pretty party dress to Jennifer's wedding, and assuming that she hasn't outgrown it by then it will also do for Thanksgiving.
This Saturday's radio show (the 13th) will be lots of fun: George Grove of the Kingston Trio, Joe Frazier of the Chad Mitchell Trio, Jim Moran of Chilly Winds, and Art Podell of Art & Paul and The New Christy Minstrels are doing a show they are calling "1963: The Year In Folk Music." I get to push buttons and play carts, but the music is all them. I've also nailed down all my guest hosts for Alive and Picking for December - all doing Christmas music specials: Tom Nixon on the 4th, John and Deanne Davis on the 11th, Ben Elder on the 18th, and I'll do it myself on the 25th since I can't really ask anyone else to do radio on Christmas Day. All of the above happens Saturdays 6:00-8:00 a.m. Pacific Time on KPFK, which is 90.7 FM if you live in Southern California, and www.kpfk.org if you are everywhere else.
November 3
Well. Election is over, and it was 100 degrees downtown today. Yoo hoo, weatherman this is November, dial it back please. The wedding this Saturday is coming together thanks to Jennifer's inherited habit of being incredibly organized, making extensive lists, and checking off everything as she finishes it. Got that from me, you betcha (hello, apple? This is tree.) I spent two nights in her apartment putting the favors together (and trying not to eat all the chocolate before it ever got into the boxes), and we did some extensive shopping, buying white material by the yard and various other odds and ends. Mark is covering the radio show for me this Saturday, and I am taking Friday off work all day to help her with any final prep that may be needed. I have ordered some roses to be delivered as a surprise on Friday, and the tables and chairs will all be delivered Friday night (and stored in my apartment overnight, yippee!). Don't expect to hear from me for awhile; I'm too busy having fun.
October 22
Cajun musician Zachary Richard has suffered a stroke.
Wedding plans proceeding apace. Stuff got bought last night, honeymoon hotel got booked today. Invites are out, RSVPs are in, as Jennifer says. Casa Aldin is rocking!
October 13
Report from the front lines: Jennifer's wedding is coming together nicely, the first weekend of the KPFK Fund Drive went fairly well, and I had a great time emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention last Sunday (and have a natty new t-shirt to show for it). Eliza is coming to stay for the weekend, and Jennifer and I are taking her shopping on Sunday - my gosh, three generations of Aldin women at the mall. Look out world! Next up, getting my mind wrapped around prep for Thanksgiving dinner, which is the Next Big Thing after the wedding - I bought Eliza a darling little party dress to wear to both her aunt Jennifer's wedding and Thanksgiving dinner, and maybe Christmas too if she hasn't outgrown it by then. How is it possible that I can see the holidays right around the corner? This week's mail brought me and election ballot and a Grammy ballot, coicidentally on the same day.
September 27
Wedding plans at Casa Aldin; busy, busy, excited.
It's also so hot that I can't even sit in the room where this computer is for very long at a time (no A/C in here), so will write more when it cools off.
August 21
The radio show fundraiser did terrifically well this morning - as I said to Music Director Maggie, I guess this means I have to keep doing it, then? I'm going to officially ban Mark Humphrey and Rex Mayreis from donating any more money for at least a year, though. Rex is going to have to get a second job to support his donating habit; he gets up at the crack of still dark out and drives to KPFK from wherever the hell far east of here he lives, answers phones in the pledge room during my show, and then pays money for the privilege? Nertz, as Jimmy Durante used to say. I really appreciate all the regulars who loyally call in every time there's a fund drive. But these guys have to cut it out for awhile.
Then errands, shopping (Jennifer starts a new job Monday so I picked up some things for her) and this afternoon I had a visit from my (much) younger half sister and her two children, who live in Carlsbad; she is the baby of my large extended family, born after I was already grown and gone, so we never really spent much time together, especially as she was raised in Italy and I was born and raised in New York. Anyhow, they had been living in Texas, as her husband's work took them there, but he died of cancer a few months ago, and they've now relocated "home" to California. Kate and Eliza met us at the store where Josh works in Hollywood, and we all went to lunch at a nearby restaurant, where Eliza charmed all comers as usual, and at the end of the meal Josh and I had our standard discussion about tipping. He thinks I overtip, and maybe I do by a buck or two here and there. My take on this is that servers stand on their feet eight hours a day for minimum wage, at the beck and call of people who often treat them like lackeys, and they usually have to divide their tips with bus boys and etc., so I don't think that the extra buck or two will break me and it might make a difference to them. For all I know these folks might be single parents, working double shifts to feed their families, and so forth. Anyhow, I always toss in a bit extra. Josh says that they make plenty of money and that I grossly overtip. It's not grossly - I might round up instead of doing an exact percentage, and then might add in a couple more bucks when, like today, we had a really good, helpful and cooperative server who went out of her way in the matter of refills and extra napkins and setting up Eliza's highchair and all that. This is Not A Big Deal to me, but Josh is always on my case about it. However, it was my credit card so I got to decide the tip. So there. (He'd have a FIT if he saw how much I tip in New Orleans!)
I am taking some time off work to rest and think; have been through kind of a lot lately, what with moving my entire office and all, and am more tired than usual. I feel the retirement bug nibbling; Social Security and Medicare are calling my name, but they are probably not going to be enough to live on, and I have no pension or retirement plan at work. There's this granddaughter (and her possible future sibling) who's going to need a nanny, though, and the kids could pay me something for doing that...I guess the real question is, am I ready to give up my annual trips to New Orleans for good, because once I retire I won't be able to afford to travel any more. And I'm not sure whether I could afford to keep doing the radio show, either; I'd have to check last year's taxes, but I think it costs me about $3,000.00 a year out of my own pocket to buy the records that I play on the air. I do get quite a lot of things sent me me for free, sure; but not all of those are, shall we say, things that I feel fit the format of the program (and some of them just flat stink, too, you have no idea). I have a very respectable personal collection of records going back several decades, but the audience needs to hear what's new out there, as well as what's been around for awhile, and not all the record labels send me their new releases. So there are things to think about.
August 16
President Obama made me miss visiting with Eliza tonight. I was on my way from work to Josh and Kate's house to hang out with them for the evening, when I ran smack dab into the street closures for the fundraising event the President is hosting tonight. EVERY street that could have taken me to their house was closed and guarded by police, and I had to go waaay out of my way just to get home. It took me FOUR HOURS to do what should be a 45-min.drive. Oh, Mr. President, after I voted for you and everything, how could you let your mean Secret Service detail keep me from spending time with my beautiful grandbaby?
I was all the more sad because I had not seen her for awhile. I usually let her babysit me every Saturday night, but I worked all weekend - and when I say all weekend, I mean ALL WEEKEND, because this was The Big Move. We rented a U-Haul, packed our business lives of the past 35 years into boxes, and shifted it all to the new office on Saturday; Sunday was spent unpacking, and trying to cram twice the stuff into half the space. This morning we learned that, oh joy, the phone company very promptly disconnected our old phone lines just as they were told to, but didn't connect our new ones at the new office. This meant, not only no phones, but no internet access on our computers (no DSL lines) and no fax machine. MANY frenzied phone calls later, we were able to persuade them to put a recording on the old office phone line giving my cell phone number as the new company number until we can get our permanent phones installed. This Has Not Been Fun. The rest of today was more unpacking and head scratching, and a little bit of the fun stuff (putting posters and photos up on the walls and so forth). Tomorrow, more of the same, and so forth, until we are finally settled in.
The one non-work thing I was able to accomplish this weekend was to call my pal Tony in the UK on Sunday, and leave him a Happy Birthday message on his answering machine. I knew he wouldn't be home - he was out frivoling, exactly as he should have been - but I wanted him to get to hear my voice on his birthday.
August 10
Hard to believe that when I wake up tomorrow morning Eliza will be one year old. Like all grandmothers, I think it's gone by too fast. The first year has been full of adventures for all of us as we got to know the new person in our lives. Together we've been through colic, teething, learning to sit up by herself, holding her own bottle, learning to crawl, to eat (semi) solid food, to pull herself up to a standing position, to stand all by herself - and taking a bath in the big bathtub, with a great deal of splashing and giggling. She can't talk, but she can make herself known - da means daddy, ba means bottle (and sometimes banana), and keys, oddly enough, clearly means keys. And puff means, not a magic dragon, but a baby food item called puffs. She can point to things, and she knows her books and lots of the words and pictures in them. She's already, in just her first year, been to Disneyland, had a limo ride, and is close pals with both Elmo and Minnie Mouse. She loves her Baby Einstein videos, and to sit on my lap and play patty-cake and sing "the itsy bitsy spider." She loves to play in her bouncer and to go on walks (well, she rides in her stroller like a princess while the rest of us walk) to the park near her house or to the coffee shop on my hillside, where she sits on Jim's lap and charms the waitresses and gets carrots all over herself and anyone else who ventures too near. She loves her mommy and her daddy and her aunt Jennifer and me, and we love her right back. This is the best adventure; as I see the winding down of own my life coming slowly around the horizon, watching this little girl grow and play is a lot of fun. I used to say that my children were my stealth bombs to the future - that I had raised amazing kids who were good human beings and would make the world a better place. I was right about that - and now they are carrying it on with yet another generation. I sent Eliza home the other night wrapped in a blanket that I had wrapped her father in 33 years ago; Jennifer found an old photo of Josh strapped into his carrier with that same blanket keeping him warm.
Parenting has lots of ways it can go, and I was very lucky that my kids turned out so well despite, or because of, their slightly unorthodox single-mother upbringing. You have a lot of choices in parenting; if you are abused as a child, you can choose to perpetuate it by handing it down to your own children, or you can choose to break the cycle of abuse by giving them nothing but love. I chose to look very hard at the way I was raised, and to take from it every good and fun and wonderful thing that happened and pass those things along to my own children; and I then took every bad thing that happened and made a specific and concerted effort to eliminate the negative stuff from my vocabulary of parenting skills. For instance, my maternal grandmother, whom I adored, was a racist from the word go, and I am grateful that her frequent verbal expressions of prejudice never became part of my own mindset. My own children never heard those words until they started school, and it was a point of pride with me that they had no idea what the words meant when they first heard them, and had to come to me for a definition! Babies are not born hating babies of other races. Prejudice and hatred are learned behaviors, and babies learn them from their parents. We are responsible for who our children are; when they are born they are like blank pieces of paper, and what we write on them is part of who they will become. I am incredibly proud of the people my children have grown into. And now Josh is taking every good and fun and wonderful thing from his own childhood and giving it to Eliza, and is also remembering my frequent mistakes and vowing not to repeat them. At this rate we will have perfect children in just another generation or two!
Any minute now Eliza will be learning to walk, and then look out, world, here she comes!
August 7
Had a good time on the radio this morning; did a birthday set for Eliza, who amazingly will be one year old this coming Wednesday. She is standing up by herself these days! Then tonight she came over and babysat me. We watched the Dodger game together, and Vin Scully's velvet voice lulled her to sleep in her carseat. Josh installed a program on my computer that is supposed to download my radio shows onto my computer so that I can post links to each show on the playlists page, but honestly? I can't figure to how to actually do that yet; he will show me more next time he comes over.
Went to Phillip Walker's funeral on Monday, and then got home to the news that Mitch Jayne of the Dillards had died of a very fast-moving cancer. The obit said he was 80, which is as hard to believe as that Eliza is 1.
Jim and I are getting very good at communal crossword puzzle solving. It seems that the gaps in my knowledge of everything are pretty neatly filled by his intelligence and vice versa. Had fun at the coffee shop this afternoon doing the Times puzzle; the waitresses, bless their cotton socks, save them for me whenever a customer leaves a paper behind.
This weekend is going to be -- not fun. My office is moving, for the first time in 35+ years, this coming Saturday and Sunday. I have been shifting boxes of stuff over to the new place a few at a time for a couple of months already, but this weekend is the rent-the-truck-and-do-it experience. I am told that I am too old to be doing this. However, none of the people who tell me I am too old to do it are offering to do it FOR me, so there we are.
August 2
Mitch Jayne of the Dillards lost his fight with cancer this morning at about 11:30 a.m. at the VA Hospital in Columbia, MO.
July 24
Sorry to learn that singer and songwriter Chuck McCabe passed away on Friday.
Bluesman Phillip Walker has died at age 73. A good musician, and long ago a good friend, although I had not seen or spoken to him for some years. A great gentleman. Funeral arrangements are pending. His HighTone Records album "Some Day You'll Have These Blues," produced by Bruce Bromberg, is one of the all time best postwar blues albums I've ever heard.
July 15
After work today I went over to Josh and Kate's, watched another episode of "Treme" (still trying to get caught up on the first season), and played with Eliza for awhile. I was feeling kind of low today - this would have been Keith's birthday, and while I miss him every minute of every day and with every breath I take, still, it's a little extra hard on his birthday and on March 6, the day he died. So it was great that I was able to romp with my granddaughter, whose laughter makes it impossible to stay sad for very long.
Taked to Joe Frazier today; he'll be my guest on the show Saturday, so we went over the game plan and I gave him directions to the station. Spent the morning moving boxes from old to new office, and doing paperwork, then had lunch at a Mexican restaurant way out on the end of the Santa Monica Pier with some friends from Maine and England; because the restaurant is directly over the ocean on the end of the pier, they were absolutely astounded to see dolphins swimming along just below us.
June 17
My office is going to be moving later this summer, and we are in the preliminary stages of uncovering 35+ years worth of dust and blowing it off to see what's under it. Fun, finding things we had all forgotten were there. Some of it goes to friends, some gets donated, some gets trashed, some gets sold on Craigs List, some stays with us to make the move. I am covered with dust all day, and sneezing. It will be hard, leaving the office I have been in for 22 years, and I will miss being able to look out the window at the ocean every day. But it was time, and it's right, and hell, by the time I get settled in the new place and everything gets sorted it will be almost time for me to retire anyway!
Everyone on my hillside is watching the Lakers playoff game tonight - it's the last game, for all the marbles. I can tell how well they're doing, or not, by the sound effects bouncing off the canyon walls; when they score a run - oops, I mean basket - loud cheers erupt. When they miss one, or when the Celtics score, there are loud groans and boos, and the umpires - oops, I mean the referees - get called names I am not allowed to repeat in a family blob.
June 14
Kate and I spent Sunday At The Park With Eliza; she crawled on the grass (where pigeons were pecking), she played in the sand and got grit in her fingers, she swung on the swings that hundreds of other small germy children had played on, and I gritted my teeth and did NOT follow her around with a can of Lysol. My own kids all played and swung and never got sick, but I was mighty carefree in those days, or just ignorant. I *did* wash her little hands in the car on the way home.
Among the many new-since-I-was-having-kids developments is something called Puffs. Nothing to do with Magic Dragons, sorry Peter me darlin' - these are some kind of air-puffed little bites which pretty much dissolve in the baby's mouth. Banana flavored, apple flavored, sweet potato flavored. Reading the label, always a big mistake, I see WAY more sugar than I would give a baby; why don't we just cut up a real banana, a real apple, and so forth? Grandma is SO old fashioned.
Anyhow, this weekend will be Eliza's first visit to the House of Mouse. My kids all loved Disneyland, back when it was more affordable (do you know, it costs $73 for adults these days?!?) and I guess they loved it so much that it "stuck" (Jennifer has for many years purchased their annual pass, which admits her 365 days a year and includes free parking, and honey, she wears that thing OUT.) So Josh and Kate and I are driving down there right after my show Saturday morning, and Jenny and Bruce will meet us there sometime later (but not a LOT later, as we have 11:45 lunch reservations) and Eliza will get indoctrinated into the magical world of all things Disney. Josh has a video camera, I have regular camera, and my friends can expect to get bombarded with pictures shortly after we return.
The Dodgers have no offense. Oh, and their pitching's no good either. And Manny Ramirez is about over; can't field anything other than pop flies and seems to have lost his hitting since they made him stop taking steroids ;-)
May 30
Billy Bragg, Martin Carthy, Eliza Carthy and more - The Imagined Village.
May 29
Jim and I went out last night to hear our pal Billy Vera's show at Vitello's Restaurant (no Robert Blake jokes, please. The restaurant has heard them all, many times.) We were originally going to be joined by Jim's radio partner Ray Regelado, but he felt kind of puny so decided to stay home. When we got there we were seated at a table with a bunch of Billy's other friends, right at the front of the stage. I had chicken cacciatore, very good, and Jim and I split a salad, ditto, and a cannoli (no Godfather jokes, please. I've heard them all, many times), and I forget what Jim's entree was but he said it was very good. Billy's show was SO much fun, and very interesting; I've known him for many years now, but somehow parts of his long music-biz history and many of the songs he's written had slid past me. I sure got a good education last night! We had to leave early because the alarm clock goes off at 4 a.m. on Saturdays to wake me up for the radio show. I must be crazy.
Speaking of which, only a couple more weeks till the Pledge Drive starts. Get your dialing fingers ready!
Eliza is getting another tooth, and we're all hearing about it; between the fussing and the drooling she's not too pleased right now. It used to be pretty common to rub some whiskey or rum or whatever kind of hard alcohol was in the house on babies' gums to ease the pain, but that's gone out of favor; my own trick was to take teething rings and pacifiers and whatnot, as well as teething biscuits (the really hard ones) and put them in the freezer overnight, then give them to the baby to gnaw on - the cold numbed the pain. Now the trend is to give them over the counter medicine! I dunno.
Funny post-Katrina story from a friend in New Orleans:
Part of rebuilding New Orleans caused residents often to be challenged with the task of tracing home titles back potentially hundreds of years. With aThomas Hoyt "Slim" Bryant, the last man to have played on record with Jimmie Rodgers, died yesterday at the age of 101. Mind you, his mother lived to be 104!
community rich with history stretching back over two centuries, houses have been passed along through generations of family, sometimes making it quite
difficult to establish ownership.
A New Orleans lawyer sought an FHA loan for a client. He was told the loan would be granted if he could prove satisfactory title to a parcel of
property being offered as collateral. The title to the property dated back to 1803, which took the lawyer three months to track down. After sending the
information to the FHA, he received the following reply:
(Actual reply from FHA):
"Upon review of your letter adjoining your client's loan application, we note that the request is supported by an Abstract of Title. While we
compliment the able manner in which you have prepared and presented the application, we must point out that you have only cleared title to the
proposed collateral property back to 1803. Before final approval can be accorded, it will be necessary to clear the title back to its origin."
Annoyed, the lawyer responded as follows:
(Actual response):
"Your letter regarding title in Case No.189156 has been received. I note that you wish to have title extended further than the 206 years covered by
the present application. I was unaware that any educated person in this country, particularly those working in the property area, would not know
that Louisiana was purchased by the United States from France in 1803, the year of origin identified in our application. For the edification of
uninformed FHA bureaucrats, the title to the land prior to U.S. ownership was obtained from France, which had acquired it by Right of Conquest from
Spain.
The land came into the possession of Spain by Right of Discovery made in the year 1492 by a sea captain named Christopher Columbus, who had been granted
the privilege of seeking a new route to India by the Spanish monarch, Queen Isabella. The good Queen Isabella, being a pious woman and almost as careful
about titles as the FHA, took the precaution of securing the blessing of the Pope before she sold her jewels to finance Columbus's expedition.
Now the Pope, as I'm sure you may know, is the emissary of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and God, it is commonly accepted, created this world. Therefore,
I believe it is safe to presume that God also made that part of the world called Louisiana. God, therefore, would be the owner of origin and His
origins date back to before the beginning of time, the world as we know it, and the FHA. I hope you find God's original claim to be satisfactory. Now,
may we have our damn loan?"
The loan was immediately approved.
This is terrific: the Philadelphia Opera Company does a "secret shopper" surprise perfomance at a farmers market. The looks on people's faces are priceless!
May 24
We (Josh and Kate and I) took Eliza to her first baseball game at Dodger Stadium on Saturday. (She had actually been to a Dodger game once before, when they took her to a spring training game in Arizona, but this was her first one at Chavez Ravine). She was fine, except for not wanting to go to sleep - there was just too much going on! She did the wave, sort of, and sat on daddy's lap while mommy fed her some squash, and then I put her in her stroller and walked her along the concourse, but every time I thought she might go to sleep there was a home run, or a close play, and the crowd erupted in roars, and she woke back up. Due entirely to her presence there we won the game. Of course she immediately fell asleep in the car on the way home. I'm still not sure how I got out of there without buying her a cute Dodger t-shirt.
April 24
Every time I go out to Viva Cantina to hear Loafer's Glory they're better. Well, the name is a bit of a head scratcher, but musically they're just wonderful. And last Saturday Tom and Patrick Sauber (who are members of LG along with Bill Bryson and Herb Pedersen) came down to the station and did the show with me. I thought that they would bring a stack of CDs and a playlist and we would do as we did last time they came on the air. But no, they had a big surprise for me, which was that they brought banjos and guitars and fiddles and mandolins and played LIVE on the air in between playing records. Just so much fun! Woke me right up.
Eliza is crawling now; she does about 25 mph from room to room like a little rocket. Have to watch her every second. Today Kate and I (Josh had to work) took her to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books, which she enjoyed despite not being able to, you know, actually read yet. Peter Yarrow was performing on the children's stage, and she sat in her stroller and surveyed the territory while he sang Puff the Magic Dragon and This Land is Your Land and Going To the Zoo and so forth; then Kate and I found a shady spot on the grass and played with her while Peter autographed about 500 books for people who were standing in a really long line to meet him and get their pictures taken with him, and THEN Eliza had her first limo ride. Not bad, eight months old and has already tasted the lap - well, the back seat - of luxury. Peter had never met her (last year at this time he sang to her when she was still inside Kate's tummy, but he had never actually met her as a person) so we all went back to his hotel (hence the limo ride) and then went to eat in Westwood; Eliza charmed him, flirted with him, posed for pictures with him, and then promptly fell asleep just in time for the three grownups to get some good visiting time in over a late lunch. Peter is, I think, my oldest friend (not because he's 72, but because we are coming up on fifty years of friendship soon); gosh, it seems like only yesterday....
While I was at UCLA, before Kate and Eliza arrived, I ran into Ian, who was there to visit his pal Joseph Wambaugh; Ian said that Jim was somewhere around, but that they had arrived together and then split up. During my wanderings I stopped into a tent, mostly for a place to sit, and an author was giving a reading. I don't remember his name except that it was a three word name (like Samuel Longhorne Clemens, only that wasn't it) and that his current book is on the NY Times best seller list.
The guy was a jerk. An asshole. Pretentious, arrogant, self-centered and bitchy. He was telling a long involved story about how great he was, when it segued into "and so I wrote this" and he started to read from his new book. Oh, man, it was incredible. Beautifully written, clear, moving, emotional, stopped me in my tracks. People were sitting there with their mouths open in surprise, and I probably was too. Let that be a lesson to me. You can't judge a book by looking at the author.
I looked for Jim as I wandered around; it's usually easy to spot him in a crowd, as he is 6'7", but didn't see him anywhere. Bought a storybook for Eliza, and resisted the temptations of the food court; fortunately, just as I was about to succumb to the evils of Haagen Daaz, Peter arrived. Jim is going back to UCLA tomorrow because he has a book-signing commitment - I think it's his Angels Flight book, but it might be one of the, er, others. Not sure whether I will go or not - Mark is coming into Hollywood tomorrow for a movie - did you know that Luise Rainer is still alive at 100?? And is appearing tomorrow afternoon at the Egyptian at a screening of "The Good Earth," for which she won a Best Actress Oscar sometime back before the earth's crust cooled? So Mark will be around for that, and I might have lunch with him, if I don't go to UCLA with Jim.
April 11
Went over to Josh and Kate's tonight to watch the premier episode of the new HBO drama set in New Orleans, called "Treme." Terrific writing, cast and acting. I think they’ve got their ears sharply tuned to the post-Katrina despair, anger and frustration, along with an adamant refusal to surrender, that was and is the prevailing theme of the ongoing recovery efforts in New Orleans. The Mardi Gras Indian theme “won’t bow – don’t know how” runs through the show like an undercurrent, informing the script and the players.
I think that the Elvis Costello storyline will continue in future episodes. It’s based on real life, since he and Allen Toussaint recorded an album about the whole Katrina experience called “The River in Reverse” – I think we are going to be seeing some of that in the next episode, if I understood the “coming attractions” correctly.
Does anyone else think that the restaurant owner character is playing it like Susan Spicer, headband and all?
Great music – great to see/hear Kermit playing.
I was stunned by the dialog, though. I don’t have HBO at home, so was not aware that the really strong language (and the full nudity!) was so commonplace on cable TV these days. While I don’t know anything about the nudity, of course :-), the language actually is accurate! That's how the musicians really talk in New Orleans. But I was sorely tempted to cover Eliza's ears! And people actually have sex on television now?
Loved the show. Can’t wait for the next episode! I now know what my Sunday nights are going to be spent doing for the foreseeable future, as long as I don't wear out my welcome at Josh and Kate's house. Maybe I should offer to bring pizza next week...!
HBO has put up a web site for "Treme"with lots of links explaining more about New Orleans music and culture here.
March 24
Chicago plans library re-naming to memorialize Steve Goodman, who wrote "City of New Orleans," "You Never Even Call Me By My Name," and "Go, Cubs, Go!":
According to the Tribune today, "Rep. Mike Quigley, D-Ill., introduced the measure to have the Lakeview post office, 1343 W. Irving Park Road, renamed for Goodman. The lawmaker said the bill is supported by the entire Illinois congressional delegation, the Old Town School of Folk Music and musicians including John Prine, Bonnie Koloc and Corky Siegel."
Word is if everything moves along there would be renaming ceremony in a few months.
Quoting the Trib, a post office works because, "James Bau Graves, executive director of the Old Town School of Folk Music, judged it 'entirely fitting' since the business of everyday life inspired much of Goodman's work."
Works for me. I didn't know much about Steve's music until that magical summer of '84 when I found out he was sick, then I learned what a legend he really was in the music business. Goodman died only a few days before his beloved Cubs clinched in Pittsburgh that year.
Later this summer, I'll post some fun about "Go Cubs Go" and how Steve roped Jimmy Buffett into being a Cub fan, but I'll keep it to one story today.
My personal favorite of Goodman's Cubs songs is "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request". There is a line in there where the dying fan is laying out his funeral wishes and says, "have Keith Moreland drop a routine fly in right". I asked Keith about it and he was proud to be part of the song.
"Steve Goodman was ill and I was in the clubhouse was day and the phone rang," said Moreland. "Usually there are no phone calls in the clubhouse. Yosh Kawano, our longtime clubhouse man, called me and said, "Keith, there's a call for you." I said we didn't take calls there, but he told me it was Steve Goodman. Yosh knew who Steve was. I did, too, because I'm a country music fan and I had listened to a lot of music he had written. Steve said, 'Hello Keith. I'm Steve Goodman and I'm a songwriter,' and I told him, 'Steve, I know who you are.' He said that was great and told me he had written a song that mentioned my name and wanted to know if he could play if for me. I said sure and he strummed it and there was the line about come to Wrigley Field and watch Keith Moreland drop a fly ball. He said, "Would that be all right?" I told him absolutely yes, that it wouldn't bother me, because I had dropped my share of fly balls, the same as any player who goes out there and I always tried my hardest to catch everything. It's a great song, Steve was a great guy, and it doesn't bother me in the least."
Here's Joe Liggins doing "The Honeydripper."
Great dinner last night with Jim at The Stinking Rose. I'm sure no one will want to come near me today - I bet I am extruding garlic odor like crazy - but so good! I was supposed to spend a couple of hours after dinner working on Saturday's show, but just fell into bed, too tired to move. Another day.
Tonight - BLUEGRASS! At Viva Cantina - going out to hear Herb and Tom and Patrick and Bill. Drat that early morning alarm clock - I can only stay for one set!
After a couple of decades at the same location, my office will be moving in a couple of months; much planning, measuring of both the old and the new places, much figuring out how to fit everything into the new place, and where; I will need a vacation when this is over! Unfortunately it's not moving any closer to home so I will still have the long daily commute.
March 20
Went to hear Noel Stookey's show a McCabe's last night. He was wonderful, and it was great to get to see/hear him. Also at the show was Joe Frazier (remember the Chad Mitchell Trio?) and we visited quite a bit. Joe has a book in him, and it needs to come out. I plan to nag him unmercifully until it does.
John and Deann came and made radio with me this morning, after which I ran errands, came home, cooked a huge vat of jambalaya, ate, and visited with friends. Eliza did her usual trick of working the room with charm oozing from every tiny pore. No visit to Viva Cantina tomorrow night for me; turns out I am taking care of Eliza all day and part of the night so that Josh and Kate can spend the day with friends at a (belated) party for Josh's birthday. Tuesday night Jim is taking me to The Stinking Rose, a restaurant on La Cienega Blvd. that is all garlic all the time. This is a late birthday dinner present, so he's treating. He took Leo (his cat) to be fluffed and folded and blow dried this afternoon at the kitty salon; Leo's a Persian with incredibly long hair, so this was his pre-summer haircut.
Wednesday night Tom & Patrick Sauber and Bill Bryson and Herb Pedersen are playing bluegrass at Viva Cantina; I'm going, and I hope Jim is too.
The Dodgers are playing exhibition games in Arizona; I watched a bit tonight between bouts of washing dishes. Didn't see anything that impressed me.
March 19
Turned on the radio this morning to hear the news guy say, in a dolorous tone, "Dodger broadcasting legend Vin Scully..." and I stopped breathing. Stopped. Breathing. Until he followed with "...was hospitalized overnight after a fall in his home, but should be released in time to call Sunday's exhibition game." Big exhale. I have been listening to his voice all my life. May he have as many more years as he wants.
March 15
WHAT a weekend. Josh and Kate went to Las Vegas to celebrate their second anniversary, and left me holding the baby, literally. Lots of grandma/Eliza bonding went on, and I now know or re-learned many things I had forgotten, including that when you are spoon-feeding a baby pureed squash, if she sneezes right as it goes into her mouth, everyone at the table will be covered in bright orange goop and she will have a pleased smile on her face.
And all our birthdays are over for another year; Jennifer, Josh and I are all early-March babies, and we closed it out by them taking me, last night, to a Thai restaurant for a huge meal. Leftovers were distributed on the usual Aldin Family basis of whoever could grab the most got to keep them. Jennifer bought me a large bouquet of roses, which is adorning my table and making the room smell great.
Monique, long time (like, multi-decade) weekend hostess at the coffee shop on my hillside, gave her notice a couple of weeks ago and yeterday was her last day. It was, coincidentally, my birthday, so when Eliza and I arrived for breakfast there was a chorus of "Happy Birthdays," a cupcake with one candle (very tactful of them) was brought to the table, and a card signed by all the staff was presented. I pulled out my "goodbye and thanks" card and handed it to Monique, and when it came time to pay the check there WAS no check; the girls had pooled their tips to buy me breakfast. Jim (who I think was absent from school they day they gave out Romantic Gestures) says there is a trip to Astroburger in my near future, and that his new book will be out next month. One of his OLD books, on the history of local landmark Angels Flight, may soon be seeing a substantial bump is sales, as after many years of being shut down Angels Flight (a small funicular railroad track in downtown Los Angeles that used to go up and down Bunker Hill, before they leveled Bunker Hill to build part of the new courthouse) is reopening today. They've moved it a couple of blocks from where it originally was.
March 12
Happy birthday to my wonderful son Josh!
March 11
Last night was bluegrass night. Todd and I drove out to Burbank to hear Herb Pedersen, Bill Bryson, and Tom and Patrick Sauber play at a Mexican restaurant called Viva Cantina. Oh man, these guys are wonderful. I had forgotten how good it feels to sit there and let that music wash over me. They did mostly the Monroe/Flatt & Scruggs/Stanley Bros. songbook, with a few of Herb's tunes and some instrumentals thrown in. I could only stay for one set (that dratted alarm that goes off every morning long before dawn means I have to turn in early on weeknights) but it was terrific. The food is, well, not the greatest, but the music makes up for it. They are there every two weeks, so I will be back on the 24th for sure, hopefully with Jim. While I was there I drafted Tom and Patrick to come back and do Alive & Picking with me again, April 117th, and also while I sat with Harley Tarlitz I talked him into doing one too, June 26th.
Today is Josh and Kate's second wedding anniversary, and on Saturday morning right after my radio show they are bringing Eliza and all her worldly goods over to my house and going to Vegas for the weekend to celebrate. Hooray, a whole weekend with my granddaughter! And when they get back on Sunday evening they, and Jennifer and Bruce, are taking me out to Thai food for my birthday. We do NOT discuss how old I am. Shut up.
March 5
Happy birthday to my wonderful daughter Jennifer!
January 30
The Grammys are tomorrow, and as a result there are a lot of friends coming in to town. My pal Jurgen is here from Austin, and he spent some time yesterday going through my stacks of old 78s and finding a few things to buy from me for his jukebox at home (yes, he has a jukebox that plays 78s. Or maybe he has several.) No sooner was he out the door than Chris Strachwitz called, in town for the Grammys, let's have dinner. He had heard of a Oaxacan place on Olympic near Normandie, so we went there, and thanks to the magic of cell phones Jurgen was able to join us there; he and Chris hadn't seen each other in quite awhile so it was nice to be able to make that happen. The food was not as impressive as other Oaxacan places I've been, but the company was great!
I'm babysitting Eliza tonight. Eliza is teething. Nuff said about that.
January 22
Here's the L.A. Times obit on Jerry McCabe:
Gerald McCabe dies at 82; founder of folk music venue McCabe's Guitar Shop. The Santa Monica store played an important role in the evolution of
Southern California's folk music community.
By Richard Cromelin
7:35 PM PST, January 21, 2010
Gerald McCabe, a furniture designer whose passion for woodworking and love of music led to the creation of the Santa Monica folk music
institution McCabe's Guitar Shop, died Sunday in Eugene, Ore., two days after suffering a heart attack. He was 82.
McCabe left his namesake operation before it became celebrated for the intimate concerts that have been held there for decades, but in its
earliest days the store, on Pico Boulevard a block west of its current location, played a crucial role in the evolution of the Southern
California folk music community.
The narrow storefront became a magnet for folk fans and musicians who had few other places to gather. It was a place to find song books and
Folkways albums, get a guitar repaired or sample an instrument.
Guitars, banjos, mandolins and exotic hybrids hung on the walls, each bearing a printed flier with the warning, "Refrain from clutching to
bosom." It was a rule that was rarely enforced, enabling patrons such as a 13-year-old Ry Cooder to access a new world.
"Musicians were in there all the time," the guitarist and record producer said this week. "I'd take the bus home from school and drop in
in the afternoon and sit there and basically wait to see who'd come through the door. A lot of bluegrass players came through. That's where
I first encountered the White brothers, Roland and Clarence.
"It was fascinating for me to see people sit down and play something really good that you wanted to learn. The idea that you can sit a couple
of feet away from somebody who's good and watch them do it, that's a way to be imprinted in that kind of work.
"If it hadn't been for McCabe's I don't know what I would have done. I might not have been able to learn enough soon enough and I might have
gone over to sacking groceries or delivering pizza. God only knows what."
But as McCabe's stature grew and its ambitions expanded into offering music lessons and then concerts under McCabe's partners Walter Camp and
Bob Riskin, its founder kept much of his focus on a design career that became increasingly prominent.
A free spirit, he also restored and sailed a tugboat, built a home in Santa Monica Canyon, taught design at area universities and art schools,
became a yoga instructor and repaired Citroen automobiles.
"Jerry was just a singular person," McCabe's current owner, Riskin, said this week. "He had great enthusiasms."
Gerald Lawrence McCabe was born in Long Beach on Jan. 30, 1927. After graduating from Long Beach Polytechnic High School, he served in the
Navy during World War II. He earned a bachelor's degree at UCLA and a master's at Cal State Long Beach, both in fine arts.
McCabe opened a custom furniture business in Santa Monica in the mid-'50s. His first wife, Marcia Berman, was a successful folk singer,
and soon her friends were bringing their instruments to McCabe and asking him to repair them.
That inspired him to open the guitar shop, at 3015 Pico Blvd. Camp became the first employee and introduced a table, chairs and coffee pot.
An ethnomusicologist named Ed Kahn had the book and record concession.
With folk music's popularity growing, business was booming by 1963, but McCabe was concentrating on his furniture design, and eventually sold
his interest in 1986.
McCabe's work was featured often in The Times' weekly Home magazine and was regularly showcased in the Pasadena Art Museum's series of
California Design exhibits. A famous Julius Shulman photograph of Pierre Koenig shows the architect standing near a McCabe-designed stereo
cabinet.
"Jerry was a very big personality, and he was a really great spirit who loved life," said Gerard O'Brien, owner of the Reform Gallery, a Los
Angeles space that includes McCabe's work.
"He wasn't held down to one particular area. What's interesting when you look at his furniture design is what a wide swath he cut. His earlier
work is much more Case Study like, very architectural. . . . And then as he went on he became much more interested in the craft side of things
and started to do a lot of solid wood furniture. . . . It was letting the wood speak for itself and just being a very functional solid thing."
McCabe's daughter Hally McCabe said that her father attributed his individualistic sensibility to a physical condition. "My dad was
dyslexic, and one thing he would always say was that his dyslexia helped him see things in a different way. He always was very proud of that."
McCabe lived and worked at studios in Venice for most of his career, then moved to San Pedro in the late '90s. He was diagnosed with
Alzheimer's disease in 2004, and he soon moved to Eugene to be closer to his daughters.
McCabe's four marriages all ended in divorce. In addition to his daughter Halley, he is survived by another daughter, Molly McCabe; his
sister Janet Owens; and two grandchildren. A celebration of his life will be held Jan. 30 at Hally McCabe's home in
Eugene. A celebration in Los Angeles will be announced.
Cromelin is a freelance writer.
news.obits@latimes.com Copyright © 2010, The Los Angeles Times
January 18
Jim Capaldi emailed me the sad news that John Seeger has died.
John Seeger,
born February 16, 1914
for decades a Bridgewater resident, died January 10th in New Milford
after a short illness. He was a popular teacher at the Dalton School in
Manhattan in the 1950s and served as principal of the Fieldston Lower
School in Riverdale, N.Y. from 1960 to 1976. He and his wife, Eleanor
purchased Camp Killooleet, a residential summer camp in Hancock, Vt.,
and ran it together for more than 50 years as a place where they could
implement their philosophy of education and child development. He
retired from teaching in 1976 and divided his time between Bridgewater
and Hancock. He inherited the Bridgewater house, his father and aunt
had lived in since 1959, and like them enjoyed walking the roads and
pathways of town. His wife, Eleanor, who died in 2003, was a member and
officer of the Garden Club. John was active gardening, running camp and
organizing lunches of friends. John and Eleanor were members of the
choir of the Bridgewater Congregational Church and singing was one of
the great joys of his later life. For years his holiday cards were
sketches of buildings in Bridgewater, including the store, the school,
the library and both churches. He is survived by a brother, Pete
Seeger; two half-sisters, Peggy and Barbara; a son, Anthony; a
daughter, Katherine (current Director of Killooleet); and two
granddaughters, Elizabeth and Hil�ia. Celebrations
of his life will be held at 2 on Sunday, February 14 at the
Congregational Church in Bridgewater and Saturday, August 28 at
Killooleet Camp. In lieu of flowers, donations for summer camp
scholarships may be made to the Seeger Bartlett Foundation, P.O. Box 1,
Hancock, VT 05748.
Published
in News Times on
January 17, 2010
John's son Tony is a friend of mine, who teaches in the Ethno department at UCLA. Hard going for him, losing his uncle Mike just a few months ago and now his father. Although -- born in 1914, that makes him (counting on fingers) 96? No, 95, would have been 96 in February. What a good long life!
January 7
Hilarious video du jour. The Ross Sisters sing a song about potato salad, and then.... you'll see, though you may not believe. Hint: make sure you watch past the first 45 seconds or so, as it gets more unbelievable the farther in you get. I am pretty much speechless, except to say that these girls sure are, um, flexible! Thanks to Tom F. for the heads up.
January 3
Guitar player du jour: from Botswana
One would think that with the holidays I'd have so much more time to get things done. Not this year. Maybe it's the new granddaughter, maybe it's work, which seems to be increasing exponentially (and yes, I *am* grateful that at my age and in this economy I still have a steady job!), but whatever the reason, we all go back to work tomorrow and I don't really remember having had any time off!
Live music shows have slowed down a lot over the holidays, but things will get back in gear this coming week. The calendar of events that I read on my radio show has been a lot shorter the past two weeks. However, as soon as tomorrow night there's a show that tempts me (Tim Eriksen at Coffee Gallery) so we'll see how tired I am by tomorrow night. It's a long drive to Altadena from where I live.
My New Years Eve was spent on a hot date with a four month old, so that her parents could go out to a party. I am becoming better acquainted with Elmo than I ever wanted to be. Kate's sister gave Eliza a bouncy-thing - I don't know what it's called, but it's a frame mounted on springs, you put the child into a sort of sling in the middle with her toes barely touching the floor, and she bounces up and down on the springs. Eliza loves it. Much bouncing and giggling took place, although I can't really take any photos of her in it because the motion makes the pictures come out all blurry.
Jennifer had a great time in North Dakota. She sent home photos of her and Bruce, climbing mountains of snow and sledding down hills, and she said that she really liked his family and vice versa. She did mention that she was glad to get home to a place where you don't have to put on three sets of long underwear just to go out for breakfast. His family threw her a bridal shower, and they were gifted with lots of Target gift cards, which will be put to good use (!) and, the perfect gift for the Star Wars geeks, light-saber chopsticks. I am always learning new and hilarious things from my children; Jennifer told me that there is a Star Wars equivalent of Wikipedia, called Wookiepedia. More than I ever wanted to know...
December 26
Well, so, the holidays. Yes. On Christmas Eve I had a little gathering here, starring Eliza In Her Christmas Dress; she was passed from lap to lap and greatly admired by all present. Other than Eliza, there was also a bounteous repast (hey, I can open cartons as well as the next person) and lots of good conversation. Then Christmas morning Josh and Kate went off to visit her family, and I drove Jennifer and Bruce to the airport, where they caught a plane to Bismarck via Denver. Or so they thought. In actual fact they got to Denver just fine, and are still there, having spent last night in a motel near the airport and tonight is looking about the same. There's weather, there's flights being cancelled, there's all that stuff. On Christmas evening Todd and I went to Andy and Ria's Christmas gathering, where I saw some of the same folks who had been at my place the night before (small world !). This morning was the wonderful world of radio, so I was up at four, and tonight I went to Tom and Claire's for their Boxing Day party. Jim was supposed to come with me, but he had gotten an infection in his foot which turned into cellulitis, so he spent Christmas night at Kaiser's ER getting it looked at, and is now home communing with a bottle of antibiotics. I took him a plate of goodies from Tom and Claire's feast, so at least he won't starve to death. Tomorrow I hope to do absolutely nothing, but of course I'll do it creatively.
Wow, Paul Butterfield on To Tell The Truth. Thanks to Geoff Muldaur for sending me this link. I had no idea this even existed!
December 16
I'm a grandma again, for the second time this year! Olivia Reed Pickering made her debut in Chicago today, coming in at just over five and a half pounds and 20 inches tall. I am starting a collection of beautiful granddaughters! Everyone's doing fine. I wish they weren't so far away, but I will get to meet her in February.
December 8
Mike's memorial service was Sunday. I couldn't go - defeated by time, distance, money, and the need to have at least one hand on the wheel at my office, since Mitch DID go. He is bringing me home a copy of the program and greetings from many friends. I tried to write something to be read at the service, but that got away from me too; so many memories, but hard to put them down on paper in any way that would have made sense.
Still no news from my "other son" John and his wife Jeanine in Chicago, who are expecting their daughter any minute now. They promised a full report as soon as she made her grand entrance; well, Eliza was twelve days late, so I won't start worrying for awhile. Two granddaughters in the same year - three, if I count my goddaughter Jeneda's daughter, who was born in late October on the Navajo reservation outside Flagstaff.
Josh and Kate took Eliza to Palm Springs for the weekend to visit friends, so I had a nice leisurely time of it. Did errands, did laundry, did radio (although since John and Deann were the guests hosts I didn't really have to do anything beyond push a couple of buttons.) Then on Sunday I did a favor for a friend and helped him shift things around in his apartment some. The manager of his building had to let a workman in to do some kind of repair a week or so ago, and when the manager saw the state the place was in he backed out, mumbling under his breath about the Health Department (I think the phrase "death trap" was used.) So I went over to his place to help, although most of what I did involved sitting in front of a shredder, feeding things into it. These men - ! Although, in fairness, it's not only that. The guy, who is a really good person and good friend, is plain and simply a hoarder. Some men are hunters, some are gatherers - this one gathers, and gathers, and gathers. A lifelong bachelor, he has so much clutter in his place that it makes my place look neat and clean by comparison! Many hours of work later, things looked a bit better; I agreed to go back this coming Sunday and help some more, at which point he will make The Big Decision about whether he will rent a storage unit and simply shift some of his clutter to another location. I hasten to add that he is NOT a "pig" - there are no dirty dishes in the sink or bugs in the bathroom, and he is scrupulously clean about his own person - there's just so much "stuff" in his apartment that it has taken over his life. Sometime last year I helped another friend, also a bachelor, in his mid-sixties, who had the same problem. He DID rent a storage unit, and moved quite a lot of stuff into it, and so "passed" his apartment's inspection by the board of health. He paid his storage bill for a year in advance, and just the other week got a bill for the second year, at which point he realized that for an entire year he had never once been to the storage unit and couldn't really remember what was in it. There's a lesson there somewhere. I hope he doesn't pay the second year. I hope he calls Out of the Closet or Goodwill and tells them to meet him at the storage unit with a big truck and two strong men, and that he turns his back and shuts his eyes and lets them take it all.
November 19
Some amazing bluegrass clips on YouTube. This one is Bill Monroe & the Bluegrass Boys doing "Uncle Pen" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r2XT9u7iw9o
And
this one is the Stanley Brothers song "Rank Stranger." At this time
this was filmed Carter Stanley was not too far off his death, which I
have just been reading about in Ralph Stanley's new book. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iDhNHjU4lRM
Funny quotation du jour: "Wanting to meet an author because you like his work is like wanting to meet a duck because you like pate."--Margaret Atwood.
November 16
I’ve been thinking about Robert Palmer a lot the past few days, as the anniversary of his passing comes around, a new book of his collected writings has just been published, and yet another year goes by without him. Nobody will ever know how lucky I was to have this incredibly special person as a friend. He had the most open ears of anyone I’ve ever known, and did his best to pry mine loose (without, I’m sorry to say, ever really succeeding). “What the HELL is that noise?” I’d ask as he played some foreign-sounding stuff in a language I didn’t recognize. “Oh, Mary Katherine, it’s pygmy rain chants,” he’d reply, evidently expecting me to react as if it was the Holy Grail, which maybe to him it was. I’m a four-four person, and he was way out there in the land of seven-nine where I knew I was never going to be able to follow. Fortunately, he spoke my language even though I couldn’t speak his, so we communicated in what was probably the musical equivalent of baby-talk to him, although he was always too kind to say so.
Bob was a good friend, and I cared a great deal about him, but his addictions scared the crap out of me. I was single-parenting two small children, and was dead set against them coming into contact with drugs of any kind; during the many times he came west to stay for weeks at a time at my apartment in Hollywood, he drank cough syrup by the pint to ease the uncontrollable pain without violating my rules. When that didn’t cut it he went out to score, never bringing anything back with him beyond the glazed look in his eyes that told me that at least for the moment he didn’t hurt any more.
And drugs or no drugs, he could write; words came pouring out of him like water out of the Grand Coulee Dam. As chief pop critic of the New York Times he wrote record reviews, live concert reviews, chapters on whatever the current book in progress was and still found time to write me four, five, or six-page single-spaced typed letters, all of which I still have, talking about whatever wonderful music he was listening to, shows he was seeing and people he was meeting along the way.
His enthusiasm was contagious and his unlimited love of music was profound. He also had the most amazing ability to write in his head without benefit of (in those days) a typewriter. We went to the first night of Bob Dylan’s Saved tour, up in San Francisco, and after we got back to our hotel room he said, “Okay, now I have to turn in the review.” Neither of us had taken notes during the show, and we had driven up from L.A. with no typewriter, so I expected to see at least a notebook come out and the process begin. Nope. He picked up the phone and called a number at the New York Times, spoke for a moment to someone he knew, and then was connected to a tape recorder, into which he began dictating, cold, with no notes. “Bob Dylan D-y-l-a-n comma whose current concert tour opened last night at the Warfield W-a-r-f-i-e-l-d Theater in San Francisco comma displayed an unusual sense of…” and on it went, a long, at least ten-paragraph review into which without pause or hesitation he inserted punctuation cues, paragraph breaks and created a little literary masterpiece. I was frozen into silence, afraid to break the flow, but as soon as he put the phone down he casually resumed the conversation we’d been having before he made the call. I was floored, and humbled. If that’s what being a real writer meant, I knew I’d never get there.
I got particularly lucky when, as he was working on Deep Blues, he came to stay with me during a dry spell and I offered to compile the discography that would accompany the book, to take that laundry-list chore off his hands. He lit up like a Christmas tree, and we sat crosslegged on my living room floor pulling albums off my shelves and sorting them into piles of “yes” and “no.” But then things went really dry, and he went back to New York with no sign that the book would ever be finished. A few phone calls later, I was getting really worried; the publisher, unreasonably enough, was demanding the finished manuscript, which was already months late. I went to New York and stayed with Bob and his ginger cat Snooky, who were, for the moment, living like two crusty old bachelors in a penthouse apartment that looked like it had been through the blitz.
The manuscript was in chaos. Two lately-finished chapters which he had sent to me for proofreading I had brought back to New York with me and were sitting in plain view on the coffee table, but where was the rest of it? Ah. Part of it was on top of the refrigerator. Of course. And another chapter in the bedroom, having evidently been thrown against a wall, because the pages were all over the room. My role was clear: den mother, nanny, whatever you want to call it, he needed to finish the damn book, and I simply refused to leave New York until he did. And then, a miracle. A week later it was done, all was in perfect order, and I typed the final pages of the discography on his machine, trying to pretend I didn’t see the hypodermic needles in the trash can.
Then I got really lucky; I got to work with him. When I was asked by MCA Records’ Andy McKaie to compile and annotate a box set of the Chess Recordings of Muddy Waters, I agreed, but suggested Bob do the notes; he had done so much research on Muddy during the writing of Deep Blues that I figured he could write them in his sleep. I sent him a list of the tracks I had chosen, and he made a couple of excellent suggestions for changes. Then we waited for the notes. And we waited, and waited. In desperation I started to write them myself, figuring that when his finally arrived we could dump mine.
What kind of mojo he used I don’t know, but when his notes finally showed up they were an absolutely perfect segue from what I had already written; not a thought duplicated, not a redundant sentence in the lot. Andy simply used mine and his, side by side, a perfect fit. The resulting Grammy Award nomination for Best Liner Notes was, Bob assured me, for both of us, but I knew better. The Grammy certificate on my wall has both our names on it, but it was his words that made mine shine.
When he was in L.A. he often guest-hosted my blues radio show. Since his own collection was three thousand miles away, he’d go through my shelves, pulling out albums I’d forgotten I owned and choosing tracks that I had no idea were on them, always bringing something fresh and insightful to the studio and revitalizing my own programming style for weeks after each visit. If I was working on liner notes while he was here he’d make helpful suggestions, untangle sentences, offer comments, but never condescendingly, from the New York Times/Rolling Stone critic to the neophyte. He did me the honor of always treating me as a colleague, and sometimes made me believe I deserved it.
When, five or so years before his death, he moved to my favorite city in the world, New Orleans, we saw each other more regularly. I’d make the cross-country train journey a couple of times a year; we’d meet for lunch or dinner, and I’d fuss at him for not taking better care of his health as we walked, ever more slowly, through the streets of the French Quarter. I knew he had abused his body pretty thoroughly for many years but had no idea, until quite near the end, that he was so seriously ill. He always brushed aside my concerns and questions about his health, and insisted instead that I tell him what shows I had seen, what new records I’d gotten for review, and what reissues I was working on.
And then one day he simply told me the truth. We were sitting on a park bench in Jackson Square in the pale New Orleans winter sunlight, and he looked me in the eye and said that he wanted me to know how much my friendship had always meant to him, and my heart stopped. I knew, but I didn’t want to know. He was very reassuring; I was not to worry, Yoko Ono had offered financial assistance, and he was going back to New York to have a liver transplant. Everything would be fine.
We talked regularly from then on, and two days before he died I spoke to him for the last time. He had recently married JoBeth Britton, an amazing woman who had somehow managed to get him to clean up his act, eat healthier food and take better care of himself, but she couldn’t work miracles. His body was disintegrating before her eyes, and the doctors wouldn’t, couldn't, do a transplant until his health stabilized.
From his hospital bed he told me that he loved JoBeth and that she was aware of his end of life wishes and would see that they were carried out. We said all the things that old friends say to each other when they know it’s for the last time and are given the chance. I somehow kept my voice steady as I agreed with him that it was probably not necessary, and yes, he was probably going to be fine, but that it was good, nonetheless, to say them. I was surprised to find, as I hung up, that tears were pouring down my face. Two days later JoBeth called to let me know that she was honoring his wishes and taking him off life support.
And then I got the phone call that he was gone, and a call asking me for a quote. Then another, and another, and I took the phone off the hook and sat down to work on some liner notes. It seemed somehow the right way to remember him. Still does.
November 10
Had a long weekend in Irvine at the FAR-West regional Folk Alliance Conference. Mark covered the radio show for me so I could be gone. Saw a lot of old friends (lunch with Renee Bodie, dinner with Josh Dunson, etc.) which was nice. The hotel was the Hyatt Regency Irvine, very nice, so I had a little bit of luxury-lapping. The restaurant was amazing: for lunch one day I had grilled sea scallops over mushroom risotto with asparagus. Lie on the floor kicking and screaming good. The night that Josh D. and I had dinner we decided to just order a whole bunch of appetizers. Crab cakes! an incredible chicken quesadilla! Teeny lamb chops! a great salad! (And Josh had sushi, which I kindly allowed him to have all to himself. I don't eat food that is still squirming on the plate when they bring it out. Ewwww.)
Meanwhile, yesterday was Mary Travers' memorial service in New York, which Peter organized, and from all reports it went very well. There are, oddly, bits of it popping up on YouTube (type in Mary Travers, then tell it to sort by newest first). Judy Collins, not to anyone's surprise, sang Amazing Grace with such ethereal beauty that I'm surprised the whole church didn't just float off into the clouds.
October 26
Last night went with Tom and Claire and Mark to Royce Hall at UCLA to hear Ralph Stanley & the Clinch Mountain Boys. Dinner first, at a Middle Eastern place on Westwood Blvd. whose name seems to be Grand Opening, since that's the only sign I saw on the front of the building. The concert was billed to start at 7:00, and the opening act, Cherryholmes, started right at 7:00 p.m., and at 8:15 p.m. were still playing; an unusually long set for an opening act! Claire spoke to a friend who was ushering that night, and was told that some of the publicity went out with a mistake on it, announcing the starting time as 8:00. So the opener had to play long, to make sure that all the people who arrived thinking it was an 8:00 curtain didn't miss Ralph Stanley's set.
Cherryholmes (a family group with mom, dad and four kids playing various instruments) were quite entertaining, bouncy, enthusiastic and tight. I had seen them about ten years ago opening for Del McCoury at a church hall in Pasadena, when they were cute little kids who could really play; now they're mostly grown up and can REALLY play. The clear star of the show for me was Cia Cherryholmes, the banjo player and singer with an extraordinary command and stage presence. But although the audience was very receptive, it was clear that everyone was waiting for Dr. Ralph, who came onstage at 8:40 to loud cheers. For the first 5-6 songs he did nothing except introduce the band members (James Alan Shelton was a standout on guitar), and I was getting kind of worried - are we only getting Ralph as the emcee? Finally he took over the vocal mike, and did a string of duets with band members including his grandson Nathan Stanley and his son, Ralph II (known as Two), who was making a special guest appearance during an off week for his own band. Ralph only played banjo once, as arthritis has taken his hands to the extent that he can only just about manage to clawhammer one song; Steve Sparkman now handles the banjo chores for the band and does a great job. Ralph soloed on the hair-raising a cappella "Oh Death," and "Man of Constant Sorrow," and sang harmony on a lot of other songs, including several from his old Stanley Brothers repertoire with Nathan or Two taking Carter's part. A terrific evening, even though by the end of it I was so tired that I yawned all the way home in the car with Tom and Claire.
Stopped to visit Eliza on my way home from work this afternoon; she was having a hard day, fussing a lot and had a little upset tummy. Josh, who is being a stay at home daddy these days, really has his hands full.
October 18
Folk Alliance International is pleased
to announce the establishment of the Mike Seeger Scholarship Fund.
Created in memory of Mike Seeger, who as a founding member of the New
Lost City Ramblers received a 2004 Folk Alliance Lifetime Achievement
Award, this fund will pay for transportation and an honorarium to bring
a traditional musician or other tradition bearer to attend the FAI
Conference each year to participate in panels and performances; the
artist's conference registration fee and hotel accommodation will be
donated by Folk Alliance International.
Mike Seeger spent his entire life tracking down many strands of Old
Time Music tradition, including singers, dancers and instrumentalists
from many corners of the United States, and from dozens of cultural and
racial groups. He collected material wherever he went, taught the music
in person and on a succession of vinyl records, cassette tapes, VHS And
DVD recordings. As much as anyone could, Mike got people to learn to
play, and gave exposure to the old music and musicians at the same time.
We propose to continue that practice within Folk Alliance, for the same
reasons and in the same ways. The first recipients of the Mike Seeger
Scholarship will be 93 year old Violet Hensley of Yellville, Arkansas,
fiddle player and fiddle maker; and Sharde Thomas, Otha Turner's 19
year old granddaughter, who carries on the traditions he taught her of
making and playing cane fifes.
Those wishing to contribute to the Mike Seeger Scholarship Fund to
support bringing these and future traditional artists to the conference
can make
a donation
at any time to Folk Alliance in any amount, via credit card, PayPal, or
check made payable to Folk Alliance and mailed to Folk Alliance, 510
South Main, Memphis, TN 38103; please indicate "Mike Seeger
Scholarship Fund."
The late great Emperor of the World, New Orleans' own Ernie K-Doe.
September 16
Mary Travers died tonight at home in hospice care, peacefully and surrounded by her loved ones. I first met her in 1962, and we had an extremely volatile relationship (strong words were exchanged, loose objects were thrown, and so forth) up until about ten years ago, when things took a 180 degree turn and we managed to become friends. I'm glad of that, now. BBC Radio called me tonight and asked for an interview; hard to reduce the vital life force that was Mary Travers to three minutes worth of sound bites!
For those who have asked about cards and flowers: In lieu of flowers the family has suggested a contribution to the Mary Travers Healthcare Fund at Danbury Hospital in CT.
September 10
Another old friend from Ash Grove
days has died - the incredibly
brilliant, talented, gifted guitarist Steve Mann died on September
8th.
He was a good friend to me in the old days, but I have to say that he
ingested more drugs than any human being I have ever known, and they
took their toll. The drugs destroyed his health, his talent and
his
sanity, and left him a rambling, homeless, hollow shell of who he
once
had been. I am amazed that he lived as long as he did. All thanks to
the patience of Janet Smith, who cared for him in his later years and
did so much to help him along. A sad loss.
Spent the afternoon making a huge pot of jambalaya, then Jim and I drove over to Josh and Kate's so he could meet Eliza. I tried to teach her to pronounce "parallelogram," but I guess four days old is still too young. Then we went on to Claire's party, at which we ate a lot of great food and visited with Ellen and Art and a bunch of other folks. At some point during the festivities I backed Tom Nixon into a corner and breathed fire at him till he agreed to come in and do a radio show with me <g> so my goal of getting all these excellent old music programmers back on the air by hook or by crook is working! Am just waiting to hear from Tom Sauber; everyone else has said yes!
Friday August 14
Tonight I drove Jennifer and Bruce down to a restaurant in Hollywood, and right on Vine Street a bit north of Sunset there's a huge wreath and many candles on the Walk of Fame star for Les Paul and Mary Ford.
Had a long talk with Alexia today. There will be a memorial for Mike at some point in the future but it will be awhile.
Claire is having a party tomorrow evening, and I am making a big pot of jambalaya to contribute; on my way to her place am stopping to visit the kids, ostensibly to drop off some food for Josh and Kate so they don't have to cook, but really to have more snuggle time with Eliza. I put together a shamelessly maudlin set of baby songs for tomorrow's show. Well, you know, my only son has had his first child - that's my excuse at the moment.
Tuesday August 11
Eliza is here and all's well. 7 lbs. 2 oz., 21 inches tall.
Sunday August 9
Went to dinner and a show at the Magic Castle last night with Chris and Janet, bluegrass pals from San Diego, and violated the club's rules by leaving my cell phone on all night, hoping that I would get The Call. But no. My granddaughter is taking her own sweet time about being born; she's is now ten days past her original due date of July 31.
August 10, 2009
Mike Seeger, Singer and Music Historian, Dies at 75
By BEN SISARIO, The New York Times
Mike Seeger, a singer and multi-instrumentalist who played an important role in the folk revival of the 1950s and '60s, died on Friday at his home in Lexington, Va. He was 75.
The cause was multiple myeloma, a form of blood cancer, said his wife, Alexia Smith.
Although a quieter voice on the national stage than his politically outspoken, older half-brother, Pete, Mike Seeger was a significant force in spreading the music of preindustrial America during an increasingly consumerist era. In 1958 he helped found the New Lost City Ramblers, whose repertory came from the 1920s and '30s, and in his career he recorded or produced dozens of albums of what he called the "true vine" of American music, the mix of British and African traditions and topical storytelling that took root in the South.
Mr. Seeger's dedication had a strong effect on the young Bob Dylan, who wrote fondly of him in his 2004 memoir, "Chronicles: Volume One." Although only eight years his junior, Mr. Dylan called Mr. Seeger a father figure - for helping the under-age Mr. Dylan with his paperwork - and rhapsodized about him as the embodiment of a folk-star persona.
"Mike was unprecedented," Mr. Dylan wrote, adding: "As for being a folk musician, he was the supreme archetype. He could push a stake through Dracula's black heart. He was the romantic, egalitarian and revolutionary type all at once."
But Mr. Seeger made his mark less as a star than as a careful, steady student of his beloved Southern music. He was born in New York to a prominent musical family. His father, Charles Seeger, was a well-known ethnomusicologist, and his mother, Ruth Crawford Seeger, a composer and folk-song collector. Besides Pete, Mr. Seeger's sister Peggy also became a noted singer.
The intellectual pursuit of folk music was part of Mike Seeger's life from an early age. At 5 he made a recording of the old British folk ballad "Barbara Allen," his wife said in an interview on Sunday.
Mr. Seeger played banjo, guitar, autoharp and other instruments, which he learned from old records and in some cases from the musicians who played on them. A dogged researcher, he sought out musicians who had been lost for decades and introduced them to an eager (and young) new audience. One was Dock Boggs, a banjo player from western Virginia whose records were prized by folklorists. Mr. Seeger brought him to the American Folk Festival in Asheville, N.C., in 1963.
Mr. Seeger's most recent album was "Early Southern Guitar Sounds" (Smithsonian Folkways), in 2007, and he played autoharp on Robert Plant and Alison Krauss's Grammy Award-winning album "Raising Sand" (Rounder), also released in 2007. In his career Mr. Seeger was nominated for six Grammys.
In addition to his wife, his half-brother Pete, of Beacon, N.Y., and his sister Peggy, of Boston, Mr. Seeger is survived by three sons, Kim, of Tivoli, N.Y., Chris, of Rockville Centre, N.Y., and Jeremy, of Belmont, Mass.; four stepchildren, Cory Foster of Ithaca, N.Y., Jenny Foster of Rockville, Md., Joel Foster of Silver Spring, Md., and Jesse Foster of Washington; another sister, Barbara Perfect of Henderson, Nev.; another half-brother, John Seeger of Bridgewater, Conn.; and 13 grandchildren and step-grandchildren.
Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company
Friday August 7
My dear friend Mike Seeger died tonight, in hospice care at his home, at peace and not in pain.
Tomorrow I'm doing the radio show early, then to breakfast, then coming home and hanging around here for awhile because I'm having a new mattress set delivered. Unfortunately I can't lift the old mattress and box spring by myself, so tomorrow when the delivery guys come, you KNOW they are going to pull the old ones off the frame and be overwhelmed by all the dust bunnies that are under there (or in my case more likely dust kangaroos), plus a miscellanous sock or two and who knows what all else. The new bed is a big surprise - Josh and Kate bought it for me, thinking that it was probably time mom had a new one, as I've been having trouble sleeping for quite some time and it may be the fault of the lumpy mattress. How old is the incumbent set, anyway? Hmmm, let's see now (counting on fingers); well, it's at least 35 years old, so yes, I guess it's time.
Thursday August 6
I'm told that Mike is mostly sleeping now, making his transition inexorably, quietly, and painlessly. Hard to be so far away, but there's nothing I could do even if I was there except help Alexia around the house, and believe me, my domestic skills aren't much help to anyone! And as one goes, another comes; the doctor today said that both Kate and Eliza are in good health, everything's normal, and we'll see her when she decides it's time to be born.
Sunday August 2
Some friends of Mike's went to play music for him this weekend; he enjoyed it, but asked that no more visitors come. He wants to be quiet now, in what time is left. Because he lives so far away there was no way I could have gotten there in time anyway, but we have said what needing saying, and since then I've been forwarding him literally *hundreds* of emails that have come pouring in to me for him and Alexia. This is really hard; as I counted up the years I realized that he is one of the few friends I have left from Ash Grove days; we met in the early 1960s when he and his group came out from the east coast to play there, and in one way or another we have been in touch ever since. He was incredibly helpful when I was preparing the Newport Folk Festival reissue series for Vanguard back in the early 1990s, and then of course these last ten years I have been his "booking agent" so we've been in very regular contact. And in between there have been lots of meals together (Lebanese food in Westwood, yum!) and other adventures, like the time we sat around a conference table in the UCLA Ethno department some years back and he tried for a solid hour to teach me to play the jews harp (he was stunned to finally realize that he had met someone who just couldn't do it!). My ex, Mark, of course, sailed through the lesson, because he has been field collecting recordings of jews harp playing for years and is an expert; Mike eventually decided to blame it on my plastic dentures, which alter the natural shape of my mouth. Yeah sure. Anyway, if he lives till then his 77th birthday will be on August 15th, and whether he is still with us or not I'm going to do a tribute to him on my radio show that day.
Saturday August 1
Well, Eliza was supposed to be born today, but so far no sign. The day's not over yet, but I'd guess that, like her parents, Eliza is just running a little bit late!
Wednesday July 29
It was a hard day at work today, as the news of Mike's final illness has made it onto the net via emails being passed around, and I was swamped with phone calls and emails. Did not speak to him or to Alexia today, as it was their last day at the hospital and they are retuning home tomorrow morning, and the hospice care will be there for them. But have forwarded them over 100 emails of well-wishing from folks near and far.
Had dinner tonight with Josh and Kate; just three days till Eliza is due! We ate at a Chinese place, and I suggested that Kate have some kung pao chicken (one of the hottest Chinese dishes I know) in hopes of getting things moving along, but she sensibly passed.
Tuesday July 28
My good friend Mike, who has been battling leukemia for some time, was recently diagnosed with an additional cancer, called multiple myeloma. And he called today to say that he has now decided to stop the treatments, and is entering hospice care. After we hung up I wrote him an email that said everything I needed to say and I hope was everything he needed to hear from me. Selfishly, it's hard for me to let go, but of course I respect his decision. He's in his late 70s, has had a good and productive life, and it's his choice to make. He knows better than anyone what's right for him. And as sad as I am about this, I'm glad that he is able to end his life in the same forthright manner in which he has lived it.
It's a (nother) girl! My "other son" John and his wife Jeanine, who live in Chicago, just had their first ultrasound, and it's a girl. She's due in December, and that means I get two granddaughters the same year!
April 18
A funny story about how I met Dick Waterman:
The
action takes place sometime in the mid-1960s, I don't remember
exactly when. Let's say it was 1965, but that may not be quite right,
and Dick can jump in and correct me if he remembers more precisely.
I was then
working at The Ash Grove, which at that time block-booked
artists for 6 nights, Tuesday-Sunday, and was dark on Monday, or
occasionally there would be special events (political gatherings, art
shows,
community events, whatever) on Monday nights. So if an artist came
out from Texas or Mississippi or the Appalachias or wherever, they
could play a little network that existed back then, 6 nights in San
Diego at the Sign of the Sun, Monday off as a travel day, 6 nights in
L.A. at the Ash Grove, Monday off as a travel day, 6 nights in Berkeley
at the Jabberwock or the Cabale, and so forth all the way
north to Portland and
Seattle, and then home. This made the long journey to the west
coast more financially workable for them, back in the days when most
travel, especially by folk and blues musicians, was done by Greyhound
Bus. Dick Waterman was then a respected booking agent in Cambridge, running his Avalon Productions and representing a lot of traditional blues artists (this was before he became Bonnie Raitt's manager and also before he started handling Buddy Guy & Jr. Wells). Many of the artists he booked would play at the Ash Grove, and the pattern was that he would call up and say "I have Son House (or Skip James, or Fred MacDowell, or Mississippi John Hurt, or whoever) coming to the west coast; can you do a week in June?" and then the financial terms and contract issues got done between him and Ed (the owner of the club).
As
years went by, the conversations that we had when Dick would
call
for a booking got longer and longer and ranged over more territory than
just the subject at hand, and I would always end the call by saying
something along the lines of "if you're ever on the west coast be sure
to stop by the club so we can meet."
I need to insert
a note here, not at all egotistically I assure you,
that my speaking voice (the voice he heard on the phone, without being
able to see me) is very sultry, and deep, and could be (mis)taken
for sexy by some people. A good voice for radio, in fact, which is what
I would go on to do some years later.
However,
I also have a good *face* for radio. :-)
All right, here
it comes, or as Ron Thomason would say, I told you that to tell you
this:
At
long last Dick Waterman tells me that he will be coming in to
town with one of his acts (by that time it might have been Bonnie) and
will be coming to the club on such and such a night to hear whoever
was playing, and could he buy me a drink? (I did used to drink
some in those days). And I said, okay, you will recognize me
because I'll be the woman at the ticket desk in the front lobby
collecting
the money - just introduce yourself when you get here and I'll comp you
and your party in.
He
walks into the lobby, looks for the ticket desk, and standing
there is a vision of loveliness like he has never seen. Dick is is
heaven. Oh my God. Blond hair, blue eyes, cute white go-go boots and a
shape like whatever a man's fancy turns to. He straightens his
figurative tie, runs a hand through his hair and strides over to the
desk and says to her in his deepest voice: "Hi, gorgeous, I'm Dick!"
And
she says: "Who?"
And
he says "Dick Waterman!"
And
she says: "So what?"
It
turns out that I had left the ticket desk for a minute to go
into my office for something, and he was talking to Jackie DeShannon.
We
are still laughing about that 45 years later.
April 12
Well, I guess this qualifies as a Happy Easter, all right. My other son John and his wife Jeanine, who live in Chicago, are in town; they came over tonight and we met Josh and Kate for dinner at Miceli's, and I was presented with yet another sonogram and the amazing news that they're going to have a baby too!!! So I am going to be a grandmother twice this year, on July 31 and again on December 3 (all dates approximate). Oh my God, the diapers I'm going to be changing!
April 10
Jim and Guy and I were sitting at the coffee shop on my hillside this afternoon, and the conversation wandered around, as it does; and Jim and I shared some apple pie, as we do; and after an hour or so Jim got up to go have dinner with Ian and then go with him to the noir film series at the Egyptian, and Guy got up to go off for a walk, and I came home. And these quiet little times that don't have any heavy meaning, that are just the everyday connections that I make with friends, have become part of the brightly colored patchwork of my life. I have been sitting in almost the same spot at that same coffee shop for nearly forty years; back when I first started going there my daughter Jennifer (42 on her next birthday) was barely old enough to sit up in a highchair, and she drew patterns in her cracker crumbs on the highchair's silver tray. It was just one long soda fountain counter then, with one waitress, my dear old friend Addie, who later, when I was alone and pregnant with Josh (35 on his next one) threw me the baby shower that brought me so much that I needed. Addie, by then in her seventies, still came trudging up the hill to unlock the place and start the first pot of coffee at 6:00 every morning, until the day she didn't, and her sister-in-law Frances the cook and Milton, then the assistant cook, called and called but got no answer so finally went down the street to her apartment and found her on the floor, all dressed for work with her apron over her arm, blown out painlessly like a candle by God before she could get out her front door. And I remember when they expanded the place after Addie died, put in tables and chairs and booths, and how Berta, my dear friend from the Village who had come out to L.A. to join me in working at the Ash Grove, went to work at the coffee shop after the club closed, and she taught Milton how to make eggs Benedict, and being a New York woman she made them put egg creams on the menu too, and eventually they hired a bunch more waitresses, who've come and gone through the years, each with a life and a story someone should write. I've known every waitress by name; I know which one worked extra shifts so that she and her husband could put a down payment on a house that had to be near a good school for her son; I know which one worked two jobs and single-parented a kid, which one came in to work on even the warmest days wearing long sleeved tops that didn't always hide the bruises on her arms, and which one has been sober for over a year now, and how hard that is for her. I know that European tourists aren't used to tipping, because they don't have that custom there, and how when you stand on your feet eight hours a day for minimum wage, every dollar that you don't get makes a difference. I know Monique, the weekend hostess/cashier, who lost her dearly-loved father to cancer and then single-handedly cared for her mother for years, seeing her drift ever-further away into the long goodbye of Alzheimer's Disease until she too finally died, and how Monique watched the Neptune Society boat out of sight and then straightened her shoulders and went to work to get her Extras Union card so she could make some money, and now every time she has a few flashing seconds of film (even way in the background) on a network TV show, everyone in the canyon tunes in to watch. And I know Milton and Miguel, the cooks, and I know that Milton has diabetes and isn't supposed to eat sweets, so when I bring back pralines from New Orleans for everyone I just break off a tiny bite of one for him instead of giving him a whole one. And I know that his wife Margo had surgery recently, but is doing better now, thanks, and I know that he has an adult daughter who's a quadraplegic in an assisted living facility, and that paying for her care is a big part of why at long past retirement age he still stands on his feet ten hours a day in a tiny kitchen where in the summer it's over 100 degrees every day, and although he has never taken a vacation day in thirty years he always has a smile for everyone and always remembers that I like my french fries well done and my fruit salad without any canteloupe. And I know Miguel's son Ernie, who used to work there on weekends when he was in high school, handing out menus and seating people. And I know the busboys and the dishwashers and their families and their stories; Rafael has a small son back in Mexico, and he sends home money to his wife every week. I know many of the "regulars" who eat there every day (and I remember the ones who've died, too, like Paul Pepper, who couldn't stop smoking until it was too late, and John Nolan, a really good writer who hand-carved the wooden sign that hangs over the door, and John Milford, who built the booths when he was between acting jobs). It's a community in the best sense of the word, because whenever somebody in the canyon sells a story or sells a painting or gets a speaking part or places a script or gets an advance from a publisher or sweats out an audition for a role in a tiny non-Equity theater, everyone congratulates them on their success. And when there's an occasional celebrity sighting (Kevin Costner used to stop in now and then, and Jennifer saw Jessica Simpson once, and Lord help us all Lindsay Lohan used to live just two blocks up the hill, and having paparazzi and helicopters there every damn day made it hard to get through the one lane canyon street I live on, so nobody wass really thrilled about having her there, but we all agreed that it was better than when Madonna lived up here and built a helipad on her front lawn, because when she sold her house and moved away they practically had a block party to celebrate) everyone is very cool until they pay their check and leave, and then it's "wow, did you see who was here?" And I know that most late afternoons when I get home from work Jim will be there, and we'll talk, or share sections of the paper, or I'll bring him the latest issue of Blues & Rhythm, or we'll do the crossword puzzle together (in ink, of course!), and he'll drink too much coffee and I won't drink any, and on winter days he covers my always-cold hands with his warm ones and we're always comfortable together; and whenever I walk in the cafe door on a weekend morning there's a chorus from them all of "good morning, Mary Katherine!" that makes me feel, as I am, at home.
March 15
Photos and details of my trip to Chicago, Memphis, Oxford and New Orleans can be found here.
This was my birthday weekend and boy, am I exhausted. Jennifer took me to Disneyland yesterday, where I put in several strenuous hours (and did something painful to my right shoulder and lower back) on the rides. She also treated me to a spectacular lunch at the Blue Bayou restaurant there. Boy was that great. Crab cakes, shrimp remoulade, mahi mahi, steak, salads and veg. Urp! Then we went out to the Deeper Valley to her and Bruce's soon-to-be-old apartment and I spent a couple of birthday hours packing her kitchen into boxes; we wrapped everything in newspaper, and taped up and labeled all the boxes. As a gesture of thanks for my help, she and Bruce then took me to dinner at Victors - so, TWO free meals on my birthday. This morning Claire came over and tried her best to hammer some computer skills into my head so that I could get the photos from my recent trip up onto a web site so people could see them. It was only partially successful; as long as she was here, standing over me, things seemed to go fairly well, if slowly, but as soon as she left and I tried to do some by myself....anyhow, we interrupted the tutorial to go to my hillside cafe and have lunch with Jim, and a plan was hatched whereby Tom and Claire and Jim and I are all having dinner together next weekend to further celebrate my birthday. Tonight Josh and Kate took me to a great place on LaCienega called The Stinking Rose; as you can figure out, the primary theme is garlic. Since garlic is one of my five basic food groups (along with chocolate and a few other disreputable things), I was a happy camper. I should keep a running total and see what's the maximum number of free lunches and dinners I can stretch out of one birthday.
The internet is a truly amazing thing. I have been thinking for quite some time about someone I knew as a child, and wondering whatever happened to her, as she had a really rough time of it when she was young. Tried Googling her, but never found anything. Lo and behold, she found ME, because of my web site. Incredible.
January 3
I haven't written much here about my friend Stevenson Palfi, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately. He was a good friend of mine, a smart, funny, devilishly handsome guy who became like a brother to me. We met and fell passionately in like while he was shooting his Professor Longhair documentary called Piano Players Rarely Ever Play Together, a prizewinning film that's just recently become available on DVD, and if you've never seen it and love New Orleans and its music I highly recommend it. Stevenson had moved from his native Chicago to New Orleans after spending a summer there working at the front desk of the Maison DeVille Hotel in the French Quarter. The hotel was close to Preservation Hall, and he found himself drawn to an 80-something year old banjo player named Manny Sayles (Emmanuel, really, but everyone called him Manny) who was a longtime member of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band; Manny became the subject of one of Stevenson's earliest music documentaries. He met his lovely wife Polly Waring there, and not long after I met them they rejoiced in the birth of their daughter, my darling Nell.
Anyway, Stevenson and I became close friends, joked and flirted our way harmessly through the possible pitfalls of a relationship that was always determinedly platonic, and whenever he was in L.A. or I was in New Orleans we spent a lot of time together. Life went on, things changed, he and Polly separated and eventually divorced, but our friendship continued, with one hiatus, for about twenty years. When my dear friend Keith and I would visit New Orleans the two of them would go off to visit the local bars together, and I was really glad that they, too, ended up with a friendship that enriched both their lives. When Keith died of a massive heart attack in March of 2005, it was Stevenson who let me cry, and cry, and cry, and in a series of late night phone calls he helped me start to heal from that awful loss.
And then, barely six months after Keith died, came Hurricane Katrina, and then the levees broke. Stevenson's house was on Banks Street in Mid-City, the area which other than the 9th Ward was hardest hit in all New Orleans. He was forced to evacuate, ending up in Tunica, Mississippi for several weeks. When he was finally allowed back into the city it was to find that his home, which was also his office and editing facility, had taken eight feet of standing water, and nearly everything he owned was destroyed.
He had homeowners insurance, he told me in a series of breathless phonecalls, but was having a hard time trying to collect. He spent every morning for over two months wearing hip boots, rubber gloves and a protective mask, cleaning out the filthy, stinking, toxic, mold-covered mess that had once been his home, and then spent every afternoon on the phones to various insurance companies, trying to slog his way through the bureaocracy and put through his claims. It was enough to make anyone depressed, but Stevenson had other problems as well, which long predated the flood. He had not been able to work for quite some time; two car accidents, one close upon the other, had left him with a shattered collarbone and shoulder that never really healed properly, and lifting the heavy videocamera with which he made his living became first painful, and finally impossible. He had a half-finished documentary in the works about New Orleans musician Allen Toussaint, and it was becoming clear that he was not going to be able to finish it, despite having gone into debt and borrowed money to make it. The medication that the doctors had given him for a lower back injury also caused by the car crash had unintended physical side effects which left him more depressed than before.
Since the flood, with his own home unlivable, he had been staying with his former wife Polly, and one evening in December 2005 while she was out of the house he stole the gun she kept for protection. A few days later, on December 14, he went back to his house; after writing a four page longhand letter in which he absolved those he loved of responsibility and railed against FEMA and the insurance companies for their lack of understanding and assistance, he left the note on his desk, went upstairs, lay down on his bed and put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
There's no good way to find out that kind of news, but I found out about it in maybe the worst way possible; an anonymous email from a stranger, the morning after his death, saying something along the lines of "sorry to hear about your friend Stevenson." I was stunned, and scared - wait, what? sorry to hear WHAT?? - and then began the long and difficult quest for solid information. Less than three months after Katrina, few people in New Orleans had working telephone service yet; I called his house line and his home-office line and left increasingly frantic messages on his machines. Polly's phone wasn't working, and Nell wasn't answering her cell, but I finally reached Barry Smith at the Louisiana Music Factory, who confirmed that it was true.
Parents who commit suicide leave lasting scars on their children; it's a deep, dark, harsh, hardly forgiveable sin, and it casts a shadow over subsequent generations that never really goes away. Even when someone says, "My grandfather committed suicide before I was born," the statement itself speaks of enormous, somehow contagious, incurable, inheritable pain. Those left behind feel profound guilt and self-reproach (how could I have talked to Stevenson less than a week before he killed himself and heard nothing in his voice, even though at that point he had already stolen the gun he was going to use? How could I have been so self-involved that all those times he told me how hard it was to throw out the accumulated possessions of a lifetime because the mold had rendered them untouchable, I didn't hear the cry for help behind the words? Why did someone so popular and with so many friends -- there were hundreds of people at his memorial service -- pick up a gun instead of picking up a phone?) and eventually anger at someone I once loved so much, ranging from "how could you do this?" to "how could you do this to me?" to the ultimate unanswerable question, "how could you do this to Nell?"
Nell was the joy of his life, a bright, shining, goldenhaired child who was not supposed to live. When she was born, with a combination of birth defects any one of which would have stunned most new fathers into silence, Stevenson refused to believe the doctors who said she wouldn't make it (they had been right the two previous times that Polly had given birth, first to their stillborn son and then to a premature daughter who lived only an hour). He paid no attention; he went into the pediatric emergency room and picked up the tiny child who, in her baby pictures, has so many tubes and wires attached to her that you cannot see a human being at all, and he said "this child will LIVE." He held her, talked to her constantly, willed her to live by simply refusing to believe that she would die. For the first three months he and Polly never left her alone. Nurses and doctors came, shook their heads, and went, but Stevenson and Polly stayed with Nell, praying constantly, calling specialists all over the country, and telling her and everyone else who'd listen that everything that was wrong with her was going to be fixed and that she was going to be fine. Fourteen staggering operations and six years later, the child who had been pronounced brain-dead at birth started first grade, right on schedule with the other children her age; the child who doctors originally said was in a permanent vegetative state and would never be able to walk, talk, read or write ended up dancing her way lightly through elementary school, then high school, and finally entered LSU in Baton Rouge; she would have graduated college with honors with the rest of her class if her father hadn't derailed her education and her life by putting that gun in his mouth. She was only eighteen when he died, and she will never get over it. She will never be the same person again; she adored her father, and when he killed himself the light in her eyes just went out. I still see her every time I go to New Orleans; we maintain the tradition that we started when she was just a little girl, of having one nice "dressup" dinner together in a fancy retaurant during my stay; but she doesn't want to talk about Stevenson. She doesn't want to hear how much he loved her or how important she was to him. She sits quietly, always unfailingly courteous to her father's old friend, looking at her plate, picking at her food, and occasionally glancing at her watch under the table where she thinks I won't see her, wondering how much longer she'll have to stay. When I ask her, with the easy familiarity of someone who has known her all her life, what her own plans for the future are, when she might start looking for a job, or when she might be going back to college, she just shrugs and doesn't answer.
The last time I was there she gave me a reliquary with some of Stevenson's ashes in it, and a container of more of his ashes which, when the time is right, I'll be putting into the ocean at Malibu, where we loved to go for long walks. I'm trying to think of the right words to say when I release his ashes into the water, maybe some perfect poem or song lyric, but all these years later the only words I can find to say to him are still "how could you do this?"