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. :-)

March 5
Happy birthday to my wonderful daughter Jennifer!

John Becker Dies; Celebrated Banjo Player

Photo:  http://snurl.com/un6x4

FROM:  The St. Louis Post-Dispatch ~ 
By Michael D. Sorkin

John Becker started out working at the insurance company where his dad was an executive.
He worked his way up to district manager.
But Mr. Becker wanted to play the banjo. He began sneaking out of the office to play on the noontime
Charlotte Peters variety show on the old KSD-TV. His boss back at the insurance company spotted
him on the live show and gave him an ultimatum.
That's when "Big John" Becker decided to make a career with his four-string banjo. He ended up
an international star.
He toured Europe and knew the top musicians because he was one of them. In St. Louis, he played
on riverboats and in clubs at the old Gaslight Square in midtown.
Mr. Becker died of congestive heart failure on Feb. 26, 2010, at his home in Desloge, Mo.,
his wife said this week. He was 90 and had been a hospice patient for four years.
Mr. Becker was inducted last year into the National Four-String Banjo Hall of Fame at the American
Banjo Museum in Oklahoma City.
"His favorite line was that he was trying to prove that the banjo was a musical instrument," recalled
Michael Mason, a museum board member who studied under Mr. Becker. "So he played classical
pieces, swing, Dixieland - just about everything."
Banjos can be four or five strings. The five-string is known for its bluegrass and country sound.
The four-string that Mr. Becker played is considered a more traditional jazz instrument.
In recent years, Mr. Becker played at charitable events with a trio that included Stan Musial on
harmonica.
"He would rather play the harmonica than eat," Mr. Becker once said of the baseball great.
Mr. Becker, an only child, grew up on Fendler Place in the Bevo neighborhood, listening to the radio and
Harry Reser, "the greatest banjo player that ever played," Mr. Becker recalled in a magazine interview.
His father bought him a $260 banjo during the Depression. His first job, while he was in high
school, was at a South Side tavern. He and the piano player worked four hours and got $2 "and
all of the Coca-Cola I could drink."
He graduated from Cleveland High School in 1936 and studied with banjo great Genevieve "Bunny"
Longo. During World War II, he served as a radar technician in the Army Air Forces.
During the 1940s, he put away his banjo to play guitar with big bands. He played at the old Kiel Opera
House and for the "Hello Dolly" show with Carol Channing.
Later, after leaving his insurance company job, he took a day job as a musical director at KSD-TV.
Mr. Becker played at the old Robert E. Lee riverboat with the Jazz Incredibles group. In Gaslight Square,
he played at the Golden Eagle and Lorelei clubs.
One of his best-known recordings was "Big John's Banjo Band."
In 1986, he married his fourth wife. "John was my third husband," said Dorothy Becker. "Between the
two of us, we had lucky No. 7."
Mr. Becker asked that his beloved banjo, a Fender that he had strummed since 1965, be displayed at the
banjo museum after his death.
His wife plans a celebration of his life at a date to be determined this spring. His body was
cremated, and she plans to scatter the ashes in Yosemite National Park.
In addition to his wife, survivors include a son, Larry John Becker of St. Louis.
---
John Becker on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bVLFkizgE44 

March 4
I'm home. Am writing the obligatory "what I did on my vacation" essay and will post here when it's done. Meanwhile I am in a big rush to get Saturday's show programmed. Thanks to Mark for covering for me while I was out of town.

February 13

Well, the Fund Drive is over, at least my part of it. It was okay - not terrific, but okay. I am getting ready to leave this blob for awhile, but here's something fun that Mark Humphrey put together and sent to me, to tide you over till I get back.

Valentine’s is a day for couples, many of them odd. Every day Youtube makes the odd and wonderful and faraway readily accessible. I’ve compiled some pairings which you could call odd couples—they have something in common, but are also very different. I hope you see/hear something by which you are amused, amazed, inspired. Some you may want to skip entirely; others you want to check out another day. 
  Let’s start with a couple of very different musical/dance performances which have 1 thing in common: a nonsense refrain that sticks in your head. Neither are on a par with Little Richard’s world-changing exclamation in Tutti Frutti, but what is? 
I have my friend Chris Wallace to thank for Eena…, which he tells me is quite famous among Indians, expat & otherwise. 
  The second is entirely different in most ways, BUT—another catchy refrain! This may not be the proudest moment of the Northern most Turkic people, the Yakuts, but my hat’s off to anyone who can play soccer w/a banana peel while drunk. 
 
Eena Meena Dika 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R5XYUwC1hBk 
 
Inadequate Yakutians 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ebjm--vmW2M 
 
If you go south in Siberia from Yakutia, you will reach Tuva, the most famous export of which is throat singers. Long before Americans knew either the place or sounds existed, someone here had rigged a device to blend musical instrument overtones with singing. So here’s an odd coupling of unorthodox vocal performances. 
 
young Tuvan throat singers 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rkJmRL7SNc&NR=1 
 
Sonovox 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kH-krlgo2e8&feature=related 
 
 We continue the unorthodox vocals theme for the next coupling, this time featuring female singers. When was the last time you heard a great yodeler? I’m not sure of the ethnicity of the second singer—her head gear looks Yakut, but I’ve otherwise not heard this sort of singing from Yakut/Sakha people. She may be from a people living even more northeast in Siberia.

Carolina Cotton 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRSnkkIfR9M&feature=related 
 
Singer 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2IzvqdJdWG4&feature=related 
 
From vocals now to instrumentals, the Hawaiian guitar has been popular around the world and suits all manner of musical idioms. Here’s a pairing from India and old-time Hollywood. It takes awhile for Alvino Rey to appear, but the wait IS worth it! 
 
Yaman on guitar 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Qk4m1KYfoI&feature=related 
 
Alvino Rey 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywOuZnvbGqM&feature=related 
 
Now to two very different electric guitar gods, one Indian (playing a Gibson Les Paul), one American. The common thread might be eastern music of very different sorts on an American instrument—legend has it Dick Dale learned Miserlou from an oud-playing uncle, and the tune seems to have been around Mid-Eastern/Armenian bellydance bands in the U.S. in the`50s. I love the opening shot of DD’s Strat! 

Carnatic guitar 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3CC6W4p6HJo&feature=related 
Dick Dale 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZIU0RMV_II8 
 
The mandolin is generally regarded as a bluegrass instrument, but its scope is much broader than that, as proven by the next two performances. 
 
Sleepy John Estes 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-DGNLmFsJg 
 
Indian mandolin 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Swd-gsYiwmA&feature=related 
 
 I reckon you’ve had more than enough by now, but I’ll not do this again for a year, if ever, and you can always look at a later date. So on with the show…. 
 
Next theme: Brazilian music that’s NOT bossa nova! 
Of course, there’s plenty. My favorite is forro, minor keyed melancholy with major syncopation! The other clip features a gnomic percussionist who’s a wonder! 

Forro accordion 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MKyCY_PZ3cg&feature=related 

amazing percussionist & cavacinho 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3EWZTrUktI&feature=related 
 
Next theme: Funny, they don’t LOOK—or sound—Chinese… 
China’s minorities are sometimes a thorn in the side of the Han juggernaut, especially those easterly Turks, the Uighurs. The other clip, from Inner Mongolia, features women performing the deep throat singing style, once taboo. 

Uighurs 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O_Bk8I_D3OA&feature=related 

Mongolian women kharyga khoomeii 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TqxrNGu-YUU&feature=related 
 
Almost done now! 
Don’t want you think I’m just into ethnomusicological purity, now. Heck, I like dumb fun as well as the next guy—especially if it’s a mite odd. Fitting the bill are a couple of music vids, one Uzbek, the other Indian. You can tell the star of the latter NEVER has a bad day, even if he DOES have multiple personalities! 
 
Uzbek pop music vid 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jx9h5QuRWAM&feature=related 
 
Indian music video 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bAN7Ts0xBo&feature=rec-LGOUT-exp_stronger_r2-HM 
 
On to the finish! We started w/musical/dance routines so let’s end there, too. I thank Mary Katherine Aldin for the Ross Sisters—it takes about 1:30 to get where it’s going, and it’s well worth sticking around to witness! The last is one of those `folkloric’ extravaganzas the Soviets were so good at staging, this of the Bashkirs, a westerly Turkic folk (find Ufa in your Atlas). Check the men’s hats and pity the poor foxes of Bashkortorstan!

Ross Sisters 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJ76pS23Ky8 

Cheesy Soviet era Bashkir extravaganza 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gS2EIIjN8hg&feature=related 
 
OK, to quote the great Porky Pig, That’s All Folks!  Happy Valentine’s Day, and remember: the world’s a far stranger place than you ever dared imagined! 
 
Best, 
 
Mark Humphrey 
 
February 7
Oh man, I am SO glad the Saints won! I don't actually give a hoot about football and didn't bother to watch the game since I don't know an end zone from a time zone, but I was cheering them on emotionally, and did turn the TV on when I got an email that they had just nailed it, so I could watch the postgame hooting and hollering. I'll be there soon, and I bet the celebrations will still be going on. And to mark this auspicious occasion, here's Billie Holiday and Louis Armstrong singing one of my favorite songs about New Orleans. And yes, I do know what it means....
But, you know, let's get serious about sports here: pitchers and catchers report in seven days, and then we'll be back in a land where I speak the language.

February 6
The Alive and Picking fundraising went fairly well - not as well as last time, and not as well as I had hoped, but well. We shall see what happens next Saturday.

Was horrified to hear from my pal Renee Bodie (of Bodie House Concerts, for those of you who live locally) that her youngest son went off a bridge in his car last night and dropped 75 feet into a canyon. He suffered multiple critical injuries, and she is asking for prayers and good thoughts to be sent their way.

February 4 Update on Jean Ritchie's condition from her son Jon Pickow:
Mom is making slow but steady progress. She is beginning to be able to communicate more, and is being weaned from the ventilator. She has enjoyed the cards, flowers and good wishes from everyone. That has been very uplifting for her.
I have been bringing her dulcimer and singing and playing with her. She mouths the words along with most things. Only two weeks ago, she didn't seem to know certain songs which she should have, but it seems that she remembers them now. She especially likes to "sing" Twilight 'A Stealing.
I sing anything that pops in to my head. I skipped a verse to The Shoemaker's Song the other day, and she started slapping the arm of her chair. It's great to see her laugh. We sing hymns too. She was able to strum the dulcimer a little the other day.
We don't know if she will recover fully, but we are pleased with her progress. Thank you all for your caring and concern.
All the best, Jon

February 2
Rufus, Martha Wainwright sing at Montreal funeral service for Kate McGarrigle 
By Nelson Wyatt (CP) - 1 day ago 

MONTREAL - Anna McGarrigle stood at the podium and paused a moment before reading a poem paying tribute to her sister. 
"Usually, when I'm on stage, it's with Kate," she said with a trace of wistfulness to the mourners at Kate McGarrigle's funeral on Monday. 
Kate McGarrigle, who with her sister Anna gained renown as folk music's McGarrigle Sisters, died two weeks ago of cancer at age 63. 
About 1,000 people packed Montreal's ornate Notre-Dame Basilica to bid a fond farewell to an artist many called down-to-earth and her son, Rufus 
Wainwright, summed up as "a free spirit." 
Although they choked with emotion when they described her, Rufus and his sister Martha's voices soared into the highest reaches of the church 
during musical tributes to their mother.
Others, including singer Emmylou Harris, who covered McGarrigle's music, also sang at a service that concluded with a rousing gospel anthem and a 
Celtic lament.
"Her music, hers and Anna's music, was very inspirational to me but once I got to know them it was their company that I loved," Harris said after the service. 
While music played a prominent role in the funeral, Kate McGarrigle's personal qualities as a person and a mother were highlighted by speaker 
after speaker.
"I will miss her smile, I will miss her hands," Rufus Wainwright told the congregation before he sat down at a piano set up a few metres from 
McGarrigle's flower-covered casket.
"I will miss her reckless humour," he said. "I will miss her fierce devotion to family and friends."
Martha Wainwright said that when she was growing up, "all my friends were jealous of me for having a mom that was so fun. She wanted to be in 
the game and have tea parties."
Martha Wainwright led a chorus of McGarrigle's last song, "Proserpina," and said she would always carry her mother in her thoughts and her heart. 
"If you don't run into her too often on the streets of your mind, she's with me," she said, her voice breaking. 
Sister-in-law Teddy Wainwright spoke lovingly of McGarrigle's musical talent and how everyone fell in love with her. 
She said the cancer that eventually took McGarrigle exhausted her and her last words were "leave me alone" to a friend who was trying to get 
her to take a sip of water moments before she died. 
The high-profile mourners included Quebec singer Michel Rivard and actress Monique Mercure, a longtime friend of the family who also delivered a tribute. 
Quebec songwriter Luc Plamondon said the memorial was one of the most moving he's ever seen. 
"She was a marvellous person," said Plamondon, who met McGarrigle in the 1970s "It was such a beautiful ceremony, very touching and her last song 
is incredibly beautiful. 
"Everybody had something beautiful to say about her." 
After his mother's casket was placed in the hearse to be taken away for burial, Rufus Wainwright told reporters he wanted to thank "everyone for 
their tremendous support and outpouring of love."
He also urged people to donate to support cancer research.
McGarrigle and Anna became known as the McGarrigle Sisters and began their careers performing at Montreal coffeehouses in the 1960s with a 
group called the Mountain City Four.
Their first album, "Kate and Anna McGarrigle," was released in 1975 to critical acclaim. It was selected as one of the best albums of the year 
by London's Melody Maker and the New York Times.
Some of their most well-known tunes included "The Work Song," "Cool River" and "Lying Song."
But they were perhaps best-known to Canadians for their distinctive rendition of Wade Hemsworth's "The Log Driver's Waltz," which was 
featured in a 1979 animated short done by the National Film Board.
In addition to Harris, other artists who covered McGarrigle's songs included Linda Ronstadt, Judy Collins, Elvis Costello and Billy Bragg. 
Kate McGarrigle was invested with the Order of Canada in 1994, and she and Anna received the Governor General's Performing Arts Award in 2004.
She was married to Loudon Wainwright during the 1970s. The singer paid tribute to his ex-wife while accepting a prize at Sunday's Grammy Awards 
in Los Angeles.
"I want to thank Kate McGarrigle, who taught me how to frail the banjo 40 years ago," Wainwright said as he accepted the Grammy for best 
traditional folk album. "Thank you very much." 

Copyright © 2010 The Canadian Press. All rights reserved

January 31  A little levity:
Traditional Music: The Difference between Bluegrass, Old Time and Celtic

The Music: Old Time and Celtic songs are about whiskey, food and struggle. Bluegrass songs are about God, mother and the girl who did me wrong. If the girl isn't
dead by the third verse, it ain't Bluegrass. If everyone dies, it is Celtic. Old Time and Celtic bands have nonsense names like 'Flogging Molly' 'Fruit
Jar Drinkers' and 'Skillet Lickers' while Bluegrass bands have serious gender-specific name like 'Bluegrass Boys,' 'Clinch Mountain Boys' and
'Backwoods Babes'. The most common Old Time keys are major and minor with only 5 notes (modal). Bluegrass uses these, plus Mixolydian and Dorian
modes, and a Celtic band adds Lydian and Phrygian modes. A Bluegrass band has between 1 and 3 singers who are singing about an octave above their
natural vocal range. Some Old Time and Celtic bands have no singers at all. If a Celtic band has a singer, it is usually either 1. a bewhiskered ex
sailor, or 2. a petite soprano. A Bluegrass band has a vocal orchestrator who arranges three part harmonies. In an Old Time band, anyone who feels
like it can sing or make comments during the performance. In a Celtic band, anyone who speaks during a performance gets 'the look', and songs are
preceded a call for silence and a detailed explanation of their cultural significance. Bluegrass tunes & songs last 3 minutes. Old Time and Celtic
tunes & songs can be any length, and sometimes last all night. 

The Instruments:

Banjo: A Celtic banjo is small and quiet. An Old Time banjo is open-backed, with an old towel (probably never washed) stuffed in the back to dampen sound. A
Bluegrass banjo has a resonator to make it louder. A Celtic banjo weighs 4 pounds, an Old Time banjo weighs 5 pounds, towel included and a Bluegrass
banjo weighs 40 pounds. A Bluegrass banjo player has had spinal fusion surgery on all his vertebrae, and therefore stands very straight. If an Old
Time banjo player stands, he slouches. A Celtic banjo player remains seated to maintain stability while cross-picking as fast as possible. An Old Time
banjo player can lose 3 right-hand fingers and 2 left-hand fingers in an industrial accident without affecting his performance. A Celtic banjo player
has a brace to relieve his carpal tunnel syndrome. A Celtic banjo has only 4 strings. A Bluegrass banjo has five strings and needs 24 frets. An Old Time
banjo needs no more than 5 frets, and some don't need any. A Celtic banjo player flat picks everything. A Bluegrass banjo player puts jewelry on his
fingertips to play. An Old Time banjo player puts super glue on his fingernails to strengthen them. Never shake hands with an Old Time banjo
player while he's fussing with his nails. 

Fiddle: Celtic and Bluegrass fiddles are tuned GDAE. An Old Time fiddle can be in a hundred different tunings. Old Time fiddlers seldom use more than two
fingers of their left hand, and uses tunings that maximize the number of open strings played. Celtic and Bluegrass fiddlers study 7th position
fingering patterns with Isaac Stern, and take pride in never playing an open string. An Old Time fiddle player can make dogs howl & incapacitate people
suffering from sciatic nerve damage. An Old Time fiddle player only uses a quarter of his bow. The rest is just wasted. The Bluegrass fiddler paid
$10,000 for his fiddle at the Violin Shop in Nashville. The Celtic fiddler inherited his fiddle from his mothers 2nd cousin in County Clare. The Old
Time fiddler got his for $15 at a yard sale.

Guitar: An Old Time guitarist knows the major chords in G and C, and owns a capo for A and D. A Bluegrass guitarist can play in E-flat without a capo. The
fanciest chord an Old Time guitarist needs is an A to insert between the G and the D7 chord. A Bluegrass or Celtic guitarist needs to know C#aug+7-4. A
Celtic guitarist keeps his picks in his pocket. Old Time guitarists stash extra picks under a rubber band around the top of the peg head. Bluegrass
guitarists would never cover any part of the peg head that might obscure the gilded label of their $3,000 guitar. 

Mandolin: It's possible to have an Old Time or Celtic band without a mandolin. Mandolin players spend half their time tuning their mandolin and the other
half of their time playing their mandolin out of tune. Old Time and Celtic mandolin players use 'A' model instruments (pear shaped) by obscure makers.
Bluegrass mandolin players use 'F' model Gibsons that cost $100 per decibel.

Bass: A Celtic band never has a bass, while a Bluegrass band always has a bass. An old, Old Time band doesn't have a bass, but new time Old Time bands seem to
need one for reasons that are unclear. A Bluegrass bass starts playing with the band on the first note. An Old Time bass, if present, starts sometime
after the rest of the band has run through the tune once depending on the players blood alcohol content. A Bluegrass bass is polished and shiny. An
Old Time bass is often used as yard furniture. 

Other Instruments: It is not possible to have a Celtic band without a tin whistle or Bodhran (hand drum) if not several too many of each. Old Time and Bluegrass bands
never have either. A Bluegrass band might have a Dobro. An Old Time band might have anything that makes noise including: a tambourine, jaw harp,
didgeridoo, harmonica, conga, wash tub bass, miscellaneous rattles & shakers, a 1 gallon jug (empty), or a lap (mountain) dulcimer or a hammered
dulcimer. In a Celtic band, it's the musicians that are hammered.

Instrumentation: Except for the guitar, all the instruments in a Celtic band play the melody all the time. In an Old Time band, anyone can play either melody or
accompaniment at any time. In Bluegrass bands one instrument at a time solos, and every else plays accompaniment. Bluegrass bands have carefully
mapped-out choreography due to the need to for solo breaks. If Old Time and Celtic band members move around, they tend to run into each other. Because
of this problem, Old Time and Celtic often sit down when performing, while a Bluegrass band always stands. Because they're sitting, Old Time and Celtic
bands have the stamina to play for a square or contra dance. The audience claps after each Bluegrass solo break. If anyone talks or claps near an Old
Time or Celtic band, it confuses them, even after the tune is over. 

Personalities, Stage Presence: Bluegrass band members wear uniforms, such as blue polyester suits with gray Stetson hats. Old Time bands wear jeans, sandals, work shirts and caps from
seed companies. Celtic bands wear tour tee-shirts with plaid touring caps. All this headwear covers bald spots. Chicks in Bluegrass bands have big hair
and Kevlar undergarments. Chicks in Old Time bands jiggle nicely under their overalls. There are no Chicks in Celtic bands, only Lassies with long skirts
and lacey, high collars and Wenches in apple-dumplings-on-a-shelf bodices and leather mini-skirts. A Bluegrass band tells terrible jokes while tuning.
An Old Time band tells terrible jokes without bothering to tune. Bluegrass band members never smile. Old Time band members will smile if you give them
a drink. A Celtic band is too busy drinking to smile, tune or tell jokes. Celtic musicians eat fish and chips, Bluegrass musicians eat barbecue ribs,
and Old Time musicians eat tofu. Bluegrass musicians have mild high frequency hearing loss from standing near the banjo player. Old Time
musicians have moderate high frequency hearing loss from sitting near the fiddler. Celtic musicians have advanced hearing loss from playing in small
pubs with all those fiddles, banjos, tin whistles and bodhrans.

Festivals: A Celtic band travels in an actual Greyhound bus with marginal air conditioning and then catches a ride from the bus stop to the festival
anyway they can. A Bluegrass band travels in an old converted Greyhound bus that idles in the parking lot all weekend with the air conditioner running
full blast, fumigating the county with diesel exhaust. The Celtic Band has their name on their instrument cases and a banner for their Easy-Up. The
bluegrass band's name and Inspirational Statement are painted on both the side and front of the bus in script lettering. An Old Time band travels in a
rusted-out 1965 VW microbus that blows an engine in North Nowhere, Nebraska. They don't have an Easy-Up, and it's pretty evident that their vehicles
don't have air conditioning. Bluegrass bumper stickers are in red, white and blue and have stars and/or stripes on them. Celtic bumper stickers display
banners and slogans from the old country. Old Time bumper stickers don't make any sense (e.g. 'Gid is My Co-Pilot?) Bluegrass players stay on the bus
and Celtic musicians at the nearest Motel 6 while Old Time musicians camp in the parking lot.

January 30
The radio show was a lot of fun this morning, although it went a little bit off the tracks once or twice. Playlist is up on the playlists page. The next two weeks in a row is the Fund Drive, and after that I'm gone for a couple of weeks so my pal Mark Humphrey will host the show for me. But don't worry, I'll be baaaack.

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.

In answer to all this new iPad technology, may I present a very funny ad from a bookstore in Toronto - with thanks to Tom A. for sending it:

TECHNOLOGICAL BREAKTHROUGH!

Introducing the new Bio-Optic Organized Knowledge device - “BOOK”

BOOK is a revolutionary breakthrough in technology; no wires, no electric circuits, no batteries, nothing to be connected or switched on.

It’s easy to use. Even a child can operate it.

Compact and portable, it can be used anywhere - even sitting in an armchair by the fire - yet it is powerful enough to hold as much as a CD-ROM.

BOOK is constructed of sequentially numbered sheets of paper (recyclable), each capable of holding thousands of bits of information. The pages are locked together with one of two different custom devices, a BINDER, or DOUBLE STITCH BINDING, which keep the sheets in their correct sequence. Opaque Paper Technology (OPT) allows manufacturers to use both sides of the sheet, doubling the information density.

Each sheet is scanned optically, registering information directly to your brain. A flick of the finger takes you to the next sheet.

BOOK never crashes nor requires rebooting. The ‘browse’ function allows instant movement to any sheet, forward or backward, as one wishes. Many come with an ‘index’ feature, which pinpoints the exact location of any selected information for instant retrieval.

Portable, durable and affordable, BOOK is being hailed as a precursor of a new entertainment wave. BOOK’s appeal seems so certain that thousands of content creators have committed to the platform and investors are reportedly flocking to the medium. Look for a flood of new BOOKS at …

 

Hospitalized Etta James battling Alzheimer's, infection, son says
By Alan Duke, CNN
January 29, 2010
Los Angeles, California (CNN) -- Singer Etta James is hospitalized for treatment of a serious infection, but her son said Friday he's more
concerned with her Alzheimer's diagnosis.
James, 72, was diagnosed with MRSA -- a bacterial infection resistant to many antibiotics -- by doctors at a Los Angeles hospital where she
was admitted for treatment last week, Donto James told CNN.
Life has been difficult for James, best known for her 1961 hit "At Last," since she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease a year ago, he said.
"Right now she is very confused," her son said.
He described his mother as "quite combative ... fighting, biting -- I'm talking way off the chart."
"I am going to end up losing my mother if it keeps going on like this," he said.
Donto James said he's hoping for more information about his mother's condition.
"There has to be another doctor out there who can tell me what is going on with my mother," he said.
Etta James' illness, he said, led her to the controversial comments at a concert a year ago where she suggested pop star Beyonce should be
"whipped" for singing "At Last" for President Obama's inaugural ball.
"I can't stand Beyonce," she told a Seattle, Washington, audience. "She has no business up there, singing up there on a big old president
day, gonna be singing my song that I've been singing forever."
She was upset about the inaugural, her son said, because "mother was supposed to be hired, but she wasn't well."
He said she was also suffering from "drug-induced dementia," a result of painkiller medications for a back injury. She has stopped taking
the drugs, he said.
Her son, who plays in Etta James' band, said he's been frustrated because they've had to cancel several important shows -- including one
last summer at the Hollywood Bowl.
"I want my mother back onstage again," he said. "I know it can happen."
Donto James said he was talking freely to CNN about his mother's medical problems because he's hoping someone can help him understand
what is going on.
"It's 2010 and we should know something, should be able to diagnose," he said.
http://www.cnn.com/2010/SHOWBIZ/Music/01/29/etta.james.hospitalized/index.html?hpt=Sbin

January 27
Tonight I went out (wow, two nights in a row - I'm turning into a social butterfly in my old age) to hear some pals play bluegrass at a Mexican restaurant called Viva Fresh in Burbank. Bill Bryson, Tom and Patrick Sauber, and Herb Pedersen just tore it up. SO good to hear them live. Herb claims that he is going to come on my show sometime with a bunch of records and guest host with me. We Shall See. Musicians don't generally know that there IS a 6:00 a.m. - but then Tom and Patrick made it, so who knows?

Eliza's two bottom front teeth are making their appearance. And Kate is making the switch to bottle-feeding even as we speak!

My brother-in law Tim died yesterday morning, less than two weeks after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

Jim and I went out last night to a Mexican place in Pasadena called Mijares. The occasion, not that we need one, was the presence in town of our  pal Jurgen, visiting from Texas ; he's out here for just a few days, so he had invited several of his friends who live locally to all have dinner with him at once, thereby getting the most bang for his socializing buck, so to speak. Apparently Sir Paul McCartney is a regular at Mijares, as there are photos of him on the walls with some of the mariachi musicians who play there on weekends. He has been known, Jim says, to sit in with the band!

I had my tax prep appointment today after work; earlier than usual, but I needed to get it done before going out of town. The news was about what I expected; I am making less money and having higher expenses than last year. Am I surprised?

January 24
Josh and Kate took Eliza to Chicago this week to meet her "cousin," my other son John's daughter Olivia, aged five weeks. They came back today, and I met their flight at LAX and took them home. Eliza actually smiled when she saw me! Guess she missed her grandma.

There's been an amazing response to the earthquake in Haiti. The Red Cross and other international aid workers were pouring in there the minute they got the airport open. There've been benefits, telethons, and you can even donate money by sending a text message. Superstars are donating a million here and there. But I wonder - where was all this support when Katrina hit, the levees broke and New Orleans was drowning?

Cool video du jour: thank to Lou Curtiss for this. Big Joe Turner with Otis Rush, Little Brother Monttgomery and Fred Below. Amazing!

I had a senora moment this weekend; I lost my car keys while I was out running errands. Came out of a store in Glendale, laden with packages, and oops, no keys. Auto Club came and unlocked the car for me, and there were the keys, slipped down between the driver's side seat and the door. That's an hour of my life that I'll never get back.

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 21
Just learned that Gerald "Jerry" McCabe, founder of McCabe's Guitar Shop in Santa Monica, died on Sunday, January 17; he had had Alzheimer's for a long time, but actually died of a heart attack. A memorial/celebration for his friends in the So Cal area is pending.

Jennifer and Bruce were in a car accident last night - they got rear-ended on a rain-slicked street but both are okay. The roads are soaking wet here and there are lots of accidents; I'm grateful it was no worse. Yes, I know she's a grownup, but believe me when I tell you that "mom" has no expiration date. No matter how old your children are, your heart still stops when you get that kind of message, trust me.

January 19
Not only is this coming Saturday (January 23) Django Reinhardt's 100th birthday, but January 28th will be National Kazoo Day. [And Jennifer's eyes roll, and she sighs "oh, God, my mom is SUCH a dork."] I'm collecting songs that feature kazoos as the "lead" instrument, and am going to inflict them on - e...r - I mean play them on the radio show. How can anyone not love Tampa Red? THe Jim Kweskin Jug Band? And so forth?
Sad news: Kate McGarrigle has died.

Ahh, insurance companies. My friend who recently had leg surgery ended up paying nearly a thousand dollars out of pocket to get the medication he needed to (potentially) save his life. The insurance company would not pay for it - but they told him to submit a claim after the fact and they would see what they could do. Yeah, sure. I'm taking him back to the hospital tomorrow for a followup ultrasound on his leg to see how things are progressing; he may be cleared to drive a car after that if all is well.
 
It rained most of the night, a couple of times so heavily that the noise woke me up. I love listening to it rain - as long as I'm inside where it's warm, that is!

January 18
Jennifer is trying to teach me how to do Facebook. I don't quite understand the need for it but since my kids all have it I guess I had better be dragged kicking and screaming into the new millennium.

No rain in my house, fortunately, but my office kitchen sprang a series of drips today that had me running for pots and pans. Mitch looked at it and said it doesn't seem serious. I think this rain is a Good Thing, though of course not not for the folks who live in the recent burn areas and now have houses full of mud.

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 17


January 14
A good friend  of mine had surgery on his leg the other day, and it went a bit awry; the solution, said the doctor, was for him to take a one week series of self-administered injections of a blood thinner. Doctor wrote prescription, we took prescription to the pharmacy, and were told that they could not fill the prescription because his insurance company denied payment. Now, this is a needed, prescribed medicine to avert a possibly life threatening condition called deep vein thrombosis. This so-called insurance, by the way, is paid half by my friend and the other half by his employer, and their consistent policy is to deny claims across the board. So both he and his employer are paying for nothing. The doctor was outraged, and went so far as to call the insurance company, who said that the only way they would pay for it was if it was ordered from a pharmacy in Colorado and sent through the mail!!  This not only makes no sense, but is actually endangering his life; what if he gets a blood clot while waiting for the post office to get around to delivering the package, or it gets lost in the mail? It's so many kinds of wrong and I am SO angry I just can't tell you.  I hope the insurance company doesn't try to deny payment for the surgery itself or I am going to have to organize a benefit concert to pay that bill, which will be in the seriously huge category.

While I was at the hospital I called Josh and asked him to go to my place and pack me a bag of some things I needed to stay there overnight. On the way to deliver it to me the undercarriage fell off his car on the freeway! He's fine, Auto Club came, just a pain in the neck and a repair bill he can't really afford.

Big rain supposedly coming this Sunday and staying for about a week. We need it.

This weekend I'm going to the NAMM show on Saturday right after the radio show, and visiting with my ex-husband, who will be working in a booth there; boy, I sure do miss John Pearse at NAMM time. And as soon as I get home from that Eliza is coming over to babysit me so that Josh and Kate can have an evening out. It's only a fee more weeks till the KPFK Fund Drive starts up again; I never know from moment to moment how long they're going to keep me around, so I hope the show does well in the pledge department.

Bobby Charles, Louisiana songwriter, dies at 71
By Keith Spera, The Times-Picayune
January 14, 2010, 1:39PM
http://www.nola.com/music/index.ssf/2010/01/bobby_charles_louisiana_songwr.html
Robert “Bobby” Charles Guidry, the gifted, reclusive southwest Louisiana songwriter who crafted hits for Fats Domino, Frogman Henry and Bill Haley & the Comets, died early Thursday
after collapsing at home, his manager said. He was 71.
Known professionally as Bobby Charles, he wrote “Walking to New Orleans,” one of the most beloved songs in Domino’s catalog; “(I Don’t  Know Why I Love You) But I Do,” an enduring
classic by Henry; and “See You Later Alligator,” a smash for Haley in the early years of rock ‘n’roll.
He counted Bob Dylan, Neil Young, Willie Nelson and James Taylor among his friends and fans. A reluctant performer, he largely disappeared from the public eye after participating in
the Band’s legendary 1976 farewell concert “The Last Waltz.” He preferred to release the occasional album while living anonymously outside Abbeville, an enigma whose songs were more
famous than he was.
Mr. Charles initially agreed to a “comeback” performance at the 2007 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival presented by Shell, only to beg off at the last minute, citing health issues.
Mac “Dr. John” Rebennack, Marcia Ball, guitarist Sonny Landreth and other fans performed his songs in his absence.
Mr. Charles grew up poor in Abbeville. His father drove a truck for a gas company, delivering 50-gallon fuel drums to far-flung farms. At 14, he joined a band that entertained at high school
dances around Abbeville.
“Nobody in my family wanted me to get into the music business, but I always loved it,” he said during a 2007 interview. “The first time I heard Hank Williams and Fats Domino, it just
knocked me down. When I was a kid, I used to pray to be a songwriter like them. My prayers were answered, I guess.”
Leaving a cafe one night, Mr. Charles bid farewell to friends with “see you later, alligator.” As the cafe door closed behind him, a drunken stranger replied, “after ‘while, crocodile.” Not sure
he heard correctly, he went back inside and asked the stranger to repeat it. That couplet inspired him to write “See You Later Alligator.” He sang it over the phone and landed a recording
contract, sight unseen, from Chicago blues and R&B label Chess Records. The company’s owners assumed he was black until he stepped off the plane in Chicago.
As a burgeoning teen idol, he hit the road with other Chess artists, the only white guy on the bus. Not all audiences appreciated such integration. The threats soured him on touring. So did
the occasional bullet fired his way.
“I never wanted to be a star,” he said. “I’ve got enough problems, I promise you. If I could make it just writing, I’d be happy. Thank God I’ve been lucky enough to have a lot of people do my songs.”
In the 1970s, Mr. Charles wrote a song called “The Jealous Kind.” Joe Cocker recorded it in 1976, followed by Ray Charles, Delbert McClinton, Etta James and Johnny Adams. Kris Kristofferson
and Gatemouth Brown covered Mr. Charles’ “Tennessee Blues,” as did newcomer Shannon McNally. Muddy Waters recorded “Why Are People Like That”; so did Houma guitarist Tab Benoit
on his Grammy-nominated 2006 album “Brother to the Blues.”
He could not play an instrument or read music. Songs popped into his head, fully formed. To capture them, he’d sing into the nearest answering machine; sometimes he’d call home from
a convenience store pay phone.
“I can hear all the chords up here,” he said, pointing to his brain, “but I can’t tell you what they are.”
In his younger years, he ran around with the likes of Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Willie Nelson, and raised all kinds of hell. His rogue’s resume included scrapes with the law, a busted marriage,
and too much of too many things.
“To love and lose -- I know that pain,” he said. “And cocaine killed so many of my friends. (The Band pianist) Richard Manuel hung himself. (Blues harmonica ace) Paul Butterfield OD’d.”
For a time in the 1970s, he laid low in Woodstock, N.Y. But mostly Charles holed up in the bosom of south Louisiana, waiting for the next song to come along.
Or the next calamity.
For years, he lived on the Vermilion River outside Maurice, La. In the mid-’90s, his house burned to the ground with all his earthly possessions.
With nowhere else to go, he moved into a trailer on the grounds of Dockside Studios in Maurice. Despondent, he hit the road with one of his four sons and washed up at Holly Beach, a
forgotten hamlet with 300 permanent residents on the Gulf of Mexico southwest of Lake Charles.
“I’m a Pisces. I love water,” he said. “There’s nothing like a wave to wash away your problems and clean out your mind. Well, it doesn’t wash ‘em away, but it helps.”
He bought a house facing the Gulf, and the two houses next door, to eliminate the possibility of neighbors. He also snapped up the surrounding lots to protect his view.
In Holly Beach, Mr. Charles disappeared for a decade. But in the summer of 2005, Hurricane Rita found him. He escaped just ahead of the storm, then later returned to find his house had
washed away.
He moved to a two-bedroom trailer amid the grand oaks of an eight acre property outside Abbeville. He kept his address and phone number secret, and cast a wary eye toward strangers and acquaintances alike.
“They all want to meet Bob Dylan or Willie Nelson. They say, ‘Man, I got a song for Bob Dylan.’ I think Bob Dylan writes most of his own. So does Willie. I don’t even sing any of mine to them.
"Some people have to depend on somebody else to make a living. And that gets tiresome, man, carrying a load like that. It gets to the point where you’re afraid to open your mouth in front
of anybody.”
Despite being swindled out of publishing rights and shares of his songwriting credits years ago, his annual royalties afforded him a comfortable living. When, for instance, Frogman Henry’s
version of “But I Do” landed on the “Forrest Gump” soundtrack, Mr. Charles received a royalty check.
Mr. Charles was happiest in the studio. In 2003, he and his manager, Jim Bateman, gathered recordings spanning 20 years for the double-CD “Last Train to Memphis,” released via Charles’
own Rice ‘n Gravy Records. Special guests included Neil Young, Fats Domino, Willie Nelson, Delbert McClinton and Maria Muldaur.
Mr. Charles’ voice, graced with a slight, Randy Newman-esque drawl, was still strong, as was his gift for pairing lyrics and melody. He was due to release a new album, "Timeless," next month.
Co-produced by Mr. Charles and Rebennack, it contained mostly new songs, and was dedicated to Domino.
In recent weeks, Mr. Charles was intensely focused on finishing the record. "He kept saying, 'I've got to get this out. I want to hold it in my hands,'" said Jim Bateman, Mr. Charles' manager
for the past three decades. "It's like he had a premonition."
Mr. Charles saw the final design for the album's artwork, but died weeks before its scheduled Feb. 23 release.
Had he lived, he was unlikely to hit the road to promote his new CD. In recent years, he tended to keep to himself. Most days, he ate alone at an Abbeville seafood joint where the waitress
mixed his preferred cocktail -- a Grey Goose martini on the rocks -- as he parked his car.
“I don’t really have anybody,” Mr. Charles said in 2007. “I just don’t have a whole lot in common with the people I went to school with. I still love them as my friends, but I don’t have
anything to say to ‘em. They wouldn’t believe half the (stuff) that happened to me anyway.
“But when I get around Mac Rebennack or Fats or somebody like that, then I’m in my world.”

January 8
Fred Gerlach has died. Got this from Lou Curtiss at Folk Arts Rare Records in San Diego:
I don't know if you knew Fred or not. I had him play at a couple of the old Folk Festivals & also at The Roots Festivals & Street Fairs more recently. Fred had lots of stories about the New York 
folk scene in the early 50's (Woody used to stay with him & Tiney Ledbetter from time to time). It's too bad no one from Sing Out ever interviewed him about those days. He showed me letters 
that Woody had written him in the early 50s. Gave me copies of at least one. I think Fred had some kind of falling out with the People's Song folk way back when. I know he didn't like Irwin 
Silber much. I don't think Fred ever got the reputation that was due him & maybe some of that was his own fault, but he sure was one hell of a guitarist. -Lou Curtiss

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 5
If I seem to be posting less frequently it's just because I'm incredibly busy right now. This is a very busy time at my office, plus I am doing some preliminary prep for my long train journey across America next month, plus am trying to pull together all the paperwork for a visit to my tax preparer, which has to happen before I leave town. The kids are good, Eliza is great, all is well. I'm just, you know, busy.

Didn't get to see Tim Eriksen; his show at the Coffee Gallery was cancelled, because his flight was cancelled, because wherever he was coming here from was buried in snow. It may have been London, as Ian was supposed to leave today for a visit home to London family and friends but his flight was cancelled and he had to stay here. So Jim went over to hang out with him, and they did -- are still doing as I type this -- a radio show together on an internet station called www.luxuria.music.com. Ian's show is every Wednesday from 8-10 p.m. Pacific Time.  I saw Mike Katz of the Battlefield Band yesterday, and he was hoping that HIS flight back to the UK was going to be cancelled so he could have a few more days here in the sunshine! Don't know what happened with that.

Jean Ritchie, who as I mentioned earlier had a stroke in early December, has now been moved out of the hospital and into a long term care facility. Her family is happy to receive mail for her, and all will be read to her. So if you would like to drop her a card, share some memories or just say thanks to this great lady of folk music, the address is:

Jean Ritchie
Woodmere Rehabilitation & Health Care Center
121 Franklin Place, Room 226A
Woodmere, NY 11598

January 4
~~Thanks to Tom A. for the heads up

Video of Will Shade & Charlie Burse (Son Brimmer) has surfaced.

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...
 

January 2
Great  Youtube video du jour - Chinese bluegrass, sort of. Wonderful stuff!

December 28

Well-known fiddler killed in car crash
By LAURA FRASER Cape Breton Bureau
Cape Breton fiddler Douglas (Dougie) MacDonald died Saturday when his SUV went off the road barely an hour after he shared the stage with several acclaimed local musicians in Cheticamp.
Mr. MacDonald was 41.
He grew up in Inverness County in a household filled with music, cousin Howie MacDonald said Monday.
"So he started playing at a very young age," the renowned Cape Breton fiddler said of his relative. "He was a fine composer, too. He could really write tunes."
Notable artists like the Barra MacNeils and Leahy recorded and performed some of the more than 150 songs written by Mr. MacDonald, his cousin said.
RCMP are still waiting for the results of an autopsy performed on Mr. MacDonald, Cpl. Lisa McKay said Monday.
He lost control of the SUV he was driving near Cap Le Moine on the Cabot Trail, police said in a media release. His vehicle ended up in a field.
Mr. MacDonald, the sole occupant of the SUV, was pronounced dead at the scene, according to police.
Cpl. McKay said weather conditions are not believed to have played a role in the crash.
"At the location of the accident, the pavement was dry and bare," she said.
She said RCMP do not yet know whether drugs or alcohol were involved, or if the SUV suffered a mechanical problem. Specialists will examine the vehicle this week, Cpl. McKay said.
Mr. MacDonald had been playing the fiddle at the Doryman Tavern in Cheticamp for a midday ceilidh. He shared the stage with some of Cape Breton’s most well-known musicians, including Hilda Chiasson-Cormier, Robbie Fraser and Howie MacDonald.
"I talked to him for a good 20 minutes right before he left," tavern manager Christina Roberts said.
"So when I got the news, it was definitely a shock. He had been talking about plans that he had music-wise. He’d wanted to go to Nashville."
Ms. Roberts said the fiddler told her he planned to focus on songwriting during the next year.
Mr. MacDonald had released three albums and was in the process of recording several others, his cousin said.
The Inverside man leaves behind his wife, Laureen, and son, Liam.
"He was a great father. He loved his little boy. He used to take him to his hockey," Howie MacDonald said. "And he was very generous with his music."

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.

December 24
Two sad pieces of news today. English singer Tim Hart (Steeleye Span and more) died today of lung cancer.  And the following report from the New York Times:

Vic Chesnutt, Singer, Is in a Coma By BEN SISARIO
Vic Chesnutt, a singer-songwriter from Athens, Ga., beloved by fans and critics for his disarmingly open songs about mortality and pain, is in a coma, his family has confirmed. They did not say what caused the coma. News about Mr. Chesnutt’s condition spread through the Internet on Wednesday through posts on Twitter by the singer Kristin Hersh, who has played with him.
Mr. Chesnutt, 45, has been in a wheelchair since a car accident when he was 18, and was discovered in the late 1980s by Michael Stipe of R.E.M., who produced his first two albums. Since then Mr. Chesnutt has released at least a dozen more albums, including two this year, “At the Cut” and “Skitter on Take-Off.”
In a review of a recent concert in New York, Jon Pareles noted that Mr. Chesnutt’s songs contemplate “not just mortality but also the broader inevitability of collapse and decay.”

December 21
A new book about Lightnin' Hopkins:

Lightnin' Hopkins: His Life and Blues by Alan Govenar
Chicago Review Press.
Publication: May 2010
By the time of his death in 1982, Sam "Lightnin'" Hopkins was likely the most recorded blues artist in history. This brilliant new biography--the
first book ever written about him--illuminates a man of many contradictions. He poured out his feelings in his songs, but it was hard to tell if he was
truly sincere. He appeared to trust no one, yet he knew how to endear himself to his audience, whether he was playing for black audiences in
Houston¹s Third Ward or for white crowds at the Matrix in San Francisco or in the concert halls of Europe.
Born in 1912 on a small farm to a poor, sharecropping family in the cotton country between Dallas and Houston, Hopkins left home when he was only nine
years old with a guitar his brother had given to him. Picking cotton was not what he wanted to do, so he made his living however he could, sticking to
the open road, playing the blues and taking odd jobs when money was short. This biography delves into Hopkins¹ early years, debunking the myths
surrounding his meetings with Blind Lemon Jefferson and Texas Alexander, his time on a chain gang, his women, and his life-long appetite for gambling and
drinking.
Hopkins didn¹t begin recording until 1946, when he was dubbed "Lightnin'" during his first session, and he soon joined Muddy Waters and John Lee
Hooker on the national charts. But by the time he was "rediscovered" by Mack McCormick and Sam Charters in 1959, his popularity had begun to wane. A
second career emerged--now Lightnin¹ was pitched to white audiences, not black ones, and he became immensely successful, singing about his country
roots and the injustices that informed the civil rights era with a searing emotive power.
More than a decade in the making, this biography is based on scores of interviews with Lightnin's relatives, friends, lovers, producers,
accompanists, managers, and fans.
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
  Acknowledgments 
  Introduction
1 Early Years 
2 Travels with Texas Alexander
3 The Move to Houston
4 Rediscovery 
5 The Blues Revival Heats Up
6 The Touring Intensifies
7 Mojo Hand: An Orphic Tale
8 An Expanding Audience
9 The Last Decade 
  Discography
  Selected Bibliography

Here's a list of youtube fun:

Sleepy John Estes http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-DGNLmFsJg
Robert Nighthawk http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oypAbJj-fEs
Fred McDowell http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9TyzAAwJnIw
Joe Maphis http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oi4W3qH4xxs
Jenks Tex Carman http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_T-YqkIGgs
Dezurik Sisters http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IGJH6dHnLMk&feature=related
Dezuriks again http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=51UXGg9raGU&feature=related
Dezuriks `Guitar Blues’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xQgMicDRCsU&feature=related
Dezuriks `I Left Her Standing There’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6uvKXEz2V3Q&feature=related
Carolina Cotton http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRSnkkIfR9M&feature=related
Pee Wee King `Oh Monah’ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Upwbn9n_0E
Carl Butler http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5iI06sunD8
CB & Pearl: Great hair, weird set http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TlrNSVy70CU&feature=related
Onie Wheeler http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YdT-GFeGspI
Goldie Hill `Cry Cry Darlin’(Bill Monroe backing her on mandolin!) ] http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XbMRMYSOEU&feature=related
Jean Shepard http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuk4GX-7AW4&feature=related
Noel Boggs http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANdaxop0QzI&feature=related
Thumbs Carlisle/Curly Chalker http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHBdUuYKM6I&feature=related
West & Bryant http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TuGvIVnWnTM&feature=related
TN Ernie Ford w/West/Bryant http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EaX1NkE3rmk&feature=related
Del Reeves from a movie http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAkiiTdQorA
Johnny Paycheck http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUhhDrSRLxQ&feature=related
Wilburn Bros. & Loretta Lynn http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vOlCK9tahPc
Osborne Bros. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E6tuCWd_vM4
Louvin Bros. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6sZQAEd7H8U&feature=related
Skeets McDonald
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMr77KL9bBY&feature=related


December 18
I Googled the weather report for North Dakota, where Jennifer and Bruce are going on Christmas Day, and it was 7 degrees in Bismark and a
toasty 14 in Fargo. Better them than me! Brrrr!

Last night Jim and I went out for Adventures In Fine Dining with Ian and Regina. We were supposed to go to the Tam-O-Shanter, but when Jim called it was all booked up, so Ian and Regina suggested a place near them in Pasadena called Beckham's Restaurant and Pub. When we got there Ian and Regina were already in the bar, sipping martinis and playing backgammon, a game that it took me about ten seconds of observing to realize I was never going to be able to learn. So Ian and I went and got our table and Jim and Regina played backgammon, she kicked his butt, and then they joined us. Now folks, I ordered,  and they all heard me, the smallest cut of prime rib that they offered, but what came out was the size of a dinner plate. When I pointed this out to the waitress she shrngged and said, don't worry about it, you're only getting charged for the small portion. It was terrific, as were the Yorkshire pudding and creamed spinach and creamed corn that came with it. I had something called Porcupine Shrimp for starters, and Jim and I shared an amazingly rich piece of chocolate cake for afters. And I had the other half of everything for lunch today, warmed up in the microwave at my office! Jim, by previous arrangement, picked up the whole check as he was treating us all for the holidays, but I'm not going to let him get away with that very often! During dinner I complimented Ian on his book, and meant it - made a few minor suggestions for tweaking, but he had already found and corrected most of the inconsistencies.  He has a meeting coming up with a publisher of substance, and my fingers are crossed for him.

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 17
The American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress (AFC) announces that a webcast of the "Legends and Legacies" concert is now available on line -- please visit http://www.loc.gov/today/cyberlc/feature_wdesc.php?rec=4778
The concert, presented as part of the symposium "Legends and Legacies: An American Folklife Center Celebration of Public Folklore," was held September 10, 2009, in celebration of folklorist Joe Wilson and the National Council for the Traditional Arts (NCTA) Collection, which was recently acquired by the AFC. During the evening event Joe Wilson received a Living Legend Award from the Librarian of Congress with a tribute by Representative David Obey (D-WI). Performers include Bill McComiskey, Brendan Mulvihill, Tom Mauchahty-Ware, The New Ballard's Branch Bogtrotters, The Sweet Heaven Kings, and Phil Wiggins.

December 16
Quote du jour: In my many years I have come to the conclusion that one useless man is a shame, two is a law firm, and three or more is a congress. ~ John Adams

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.

From Ken Irwin at Rounder Records:
Phyllis Boyens Liptak passed away on on Wednesday December 9th. The daughter of old-time singer and songwriter Nimrod Workman, Phyllis Boyens was a soulful mountain singer who recorded her only solo album, "I Really Care" for Rounder in 1983. Half the album was country, the other half bluegrass backed up by the Johnson Mountain Boys. The following year she recorded a number of songs as part of the album,"They'll Never Keep Her Down," a compilation of songs by women about coal mining. On this album, she was backed up by the short lived bluegrass band The Dreadful Snakes which included Bela Fleck and Jerry Douglas. In 1980, she played Loretta Lynn's mother in the movie "Coal Miner's Daughter" and in 1984 she appeared in the TV movie, "The Doll Maker."

December 15
Folksinger Jean Ritchie, age 87, has had a stroke. This is from Susie Glaze:
Friends,
I just got word that Jean Ritchie suffered a stroke on December 4th and has been in the hospital on Long Island since then.  Yesterday, Sunday, the 13th, her condition took a turn for
the worst and she is now in the ICU on oxygen and a feeding tube.  She just celebrated her birthday on Dec. 12th, turning 87 years old. Please keep the wondrous and great Jean
Ritchie and her family in your prayers now. Thank you.
Susie

And from Jean's son Jon Pickow:
Thank you so very much for all of your concern, prayers and good wishes at this time. Dad has read all of your messages as well, and wanted me to tell you all how much he appreciates your concern as well.
We are going to see her in a little while. When I get home, I'll post an update. For now, we're not sure how much she will recover. She suffered a pontine stroke (in the pons area of the brain stem). Last week she was in a regular hospital room, and was spelling some words with an alphabet board. She was able to say a few simple things. She then took a turn for the worse and became less responsive. We just heard today that she was following requests to move her limbs, and that she opens her eyes and is able to follow with them, which is a big improvement over yesterday. We remain hopeful and optimistic.
Thanks again for all of your good thoughts, Jon
P.S. More later.
 
And a subsequent update 12/15/09 from Jean's son Jon Pickow:
Update: She opened her eyes when she heard dad's voice, and looked very definitely at both of us. People who know about such things will realize that this is very important. We asked her to move her feet, and she was able to do that. Also, a little later, I asked her if she was cold, and she shook her head for "no."

December 12
The new documentary about Phil Ochs has been completed. The trailers on the web site show clips of interviews with Pete Seeger, Joan Baez
and Peter Yarrow, as well as some great old footage of Phil performing.

December 10

December 10, 2009
John Storm Roberts, World-Music Scholar, Dies at 73
By MARGALIT FOX
John Storm Roberts, an English-born writer, record producer and independent scholar whose work explored the rich, varied and often 
surprising ways in which the popular music of Africa and Latin America informed that of the United States, died on Nov. 29 in Kingston, N.Y. He 
was 73 and lived in Kingston.
The cause was complications of a blood clot, his wife, Anne Needham, said.
Long before the term was bandied about, Mr. Roberts was listening to, seeking out and reporting on what is now called world music. He wrote 
several seminal books on the subject for a general readership, most notably "Black Music of Two Worlds" (Praeger, 1972) and "The Latin 
Tinge: The Impact of Latin American Music on the United States" (Oxford University, 1979).
"Black Music of Two Worlds" examines the cross-pollination - in both directions - between Africa and the Americas, from the influence of 
African music on jazz, blues, salsa and samba to the popularity in Nigeria and Zaire of American artists like James Brown and Jimi Hendrix.
In writing the book, Mr. Roberts sought to connect a diffuse web of existing studies by ethnomusicologists. The studies typically appraised 
local musical traditions while ignoring the reach of Africa as a whole.
"It was like a landscape with a large number of artesian wells, and nothing linking them," he told The New York Times in 1992. "And I 
conceived of 'Black Music of Two Worlds' being more like canals  joining."
In "The Latin Tinge," Mr. Roberts trained his ear on the influence of musical forms like tango, rumba, mambo and salsa on a wide range of 
American pop styles, among them ragtime, Tin Pan Alley, rhythm and blues, jazz, country and rock.
Reviewing the book in The New York Times Book Review, Robert Palmer called it a "painstaking, pioneering" work, adding: " 'The Latin Tinge' 
is an important addition to the literature of American music."
John Anthony Storm Roberts was born in London on Feb. 24, 1936. His father, an accountant who often traveled abroad on business, brought him 
records that were then scarcely available in England: jazz and blues from the United States, Brazilian music by way of Portugal and much 
else. By the time he was in his early teens, John was irretrievably mesmerized by the sounds that leapt from his turntable.
A polyglot who came to speak more than half a dozen languages, including Swahili, Mr. Roberts received a bachelor's degree in modern languages 
from Oxford University. In the mid-1960s he spent several years in Kenya as a reporter and editor on The East African Standard, a regional 
newspaper. Returning to London, he was a radio producer with the BBC World Service.
Mr. Roberts moved to the United States in 1970, becoming an editor on the periodical Africa Report. He was later a freelance journalist, 
contributing articles on world music to The Village Voice and other publications.
In the early 1980s, Mr. Roberts and Ms. Needham started Original Music, a mail-order company that distributed world-music books and records. In 
those pre-Internet days, Americans outside big cities found these almost as hard to come by as young Mr. Roberts had in postwar England.
In business for nearly two decades, Original Music also released many well-received albums of its own. Among them are "The Sound of Kinshasa," 
featuring Zairian guitar music; "Africa Dances," an anthology of music from more than a dozen countries; and "Songs the Swahili Sing," devoted 
to the music of Kenya, an aural kaleidoscope of African, Arab and Indian sounds.
Mr. Roberts's first marriage, to Jane Lloyd, ended in divorce. Besides Ms. Needham, whom he married in 1981, he is survived by two children 
from his first marriage, Stephen and Alice Roberts; three stepchildren, Melissa, Elizabeth and Stephen Keiper; two grandchildren; and three 
step-grandchildren.
His other books include "Latin Jazz: The First of the Fusions, 1880s to Today" (Schirmer, 1999) and "A Land Full of People: Life in Kenya Today" 
(Praeger, 1968).
In choosing what to release on the Original Music label, Mr. Roberts did not disdain modern, popular numbers: by his lights, a song simply had to 
be good. This distinguished him from musicological purists who, in ceaseless quest for the authentic, recorded only material seemingly 
untouched by modernity.
In an interview with The Los Angeles Times in 1987, Mr. Roberts illuminated his selection process.
"I don't care how esoteric it is, but it's got to be terrific," he said. "Not this 
'you-can't-hear-it-and-it's-terribly-performed-but-it's-really-very-interesting-because-it's-the-only-winkle-gathering-song-to-come-out-of-southeastern-Sussex' 
attitude."
Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company 

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.

December 4
From the New York Times:

December 5, 2009
Liam Clancy, Last of the Folk Group, Dies at 74
By BRUCE WEBER

Liam Clancy, an Irish troubadour and the last surviving member of the singing Clancy Brothers, who found fame in the United States and helped 
spread the popularity of Irish folk music around the world, died on Thursday in Cork, Ireland. He was 74.
His death was announced by his family and reported on the Web site www.liamclancy.com. He had been treated for pulmonary fibrosis, a lung 
disease, The Associated Press reported.
Wearing white Aran sweaters, the Clancy Brothers, joined by a fellow Irishman, Tommy Makem, won fans with musicality, sentimentality and 
irreverence, not unlike the Smothers Brothers a few years later, though without their penchant for patter.
Both authentic Irish and expatriate Irish, they were cultural crossovers, and, for a while, celebrities. When they were criticized, it 
was as the epitome of staged Irishness, as a documentary about Liam Clancy put it.
Mr. Clancy played guitar, sang in a bell-clear baritone, wore a friendly, slightly roguish expression and exuded a humorous 
world-weariness that made him beloved by his countrymen as quintessentially Irish. But he and his musical clan made their name in America.
It was in 1956 that Mr. Clancy, then 20 or 21 and intending to be an actor, immigrated to the United States, joining two of his older 
brothers, Tom and Paddy, in New York. He achieved some success as an actor; he and Tom starred as prison guards in a well-received stage 
dramatization of the Frank O'Connor story "The Guests of the Nation," and he appeared on Broadway in a short-lived production of James 
Costigan's "Little Moon of Alban."
In the meantime, the brothers and Mr. Makem, a friend of Liam's who had also immigrated, began singing together, performing rowdy and 
sentimental Irish folk tunes at clubs and fund-raisers and developing a local following. They recorded on a label established by Paddy Clancy, 
and in the early 1960s, billed as the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, they made a career-changing appearance on "The Ed Sullivan Show." They 
soon found themselves in the midst of the folk music revolution, touring and recording several albums.
Liam Clancy lived in Greenwich Village, where he befriended another young folk singer, Bob Dylan. They dated a pair of sisters, Mr. Clancy 
told interviewers. Recalling that time in an interview on Irish television two years ago, Mr. Clancy said that he, a Roman Catholic from 
rural Ireland, and Mr. Dylan, a Jew from a small Minnesota town, shared an important quality.
"People who were trying to escape repressed backgrounds, like mine and Bob Dylan's, were congregating in Greenwich Village," he said. "It was a 
place you could be yourself, where you could get away from the directives of the people who went before you, people who you loved but 
who you knew had blinkers on."
Mr. Dylan told an interviewer in 1984: "I never heard a singer as good as Liam ever. He was just the best ballad singer I'd ever heard in my 
life. Still is, probably."
Liam Clancy was born on Sept. 2, 1935, the youngest of 11 children, in Carrick-on-Suir, in County Tipperary, Ireland. The family was musical, 
but he was especially drawn to the stage, and he founded a local dramatic society as a teenager. He came to America at the behest of 
Diane Hamilton Guggenheim, a folklorist who was touring Ireland on a song-collecting project that brought her to the Clancy home. Through Ms. 
Guggenheim he met Mr. Makem, whose mother, Sarah, was a well-known singer.
Mr. Clancy set off on a solo career in 1973. He lived for a time in Calgary, Alberta, where he had his own television show. Later, he and 
Mr. Makem teamed up again and performed as a duo throughout the 1980s. Together they made some of Mr. Clancy's most memorable recordings, 
including "The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" and "The Dutchman." Mr. Clancy's memoir, "The Mountain of the Women," was published in 2002. The 
documentary about his life, "The Yellow Bittern," was released this year.
Tom Clancy died in 1990. Paddy Clancy died in 1998. Mr. Makem died in 2007. Liam Clancy is survived by his wife, Kim; two sisters, Joan and 
Peg; four children, Eban, Siobhan, Donal and Fiona; and eight grandchildren.
Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company 

December 2
Jack Cooke has died.
Norton, VA – (December 2, 2009) - Jack Cooke, long-time bass  player and singer with Ralph Stanley’s Clinch Mountain Boys, died  Monday (Dec. 1) at 10 p.m. at a hospital in his hometown of Norton,  
Va., after collapsing at his home.
Vernon Crawford “Jack” Cooke was born Dec. 6, 1936.  His first  professional job was playing with the Stanley Brothers while he was  still in his teens.  He left the Stanleys to join Bill Monroe’s Blue  
Grass Boys band, a post he held from 1956-1960.  During that time, he  recorded such songs with Monroe as “Gotta Travel On,” “Big Mon” and  “Tomorrow I’ll Be Gone.”
Later, he formed his own group, Jack Cooke and the Virginia  Mountain Boys, and played in bands headed by Earl Taylor and the  Stonemans.  He joined the Clinch Mountain Boys in 1970 and remained  there until he was sidelined by health problems early this year.  In  2002, he shared with the Clinch Mountain Boys a best bluegrass album  Grammy for Lost In The Lonesome Pines, a collection headlined by Jim  Lauderdale and Ralph Stanley.  Lauderdale produced Cooke’s only solo  album, Sittin’ On Top Of The World, which was released in 2007.
Visitation will be at Hagy & Fawbush Funeral Home in Norton on  Thursday, Nov. 3 at 5:00 p.m. – 7:00 p.m. and the funeral will be held  Thursday at 7 p.m. at the funeral home.  Burial will be Friday, Nov. 4  at 11: a.m. in the Huff-Brummitt Cemetery in Wise County, Va.

P.O. Box 210588
Nashville, TN 37221-0588
Phone: 615 952-9250
www.morrispr.biz  © 2006 Morris Public Relations

November 28
Bess Lomax Hawes died peacefully last night of a stroke, with many members of her family at her side. She was 88. A memorial service is being planned. For those who only know of her as John Lomax's daughter and Alan Lomax's sister, it must be noted that she was a founding member of the Almanac Singers, along with Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. In 1977, she became the first director of the Folk & Traditional Arts Program at the National Endowment for the Arts, from which she retired in 1996; during her tenure there she created the NEA Folk Arts Program and the National Heritage Awards. Her memoir, "Sing It Pretty," was published by Illinois University Press, and she was the author, with Bessie Jones, of "Step It Down."

Spent the post-radio show part of the day with Jennifer and Bruce, Christmas shopping. The mall was *not* as crowded as I had dreaded. And we didn't buy anything that wasn't on sale.

Reading, reading, reading. Finished the Ralph Stanley book, which is terrific. Then moved on to Ian Whitcomb's latest, "Letters From Lotusland," which as I mentioned previously I had bought at his reading at Book Soup last week. I was completely surprised and enchanted; he plays the upper-class English twit very well both in person and onstage, and some of it of course carries over into his writing, but I couldn't help but be charmed by his stately dance through a life in showbusiness in which somehow he manages to make everything in the world revolve around himself *without* being obnoxious or (too) whiny about it. It helps that I know many of his cast of characters; Jim is frequently mentioned, as are others from the Monday nights at Conrad's. But I think that even if you don't know any of these folks it's still a delightful read. He's very witty, in that dry English way that I've always enjoyed (Keith, though decidedly NOT upper-class, had the same dry wit). Now am starting Barry Mazor's Jimmie Rodgers book, and although I had thought that Nolan Porterfield did everything there was to do in his seminal Rodgers bio, but boy was I wrong!
 
November 27
Thanksgiving dinner was lovely. Lots of friends, lots of food. Jim, who was asked to bring pie, brought FIVE pies. I am regifting one of them right back to him, and gave another to my neighbor Sherry. I mean, really, five pies? Wow. We sat down to eat at six, and the stragglers were hauled out by 9. I'm still washing dishes, but you know how that goes.
Eliza was the queen of the evening, and was passed from lap to lap around the table and flirted with everyone. Had her picture taken quite a bit too. Jennifer's garlic green beans and Claire's sweet potatoes won best in show by popular acclaim.
Today I had lunch with Neil and Andy and Ria, and a fine time it was too. Then I came home and did radio prep for tomorrow morning, since it somehow got away from me during the week. Tomorrow afternoon Jennifer and I are going Christmas shopping -- sshhhh! -- and tomorrow night Eliza will come to visit. It's pretty much working out that I get her every Saturday night so that Josh and Kate can have some grownup time to themselves. And while I am home reading to Eliza, Jim and Neil are going out tomorrow night to hear Big Jay McNeely.

November 25
John & Deanne Davis have just agreed to do a Heartfelt Christmas Music special on Alive and Picking on Saturday, December 5.

November 22
Brazilian guitarist Nato Limo of Los Indios Tabajaras passed away November 15, 2009 after battling stomach cancer. He was 91.
Lima was the surviving member of the guitar duo Los Indios Tabajaras, and was responsible for drawing worldwide popularity to the South American style of classical acoustic guitar playing. Best known for their 1964 single "Always In My Heart," the 1962 hit "Maria Elena," and "Amapola," Lima and his brother, Antenor, recorded more than 70 albums and earned respect as world-class instrumentalists. They recorded extensively in Nashville, too, with Chet Atkins and the late country music giant Don Gibson.

The great banjo player Allen Shelton died yesterday after having been diagnosed with leukemia just about two weeks ago. His work with Jim & Jesse, and also on Jim Eanes' Starday sides, was amazing. From his daughter in law:

I don't know how to tell you this, but Mr. Shelton passed away this afternoon.  He had to be readmitted to the hospital Thur. because his platelets were low.  He was fine Friday evening, but at some point he went to sleep and they could not get him to wake up.  They ran tests and believe he had a heart attack and a stroke.  He never woke up again, but thankfully he went peacefully surrounded by his family.
We are all very sad, but thankful to know that he was a Christian and is now with the Lord.
You can share this on your blog.  Funeral arrangements will be made tomorrow, but the funeral will be held at Anderson-Woodard in Westmoreland.
We appreciate prayers for the family.

Just got this update:
Visitation for Allen Shelton will be 11 a.m. until 8 p.m., Monday, November 23, 2009, and 10 a.m. until 2pm Tuesday, November 24, 2009. Funeral service will follow Tuesday's visitation at 2 p.m.
Woodard Funeral Home, Inc.
5591 Highway 31E
Westmoreland, TN 37186
Telephone: (615) 644-5200
http://www.rwoodardfuneralhome.com/obituaries.htm
Interment is at Sumner Memorial Gardens in Gallatin.

November 21

Christies is having a country music memorabilia auction at Rockefeller Center in a couple of weeks.
In case you have a hankering (no pun intended) to buy me that old D-18 that used to belong to Hank Williams, now's the time to do 
it. Pre-auction estimate is a mere $100-150k. Or how about Luther Perkins's Fender Equire (60-80k)? But never fear; there are a 
variety of other artifacts, such as Nudie shirts and fancy suits, some formerly belonging to other Hanks (like Snow and Thompson) 
for sale for less. Bill Monroe, Johnny Cash and Roy Acuff are also represented. Check it all out at:
http://www.christies.com/LotFinder/searchresults.aspx?intSaleID=22491&CID=541700170604b#action=refine&intSaleID=22491&CID=541700170604b&sid=688f0aa6-75cc-4f0e-8b53-f1c8ae6a1c6e

Up early this morning and off to radio ranch, then back up the hill to the coffee shop for breakfast. Just got home from that and was putting my records away 
when Neil called, fuzzy with jet lag, and invited me to breakfast. But I just HAD...never mind.  So back to the coffee shop, and we got caught up on his news. Then 
Jim came and picked us up and we all went to Book Soup, where our pal Ian Whitcomb was having a reading/signing of his new tome (and I bought Barry Mazor's 
new Jimmie Rodgers book too.) Ran into Larry Cohn there, so we all sat together for Ian's reading and then we hung around and talked for awhile and THEN Jim 
and I dropped Neil off, as the jet lag was catching up to him again, and went to dinner, and I just got home from that and my granddaughter arrived to spend the 
evening so Josh and Kate can go out to dinner and go bowling. So none of my usual Saturday stuff got done, and I will have to cram it all into tomorrow. But at least 
tonight I get to play with someone small and pink and cute who has my DNA.

November 19
Sing Out Magazine is having financial difficulties, and Pete Seeger asks for donations to help it out of the hole.

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, although 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, 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 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 15

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 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.

Spoke to a writer at the L.A. Times who told me that the obituary for Fred Starner will be in tomorrow's paper.

Lou Curtiss took the Mike Seeger Scholarship Fund notice that I sent him and ran with it - a whole column in the San Diego Troubadour! This is SO helpful, I really appreciate him spreading the word.

My pal Chris Strachwitz of Arhoolie Records has started a blog. He's always got something interesting to say.

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.

November 6 Art D'Lugoff has died.

Art D'Lugoff, Village Gate Impresario, Dies at 85
By MARGALIT FOX

Art D'Lugoff, who was widely regarded as the dean of New York nightclub impresarios and whose storied spot, the Village Gate, was for more than 30 years home to 
performers as celebrated, and diverse, as Duke Ellington, Allen Ginsberg and John Belushi, died on Wednesday in Manhattan. He was 85 and lived in the Riverdale 
section of the Bronx.
The cause has not been determined, said Mr. D'Lugoff's brother, Burt, a medical doctor and frequent silent partner in his joyously noisy endeavors. Mr. D'Lugoff 
died at the Allen Hospital of New York-Presbyterian Hospital, where he had been taken on Wednesday after experiencing shortness of breath.
Opened in 1958, the Village Gate was on the corner of Bleecker and Thompson Streets. The cavernous basement space it occupied - the building's upper floors were 
then a flophouse - had once been a laundry.
Mr. D'Lugoff later expanded to the upper floors, and in its heyday the Gate comprised the basement space, used primarily for live music of all kinds; a street-level 
terrace for jazz; and the Top of the Gate, an upper-story performance space.
The club closed its doors in 1994, amid rising rents, a changing market for live music and the aftermath of some unsuccessful investments by Mr. D'Lugoff. It briefly 
reappeared on West 52nd Street in 1996 but sputtered out after less than a year.
Mr. D'Lugoff was also a producer of Off Broadway shows - most at the Gate - and helped conceive the National Jazz Museum in Harlem.
The Gate may have lacked the cachet of the Village Vanguard, a more intimate West Village club, but it was a bright star in the city's cultural firmament for decades. 
A young Woody Allen did stand-up comedy there. The playwright-to-be Sam Shepard bused tables there. A waiter named Dustin Hoffman was fired there for being so engrossed 
in the performances that he neglected his customers, though service was by all accounts never the club's strength. Dozens of albums were recorded there, by musicians 
like Pete Seeger and Nina Simone and by comics like Dick Gregory.
Though most often thought of as a jazz space - among the eminences heard there over the years were John Coltrane, Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk - the Gate offered 
nearly every type of performance imaginable. There were blues artists like B. B. King; soul singers like Aretha Franklin; rockers like Jimi Hendrix; comics like Mort 
Sahl and Richard Pryor; and Beat poets. There was the harmonica virtuoso Larry Adler; the odd classical recital (the composer Edgard Varèse gave the American 
premiere of his "Poème Électronique" there); and a duck, Hermione, who performed in the musical "Scrambled Feet," which opened there in 1979.
Over the years the club also earned a reputation as an important Off Broadway theater space, presenting shows like "MacBird!" (1967), the Vietnam-era political satire; 
the revue "Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris," which had its premiere there in 1968; and "One Mo' Time," the musical about black vaudeville that opened in 1979.
For many patrons, as for Mr. D'Lugoff himself, the Gate's eclecticism was at the heart of its charm. One of his most celebrated offerings was Salsa Meets Jazz, a regular 
series in the 1970s that paired great Latin artists like Machito and Tito Puente with jazz titans like Dexter Gordon and Dizzy Gillespie.
But sometimes the fare grew too varied even for Mr. D'Lugoff, as he told The New York Times in 1988. "I used to put together a lot of unlikely combinations to appeal to 
a bigger audience," he said. "Once we had Nina Simone, Dick Gregory and Larry Adler all on the same bill and had so much trouble deciding who would open that I went across 
the street and hired a guitarist."
Arthur Joshua Dlugoff was born in Harlem on Aug. 2, 1924, the son of Raphael Dlugoff, who ran a vacuum-cleaner and sewing-machine repair shop, and the former Rachel Mandelbaum. 
(Art later added an apostrophe to his surname as a pronunciation aid.)
Reared in Brooklyn, Mr. D'Lugoff served with the Army Air Forces in China in World War II. He later earned a bachelor's in literature and economics from New York 
University and attended law school there for one year.
For the next few years Mr. D'Lugoff enjoyed a career as eclectic as any of his concert bills, working as an encyclopedia salesman, a waiter in borscht belt hotels, 
a cab driver in Los Angeles, a tree surgeon's assistant in upstate New York and a union organizer in Massachusetts and Kentucky. Returning to New York, he embarked on 
a career as a concert promoter, presenting calypso, folk and jazz artists around the city.
He soon wanted his own space, and the Village Gate was born. (The name stemmed from the fact that early on, patrons entered through a metal gate on Thompson Street to 
avoid the flophouse traffic on Bleecker.)
Besides his brother, Burt, of Baltimore, Mr. D'Lugoff is survived by his wife, the former Avital Achai; a son, Raphael; three daughters, Sharon D'Lugoff Blythe, 
Dahlia D'Lugoff and Rashi D'Lugoff; and five grandchildren.
One secret of the Gate's success was Mr. D'Lugoff's eye for what the public wished to see. This was perhaps nowhere more evident than in "Let My People Come," which opened 
there in 1974. Subtitled "A Sexual Musical," it was all singing, all dancing and almost all naked, male and female, from top to toe.
The State Liquor Authority would have none of this. Where spirit was on offer, it decreed, the flesh should not be. In a protracted battle that engendered much coverage 
in the news media, it lifted the Gate's liquor license.Mr. D'Lugoff went to court, the license was reinstated and the show ran for two and a half years.
Copyright 2009 The New York Times Company 

November 3
John and Deanne Davis will be back on Alive & Picking on January 23!

Just learned that my neighbor, the very funny comedian and Magic Castle member Carl Ballantine, has died at age 92.

November 2
Fred Starner's memorial service: 

<<A public memorial  will be held Saturday, Nov. 14, from 2:00 PM to 5:00 PM at the Studio City  Unitarian Church, 12355 Moorpark Ave. Studio City, CA 91604.  
Co-Sponsored by Neighbors for Peace & Justice and the Santa Monica Traditional Folk Music Club. In lieu of flowers, donations can be sent to the
Hudson River Sloop Clearwater, 724 Walcott Ave., Beacon, N.Y. 12508;  www.clearwater.org>>

October 31 Happy Halloween!
Todd says that Ralph Stanley will be on the David Letterman Show this coming Friday - apparently they tape the Friday show ahead of time each week, as Letterman is not actually there on Fridays. So Ralph is taping his segment this Monday to air this Friday....but don't holler at me if I'm wrong.

Wednesday night Tom and Claire and Mark and I went to the Magic Castle and saw the Mums - that was lots of fun, AND they had the place all tricked out, you should excuse the expression, for Halloween, including a giant coffin full of candy (!) at the exit. So at the end of the evening I filled my pocketbook up with chocolate.

This morning's radio show was fraught with confusion, as I was trying to teach Mark to run the board, as he'll be substitute hosting for me next Saturday while I am at the Far West Folk Alliance conference in Anaheim. So naturally when I am trying to teach someone how to do it, I make lots of mistakes myself!

October 30
From Peter Yarrow (of Peter, Paul & Mary):

About a decade ago, I came to realize that our children were becoming less caring, less accepting and less empathetic toward one another. It was painful to see cruelty and mean-spirited behavior among even small children become more and more common. Such behavior was the opposite of what Peter, Paul and Mary sang about, what we tried to personify through our music, and what we had stood for in our advocacy efforts to make the world a more caring, fair and peaceful place.
Yet, this was not a children's problem, alone. Children were simply copying the adult members of our society who "acted out" publically in ugly, disrespectful, ways on TV shame-based reality shows, for example, in Congress where vituperation and character assassination had become daily fare, and in the corporate world where crushing the opponent had become the prize and the rules of power were, "Never admit you're wrong" and "Never say you're sorry", because doing so was a sign of weakness.  
I knew, from my past experience in the movements for Civil Rights, Peace and Social Justice that music might help lift us out of this deadly state, one that had not yet experienced the devastating reality of the killings at Columbine High School, now repeated daily throughout our country. But I needed an anthem, a “We Shall Overcome”, an “If I Had A Hammer” or a Blowin’ In The Wind” to provide the inspiration and the spark of energy. Then I heard it! “Don’t Laugh At Me” by Steve Seskin and Allen Shamblin was the song that could help build a movement. 
Don’t laugh at me, don’t call me names,
Don’t get your pleasure from my pain
In God’s eyes we’re all the same
Some day we’ll all have perfect wings
Don’t laugh at me
With this song, and with my certainty that as music had inspired people before it could do so again, I put my music and organizing background from Peter, Paul and Mary together with my knowledge of education from my mother, a high school teacher for over 30 years in English, Speech and Drama. I realized that if we could develop a series of educational programs, interventions and strategies that incorporated music, music that could move and inspire children and youth, that could reach their hearts and build community among them, we could give teachers, principals and educators of all sorts, everywhere, a new and powerful tool that could help them to do what they, actually, had gone into education to do in the first place; help children grow into caring, responsible, principled, dedicated members of society and our democracy.
If you are a teacher or educator of any sort, you can visit www.operationrespect.org and download all the music I’ve recorded for the books with CDs. “Puff”, “Day Is Done”, “Favorite Folk Songs”, “Sleepytime Songs” and now “Let’s Sing Together”.  If you use this music for educational purposes, you can download all the songs for free. You are on the honor system so please respect that condition.
Now you know one of the reasons I’ve been making these books, besides being as proud as I can be about singing these songs with my daughter, with children, and combining these songs with some of the most beautiful illustrations I’ve ever seen in beautiful books. My great hope is to get kids singing again, in their schools, their homes, summer camps, on road trips, because when they sing together, they come together as friends who can accept one another and, less and less, tend to push “the other” away. In doing so, I truly believe they can potentially break the horrible cycle of hate and war, and build a more caring, peaceful world.
  In Mary’s name, and in the name of the gratitude, as well as the great sadness I am experiencing, in the wake of her passing –  and I know I share these feelings with millions of people who also celebrate Mary’s life and mourn her passing – let me dedicate these  words, just written, to Mary’s remarkable ability to sing straight from the heart with immense passion and conviction —  and to her actions and her principles that she never compromised nor violated. We, Noel Paul and I, count ourselves immensely fortunate to have shared our lives with Mary for almost 50 years; a dear and loving friend, a creative partner, and a constant source of inspiration.  We are grateful beyond measure for the gift of Mary, given to us, and to the whole world.
Peter Yarrow 10/30/09

October 29
Speaking of Ralph Stanley: I just found out that he will be taping the David Letterman Show this coming Monday - but I don't know whether that means it will also AIR on Monday (does it tape in the afternoon and then air that same evening?) Silly me, I always thought that those late night talk shows were live!

My office assistant, who has been off work for several days because he's been feeling sick, has been diagnosed with swine flu. Everybody says, laughingly, that I am not to worry because "old people don't catch it." Dare I ask how the germs would know how old I am?

October 27
Fred Starner has died. This from his close friend Ross Altman:

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. He 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 had his hands full.

October 24
Huzzah! Tom Sauber has agreed to bring "Ballads, Banjos & Bluegrass" to visit us on Alive and Picking on December 5th. Those of you with long memories will remember his wonderful Saturday afternoon show on KPFK during the late 70s and through the mid-80s. It'll be great to have him back on the airwaves again. I am still nagging Tom Nixon at regular intervals. And Ben Elder will be coming in to do a Christmas show on December 19th.

A long day today; up at 4 (as usual on radio days), then to KPFK where Ben Elder did all the work! His playlist is up on the playlists page now. Then home to change clothes and off to Santa Monica for a meeting, which went better than I feared. Also went longer than I had hoped, so was not able to get back to Hollywood in time for Frank Fairfield's instore at Amoeba, which I had meant to check out. Then to the coffee shop for a quick bite, and while I was there Josh and Kate and Eliza came in to collect me for some Grandma time. Eliza is laughing now, and loves being played with; a very smiley child, until she got tired, when she hollered and squirmed and turned red and refused to go to sleep. Finally dropped off, and slept straight through the evening till Josh and Kate got back from their dinner and a movie. They really need some grownup tme, which is fine with me since it means I get lots of Eliza time. While she was asleep Victoria came from around the corner to visit her, but of course all Eliza did was sleep.
Tomorrow night Tom and Claire and Mark and I are going to see Ralph Stanley & the Clinch Mountain Boys at Royce Hall at UCLA - and dinner together before the show. It will be a late night for a work night, but I don't care. This may well be my last chance to see Ralph perform; he is 82, and doesn't tour out this way much anymore.

October 23
Soupy Sales has died. One of the funniest televisions shows I ever saw.  Here's a link to a Youtube tribute of pies-in-the-kisser and more.

October 21
Mike's wife Alexia emailed me today, asking me to write something to be read aloud at his upcoming memorial, to which I can't go because it's on the east coast and I'm on the west coast, and because I don't fly and it's four days each way on the trains and I can't be gone from work that long, and because I can't afford it. and lots of other logical reasons. I am very disappointed at not being able to go, so am really delighted that she has asked me to write something.  So naturally now comes writers block, and I sit staring at the empty screen for ages and nothing comes. Fortunately the memorial isn't until early December. If my brain ever unclogs I will post my essay here here.

Here's a new animation of Preservation Hall, in the style of those early Fleishman cartoons.

I have to go somewhere on Saturday that I have to be "well dressed" for. Now, me being well dressed is a cross between a challenge and a nightmare. I live a very casual life by choice, and do not own any shoes other than Reeboks. Seriously. I have two pairs of identical white Reeboks in my closet at all times, and buy another pair when one wears out. For "formal" occasions I have one pair of black Reeboks, which the kids refer to as "mom's dress tennies." I do have some very good clothes but rarely wear them - mostly, I'm sorry to say, to funerals, or when I take friends to dinner at the Magic Castle, which has a dress code. I wear bluejeans and t-shirts to work every day, and have not had a pair of high heels on my feet in over thirty years. Being 5'7" in my stocking feet I've never really needed high heels, and they're painful, so I don't own any. So now along comes this occasion; a gathering in a private home, among total strangers. I will be on display to some extent, and although I hope I'm not being judged, in real life I probably will be. Poking through my wardrobe I find lots of (too formal) black evening wear, but nothing really suitable for an afternoon event (on a day when the weather is forecast to be 90, and the black clothes I have are all fairly heavy.) I have two days to decide whether to go out and buy something I will wear once but possible never again, or to go dressed in my usual clothes and risk looking totally out of place and perhaps embarrassing my hostess, whom I have never met. I am too old for this cra---er, stuff.

Josh is sick, Eliza is sick. Many runny noses and sniffles. I am staying away till it's all over; will probably have her here on Saturday for awhile if everyone is germ-free by then.

My pal Lou Curtiss sent me this today; great news for fans of the old time duo Ray & Ina Patterson:
Hi Mary Katherine: I just looked at Cathay Zipp's MySpace page and there's a nice track of  Ray & Ina Patterson playing music with Cathay & her husband Fred. Ina has put out a picture 
book retrospective of her & Ray's career. It includes pictures of them with The Blue Sky Boys, The Louvin Bros, Wayne Raney & Lonnie Glossen and several pictures of them at The old San 
Diego Folk Festivals. You can get it from Ray & Ina at 154 S. Claremont in Colorado Springs, CO 80910. Their phone is 719-473-6291. Best, Lou Curtiss

October 18 
John and DeAnn Davis graced my radio show with their presence yesterday morning, and it was good to hear them back on the airwaves after so 
many years. They emailed me a playlist, which I have posted on the playlists page. Then came home and did some rudimentary cleaning, because 
I had some friends over in the afternoon to meet Eliza, who was the star of the show (until she fell asleep about an hour into the proceedings). I 
cooked a big pot of jambalaya and made a salad, and had lovely visits with lots of folks. Josh chose the music: Bonnie Prince Billy. 

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."

Stanley Robertson obituary
Storyteller and folk singer steeped in Scots Traveller tradition
by Derek Schofield
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2009/oct/07/stanley-robertson-obituary

Members of the Traveller community in Scotland have been vociferous guardians of oral culture: folk songs, ballads and stories. The singer and settled Traveller Jeannie 
Robertson, who died in 1975, was described by the American folklorist Alan Lomax as "a monumental figure in 20th-century folksong". Among the small number of singers to 
whom Jeannie taught the songs directly was her nephew Stanley Robertson, who has died of a heart attack aged 69. 
Although he never achieved the fame of his aunt, Stanley was nevertheless a highly skilled singer, with a seemingly unlimited repertoire, and a storyteller with a prodigious 
memory.
Stanley was the son of Jeannie's eldest brother, William, and William's third cousin, Elizabeth. By the time he was born, the family had settled in Aberdeen, although they 
continued the "summer walking", when Travellers took to the road and worked in seasonal agricultural trades. The annual exodus to Alford in north-east Scotland (which inspired the 
title of one of Stanley's books) to work in the flax fields allowed the family to escape from the prejudice then common among the city's residents.
Stanley left school at 14 and spent almost all of his working life as a fish gutter on the quayside at Aberdeen, where he frequently entertained his colleagues with stories 
and songs. He also played the bagpipes in the Territorial Army's pipe band.
His maternal grandfather, Joseph McDonald, provided further inspiration for Stanley's storytelling. His fairy-tales and tales of wonder, legends, religious and supernatural 
stories were first published in Exodus to Alford (1988), followed quickly by Nyakim's Windows (1989), two volumes of Fish-Hooses (1991), The Land of No Death (1993) and Ghosties 
and Ghoulies (1994). His final collection of stories, Reek Roon a Camp Fire, was published earlier this year. He told his tales in schools and was invited to storytelling 
festivals in Britain and the US. Some of his stories could last up to an hour, yet he told them with confidence, never faltering or forgetting the detail.
Stanley's storytelling inspired his playwriting, including The Burkers and Scruffie Uggie, written for children. The Edinburgh Theatre Workshop performed his Jack and the Land 
of Dreams in 2000.
Stanley visited his Aunt Jeannie regularly in the last years of her life. She taught him many of her songs, but had exacting standards. "Sing it right, sing it proper and sing 
it real," she used to tell him. With his work commitments, and a family of six children, the opportunities for Stanley to sing beyond north-east Scotland were limited until the 
1990s. He recorded an album of traditional songs, A Keeper of the Lore, for the North East Folklore Archive in Scotland (1991) and was featured on the two CDs of Travellers' Tales 
(2005). Appearances at the Fife Traditional Singing Weekends led to his inclusion in the resulting albums, FifeSing 1 and 2. He also made regular visits to the National Folk Music 
Festival in Nottinghamshire and to Whitby Folk Week in North Yorkshire. In 2003, Stanley was one of the contributors to the Smithsonian Folklife Festival in Washington.
In 2002, the Elphinstone Institute at the University of Aberdeen, established to study, record and promote the cultural traditions of north-east Scotland, obtained a grant 
from the Heritage Lottery Fund to research, archive and promote the oral and cultural traditions of Scottish Travellers. Stanley was employed by the university to work 
on the project, which finally allowed him to leave the fish houses. As part of the project, the Elphinstone Institute released a double CD of songs and stories from Stanley's 
childhood, Rum Scum Scoosh! (2006). A further double CD of ballads, The College Boy, and a DVD of his singing, Live at the Blue Lamp, are due for release soon.
In recent months, Stanley had been tutoring a young London singer, Sam Lee, in much the same way that he had been tutored by his Aunt Jeannie.
He was a committed Mormon and abstained from alcohol and tobacco. He is survived by his wife, Johnann, and children Robert, Anthony, Clifford, Dale, Gabrielle and Nicole, who 
all continue to sing and tell the family stories.

. William Stanley Robertson, folk singer and storyteller, born 8 June 1940; died 2 August 2009

October 14

October 12
Spent all day yesterday emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention, a job which entails approximately the same duties as herding cats, i.e., good luck with that. It's actually one of my favorite things I get to do all year, and despite the new set of challenges brought on by the new layout of the contest stage, I had a great time. My hips, knees and ankles had less fun, because the only way on and off the stage this year was a big step up and big step down. 100 contestants = 100 steps up, followed by 100 steps down, hard, onto earth, from about a foot and a half up. This would be less of a problem if I was less, er, bulky, but I am, so there it was. In all prior years, when the stage was in a different location, there was a ramp, and also a set of small steps. NEXT year I am going to ask for a hydraulic lift with a button that I can press and vrrrooommm I will be lifted up to stage level and just have to step off. Anyhow, I had a fantasy that at the end of the day I would be able to check into my motel and soak away my aches in a nice hot bath, but it was one of those economical motels, so no bathtub! Only a shower! Did have a lovely dinner with Peter and Francine, followed by sleep. This morning got up and did my walking tour of Santa Barbara, leaving some money in a few of their bookstores and restaurants and my favorite music store up there, Folk Mote. I once calculated that it costs me about $200-$250 each year to be the emcee of the contest, by the time I take the honorarium they pay me and then factor in gas, motel bill, restaurant meals, bookstore shopping, and my total inability to walk out of Folk Mote without buying something. Ahh, the things I do for folk music.  Drove home via Ventura, in order to stop and pick up an oil filter for Mark's Citroen, and then home, to find Jennifer on my doorstep wanting to go birthday present shopping for Bruce. So we pretended that we were going baby present shopping for Eliza. Came home from that, exhausted, to learn that Brendan had died. I am shocked and saddened; he was a character, and a good one.

Club promoter Brendan Mullen dies. Founded legendary punk club Masque
By CHRISTOPHER MORRIS

Brendan Mullen, the promoter-entrepreneur who founded Hollywood's legendary punk rock launching pad the Masque, died Monday in Los Angeles hospital after suffering a massive 
stroke. He was 60.
A Scotsman by birth, Mullen emigrated from London to Los Angeles in 1973. He created the Masque -- a dank, soon graffiti-scarred 10,000-foot space at 1655 N. Cherokee, 
behind and beneath the Pussycat adult theater on Hollywood Boulevard -- in June 1977 as a low-rent rehearsal space for local musicians. (Mullen himself played drums in
his own punk lounge act, the Satintones.)
It quickly morphed into the principal performance venue for the city's then-nascent punk scene, mounting its first show by the Skulls on Aug. 18, 1977. It served as a stage 
and a hangout for an honor roll of first-generation punk groups: the Germs, X, the Go-Go's, the Screamers, the Flesh Eaters, the Weirdos, the Alleycats, the Plugz, the Bags.
The freewheeling Masque, where the charming and oft-acerbic Mullen hosted the proceedings, was a magnet for the antipathy of local merchants and daily scrutiny by police, 
fire, and licensing officials, and was soon cited by city authorities for various licensing violations.
Closed and reopened more than once, it moved to another space on Santa Monica Boulevard before shuttering permanently in February 1979.
Mullen is seen in the abandoned Cherokee Avenue club in W.T. Morgan's 1986 documentary about X, "The Unheard Music."
From 1981-92, Mullen booked shows at the Sunset Boulevard bar Club Lingerie. His diverse shows included sets by talent ranging from veteran R&B, blues, and rock 'n' roll 
acts to hip-hoppers and avant garde rockers. He also mounted dates at the downtown Variety Arts Center in the late '80s, and stage managed some of the L.A. Weekly's music 
awards shows. In recent years, Mullen prolifically chronicled the history of L.A. punk, and, not incidentally, his own role in the scene. His books included "We Got the 
Neutron Bomb: The Untold Story of L.A. Punk" (2001, with Marc Spitz); "Lexicon Devil: The Fast Times and Short Life of Darby Crash and the Germs" (2002, with Don Bolles and
Adam Parfrey); and the photo history "Live at the Masque: Nightmare in Punk Alley" (2007). He also authored the Jane's Addiction oral history "Whores" (2005).
Mullen is survived by his longtime companion Kateri Butler.
Read the full article at:
http://www.variety.com/article/VR1118009842.html

October 10

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5i7tmqC7MKeJ-9N8PbXthcC0mg7bgD9B81PE00
(AP) Bluesman who recorded as Freddy Robinson dies
 
LANCASTER, Calif. - Bluesman Abu Talib, who recorded and toured with Ray Charles and Little Walter under his given name, Freddy Robinson, has died. He was 70.
His daughter, Linda Chaplin, said Talib died of cancer Thursday at a hospital in Lancaster, about 70 miles north of Los Angeles.
Talib was born Fred Robinson in Memphis, Tenn., and changed his name to Abu Talib in the 1970s when he converted to Islam.
Chaplin said her father first heard the blues when her grandfather, Otis Robinson, took him along to a "juke joint." He was too young to go in but
he'd watch the musicians through a window.
He was inspired to play and improvised an instrument out of bailing wire attached to the wall of a barn when he was nine, she said.
His former manager, Vernell Jennings, said he saved his money and ordered his second guitar from the Sears catalog at age 13.
"He had that guitar his whole life and still played it. It was called Bessie," Jennings said.
Talib could play well by ear, and he was always in demand at clubs, Chaplin said. When he moved to Chicago, he had to go to school to learn how to read
music.
He played with Ray Charles, Howlin' Wolf and pianist Monk Higgins and recorded and wrote several songs including "Black Fox," "At the Drive-In,"
"Bluesology" and the blues instrumental, "After Hours."
Chaplin said one of her father's favorite songs, "Sister Sharp Eye," was based on a real person he knew from childhood, a friend of his aunt's who
used to run a gambling house and tell people that she had eyes in the back of her head to spot cheaters.
Jennings said Talib would tell funny stories between songs and have the audience in stitches.
"He had a song called 'Double Ugly' about his best friend who married an ugly girl, about how they had to hide all the mirrors. He had a great sense
of humor," Jennings said.
Recently, he recorded a jingle for Southwest Airlines, and dressed up in a funky suit for the commercial, she said.
He had seven children with his first wife, Mary Robinson, who died, and one daughter with his second wife, Zakiyyah Talib.
Copyright © 2009 The Associated Press. All rights reserved.

October 8

Jennifer sent me this link.

Date:    Fri, 9 Oct 2009 14:48:24 -0400
From:    Helen White <foxridge@LS.NET>
Subject: Re: training traditional musicians to teach..and more

Hello All,
 I am at the helm of the regional office for the Junior Appalachian Musicians (JAM) program which is giving Appalachian youth opportunities to
learn the music of their heritage.  JAM affiliated programs exist currently in about 13 mountain counties in NC, VA and SC (with more on the horizon).
As part of our mission (in the regional office) we want to help traditional musicians develop effective teaching skills.  We currently offer periodic
"teacher sharing" events and we are collecting their ideas and integrating them into teacher guides. As well , we continue to find links to good (free)
instructional sites on the internet which teachers can access from our website (www.regionaljam.org). These efforts are still somewhat skeletal and
we appreciate  folks turning us on to stuff we haven't found. I am interested to learn about any 'formal' teacher training activities
which may exist involving traditional artists - here, in Scotland, Ireland, Cajun Country or other traditional culture. We would like to look at already
developed models to help us assess if and how to move towards more structured staff development.
 As well, we are collecting curriculum units which have been developed for
school use to highlight traditional music and its role in Appalachian history, culture and impact on contemporary society here in the mountains
and beyond.  We will be assembling these into guides (with permission from the authors) which will be shared with schools - beginning in JAM counties.
Ultimately we may develop units of our own  but first, we want to see what's already out there..
Many thanks!  You may contact me at foxridge@ls.net or below.

Helen White
Junior Appalachian Musicians, Inc.
608 W. Stuart Dr
Galax, VA 24333
276 238-0526
www.regionaljam.org

October 7
http://www.latimes.com/news/obituaries/la-me-laura-mae-gross6-2009oct06,0,6556057.story

Club owner Laura Mae Gross dies at 89
'Mama' nurtured the blues at Babe's and Ricky's Inn in L.A.
By Ari B. Bloomekatz
8:00 PM PDT, October 5, 2009

Laura Mae Gross, a strong-willed Mississippi woman who came to the West Coast and founded a club that became a staple of Los Angeles' blues scene, died Saturday of heart failure, according to relatives.
She was 89.
Gross, also known as "Mama," opened Babe's and Ricky's Inn on Central Avenue in 1964 and hosted legends such as Bobby "Blue" Bland and John Lee Hooker while serving cold beer and soda and drawing an integrated crowd.
On Monday nights, often the most popular, a $2 cover also earned patrons a fried chicken dinner.
Babe's and Ricky's moved to Leimert Park in 1997 after financial difficulties on Central Avenue, but the vibe stayed the same even when Monday's cover increased to $10 and the fried chicken dinner plate
expanded to a buffet.
The club never made much money, but it earned a reputation as a nurturing ground for young musicians and as a place for the experienced to display their talents.
"The unique thing about that club, and always has been, is you can go down there on jam session night and it didn't matter if you were a total amateur or a seasoned professional," bluesman Ray Bailey said.
"Everybody gave you the same respect."
Blues guitarist Keb' Mo' said Babe's and Ricky's was "the last club from the Central Avenue heyday."
"It was just a great vibe. It was a real blues club, a true blues club," he said.
"If you were in there and you'd start playing anything but the blues, Mama law would come up to the stage and she would stop you. She'd say: 'Na, na, na.' She wasn't having no Top 40 club."
Gross was born in Vicksburg, Miss., in 1920 and moved to California about 25 years later with her husband, Riley Gross.
He was killed about 10 years later during a robbery as he was cashing a paycheck, family members said.
Gross took over a club near the intersection of Central Avenue and 52nd Street and renamed it Babe's and Ricky's Inn after her son and nephew.
When the club opened, the area was already in decline from its perch as the backbone of ballrooms, hotels and theaters that helped define black cultural life in Los Angeles.
"Hers is representative, in an authentic way, of the journey of African Americans in Los Angeles," county Supervisor Mark Ridley-Thomas said.
"Particularly in Leimert Park, that's the home of what's new and what's next in terms of African American culture and commerce. The arts center of African American life in this region and they
punctuated it with the blues."
The county Board of Supervisors will adjourn in Gross' memory today.
In the early 1990s the American Society of Composers, Authors and Publishers, which uses copyright laws to monitor and collect royalties for its members, said Gross failed to pay fees on music performances at the club on Central Avenue, and she later faced a default judgment of nearly $9,000.
At the time, she told a reporter from The Times, "They can't get blood from a turnip."
"I have nothing," Gross said in 1993. "I had $300 in my checking account, and they took that."
After seeing the story in The Times, the legendary songwriting team of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller agreed to pay off the debt. Both went to high school in Los Angeles in the early 1950s and were students of the Central Avenue night life. They wrote "Jailhouse Rock," recorded by Elvis Presley, among other hits.
Gross was evicted from the Central Avenue location in 1996 after her landlords tripled her rent. She reopened in Leimert Park in the Crenshaw district with the help of then-City Councilman Ridley-Thomas.
"I'm back!" Gross exclaimed during the opening.
Her son, Ronald Smith, lives in New York but said he wants the club to stay open.
"She taught me how to appreciate music and how to deal with different people and different personalities. . . . It was a beautiful thing for me," Smith said.
He said his mother is also survived by three granddaughters and two great-grandchildren.
Jonathan Hodges, a property master for movies and TV shows, who was Gross' partner in Leimert Park, said the club had a birthday party for Gross just a few weeks ago.
It was the first year she wasn't able to attend. She soon entered a hospice.
"There was an aura of authenticity that she had that made it so you always heard blues -- real blues music -- in that club, whether it was good or bad, because it varied," Hodges said.
"She's immensely respected by people for that," he said.
Friends said that even though she was turning 89, the party was dubbed her 90th.
Fundraisers for Gross' funeral services will be held Friday and Saturday at the club.
A public viewing will be held at Inglewood Cemetery Mortuary from 3 to 8 p.m. Oct. 16. Funeral services will be at 1 p.m. Oct. 17 at the Golden West Mausoleum, also known as the Galleria, at Inglewood Park Cemetery, 720 East Florence Ave.

October 5
Here's a link to an mp3 of a KPFT Houston aircheck of Studs Terkel and Phil Ochs, on Studs' WFMT Chicago program in the Spring of 1971.

October 3
Eliza was very good tonight; after some initial fussing she drifted gracefully off to sleep on my shoulder, and stayed that way while I watched the Dodgers, 
behind an amazing performance from Clayton Kershaw, finally win the division.

Well, the fund drive is over, at least as far as Alive & Picking is concerned. We did *very* well, and I certainly appreciate the support. No show next Saturday, then two weeks in a row with guests: John and Deann Davis on the 17th and Ben Elder on the 24th. I do a regular show on the 31st and then I go out of town (well, if you call Orange County out of town, which I do) and Mark Humphrey will sit in for me on the 7th.

October 2
The late great Emperor of the World, New Orleans' own Ernie K-Doe.

September 30
Donations to Roy Carrier Hospital Expenses
Zydeco legend Roy Carrier was in the Lafayette Hospital to have a blood clot removed. Family is requesting donations to help cover these expenses. Wire donations to Benefit of Roy Carrier, Acct. 819510637, Routing Number 999991 065400137, or send a check to: Benefit of Roy Carrier, mail to Chase Bank c/o Benefit of Roy Carrier, 800 Pinhook Road, Lafayette, LA 70503.

Just found out that the KPFK Fund Drive has been extended for another couple of weeks. As a result I have had to reschedule Ben Elder's visit to the show, so have shifted him from the previously announced October 10th to October 24th. There won't be any Alive & Picking show on October 10th - the station will run some other programming in that time slot, and I will be back on October 17th with John and Deann Davis as my guests. I am really sorry about this, but had nothing to do with it and have no control over the decisions the station makes.

See, I knew the Dodgers were going to screw this up. They need ONE game to win a spot in the playoffs, and they have blown the last four games in a row against teams that my six week old granddaughter could beat. Am I surprised? Not so much.

September 29
Alan Lomax interviews Sam Chatmon.

September 27
I'm not sure where the last week went - but it certainly went fast! Yesterday was the second day for me to participate in the KPFK Fund Drive, and it went well, though not as well as last week (well, last week was extraordinary!), and after that I had a few hours in which to do my regular Saturday errands before going back over to Josh and Kate's to babysit. Josh took Kate out to dinner and a movie to celebrate her birthday, and I got to spend the evening explaining linear mathematics to Eliza.

Found a new (to me) young artist named Frank Fairfield, who performs traditional old time music in an interesting style - he'll be at McCabe's soon, and is also doing a free in-store at Amoeba. Unfortunately the videos of him on YouTube are really crummy quality, so don't judge him by that. I'm looking forward to hearing him live.

September 23
Ramblin' Jack Elliott is hospitalized.

From Jack's web site:
Our national treasure Ramblin' Jack Elliott is currently facing a triple by pass heart surgery. 
There are a lot of alternative methods he is exploring as well - so stay tuned. 
However, we had to cancel our UK/Ireland/Norway tour because of this health news. 
If you'd like to send him cards, good wishes and such please send to his manager and 
she will make sure he gets them all. Jack does not do e mail - so please do not e mail 
but you are welcome to send good wishes, prayers and light to: 
Ramblin' Jack Elliott c/o Gaynell Rogers P.O. Box 1566, Nevada City, CA 95959

September 22

Ray Alden 1945-2000
Old time music has lost one of its great champions: banjoist, collector and documentarian Ray Alden, who succumbed to a battle against cancer and died in his home in 
Croton, New York. He was 67 years old.
One of the first devotees of the music from Round Peak, Ray Alden began making field trips to North Carolina in the early 1970s recording the music of Tommy 
Jarrell, Fred Cockerham, Kyle Creed and Ernest East. ?Ray's tireless devotion to their music provided him with hundreds of hours of exceptionally well recorded 
and meticulously documented field recordings of these musicians and many others in the region.
A tireless advocate for this music and culture, Ray abandoned a successful and safe career as a teacher of mathematics at New York's prestigious Stuyvesant 
High School to devote himself full time to the documentation, dissemination and performance of the music of Round Peak.
A powerful and dynamic banjoist himself, Ray Alden was a gifted teacher and a member of numerous bands including "Ben Steele and His Bare Hands" and the 
"Southern Schoolhouse Rascals." He was also a talented designer of custom HiFi speaker systems who literally "wrote the book" on their construction inspiring 
legions of young audiophiles to build his innovative loudspeakers.
Ray Alden's commitment to the process of old time music saw him inaugurate numerous record projects including "Visits" and the successful "Young Fogies" 
and "American Fogies" series ?and in recent years his launching of the Field Recorder's Collective label, his bold vision to make hundreds of hours of rare 
and unique field recordings he and others have made over the years available to a wider audience in affordable and lovingly documented packaging.
Ray Alden was beloved and respected by those whose music he collected and celebrated as much as he was revered and idolized by the many whom he inspired 
by his generous great hearted example. --- Henry Sapoznik

September 20
Went to Josh and Kate's today to play with my granddaughter some more; they're bringing her to my place for my first solo babysitting on Wednesday night so they can go to a concert, and I needed to practice. Today she was in full-on cranky baby mood. Did not want to go to sleep, though she was clearly exhausted, and just fussed and cried and acted like a normal baby. I finally got her to sleep by walking her up and down and singing to her - I think she fell asleep just to get away from my singing! Anyhow, Wednesday will be a big adventure.

The Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention is October 11th, and again this year I'm emceeing it. There have been flurries of organizational emails back and forth, as there are new folks in charge this year for the first time and they are sorting out how things will work - they are making big changes, so it will be very  different, and I'm curious to see how it goes. I'll be spending that night in S.B., and on Monday am taking the day off work in celebration of Columbus Day (my excuse, if I need one, is that I'm Italian) and am going to just lazy around up there, going to bookstores and wandering around having a nice relaxing time.

September 19  
Went out to the Coffee Gallery last night to hear Mother's Boys - actually went out there early so we could all go have dinner together at a local Mexican restaurant. Then back to the club, and their show, which was mostly Carter Family songs. How cool was that? It was great to see them again, especially of course my pal Peter Feldmann. Left after one set, because I had radio this morning.

And it was a very interesting morning at Radio Ranch. I was stunned, shocked, amazed and other superlatives at the support the listeners gave the show after only 7 weeks back on the air. The phones just kept on ringing, people kept pledging their support - it was terrific. I wasn't sure what to expect after so long off the air and so many program changes in that time slot in the interim, but apparently the people who actually care about this music were out in force this morning. Next Saturday will be fundraising again (and I hope the support continues), but the Saturday after THAT, October 3rd, when things return to post-fund-drive normal, I'll be doing a tribute to Mary Travers at the top of the show.

For those of you who listen to the show on the internet at a more reasonable hour: please  figure out the time difference and call in your support too, between 6:00-8:00 a.m. Pacific Time this coming Saturday, at (818) 985-5735. Thanks!  Just one more Saturday to go, and I hope we do as well next week as we did today.

September 16
Mary Travers died tonight 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. www.danburyhospital.org/devfund (click on "give on line, make a tribute gift")

September 15
Sad news, found on the web while looking for something else:

Norton Buffalo, singer-songwriter, vocalist and harmonica player for the Steve Miller Band since 1975, has revealed that he is suffering from Pneumonia and Stage 4 Lung Cancer which has spread to his brain. Writing about the situation from his hospital bed, the 57-year-old says that despite the fun of playing on the band's summer tour, he was having trouble breathing and ultimately sought the assistance of his personal doctor, who mistakenly told him his lungs sounded fine.
"I thought that I was developing some kind of asthma, with shortness of breath, wheezing and other asthma like symptoms," Norton wrote. "All of this was of course affecting both my harmonica playing and my singing as it seemed that there just wasn't enough air on the planet for what I was trying to do. As I was having such a challenging time breathing when the shows were over, I was just whooped to the core, could no longer rest comfortably on my right side and was basically miserable."
As his condition worsened, Buffalo sought out a specialist. "I spent several hours on the computer and phone, seeking out a pulmonary doctor who would see me. I found a great doctor, and he, very easily, diagnosed that I had pneumonia ... and that I had probably had it for the entire summer tour," he said. "I was prescribed a course of antibiotics and considering that we only had 7 shows to go ... and I'd already made it through the whole summer, that I would tough it out till the tour was finished. The shows went about the same still hard to breath."
After the band's Boston area date, Buffalo reveals he had serious coughing spasms that sent him the Emergency Room. Then on Sept. 2, he learned he had cancer in his lower right lung, which has been diagnosed as a Stage 4 Adenocarcinoma of the right lower lobe. The following day an MRI revealed it is also in his brain.
As a result, Norton said, "I have unfortunately had to cancel my tour to Germany and all future concerts and commitments due to my health concerns. We may be able to reschedule for a later date, but for now I'm home in the USA."

September 14

That Pat Donohue guy is such a card!

"WOULD YOU LIKE TO PLAY THE GUITAR?"
Pat Donohue - lyric  (to the tune of "Would You Like to Swing On a Star")

Would you like to play the guitar
Carry money home in a jar
From a coffeehouse or a bar
Or would you rather get a job?

A job is the thing that makes you get out of bed
And work every day until you're dead
Your back is achin' and your brain is numb
And you just can't wait until the weekend comes
But if you don't want to starve or beg or rob
You're gonna have to get a job

Or would you like to play the guitar
Drive for miles and miles in your car
And pretend that you're a big star
Or would you rather book the gig?

An agent's the guy who takes his twenty percent
What he says isn't always what he meant
He'll clean you out in ways you never thought
Because he's good at business and he knows you're not
And then he'll sue if you ever make it big
'Cause he's the guy who booked the gig

Or would you like to play the guitar
For a living - har-dee-har-har
I'll admit it's kind of bizarre
Or would you rather be the wife

The wife is the one who has to rescue our butts
She's either a saint or else she's nuts
She gets impatient and she gets annoyed
'Cause she's the one who must remain employed
And, by the way, if you want to wreck your life
Become a guitar player's wife

'Cause all the monkeys aren't in the zoo
They can be trained to play guitar, too
Some do a whole lot better than you
But even if you don't go far
You could be worse off than you are
At least you're playing your guitar

Here's a great Howlin' Wolf video with Willie Dixon on bass and Hubert Sumlin on guitar, from England, 1964. Smokestack Linghtnin'!

Sam Hinton's obituary ran in today's L.A. Times.
latimes.com/news/obituaries/la-me-sam-hinton15-2009sep15,0,6650349.story
Sam Hinton dies at 92; folk songwriter and singer
Hinton was one of the founders of the folk-song movement that began in the 1930s. A onetime San Diego area resident, he also wrote two books on the sea and seashore animals.
By Tony Perry, 11:23 AM PDT, September 14, 2009
Sam Hinton, folk singer, songwriter, naturalist and San Diego civic treasure who delighted school children and folk-festival audiences for decades, has died. He was 92.
Hinton died Thursday at an assisted living facility in Albany in Northern California where, in failing health, he had moved two years ago. The cause of death was a series of old-age ailments including
congestive heart failure, said his daughter, Leanne.
Possessed of a gentle, whimsical manner, and an enthusiasm for singing what he called "old songs for young people," Hinton was one of the fathers of the folk-song movement that began in the 1930s and gained great popularity in the 1940s and 1950s.
Sam Hinton was born March 21, 1917, in Tulsa, Okla. In Oklahoma and later in Texas, he developed a lifelong passion for two things: reptiles (particularly snakes) and folk music.
The rural region of his youth was home to a grab bag of ethnic, social and racial groups -- Cajuns, African Americans, cowboys, recent European immigrants, and people from the Ozark s -- and Hinton was attracted to their music.
He delighted in telling how when he was 5, his mother, a gifted pianist, took him to a music store and bought him a harmonica. Before they left the store, the boy was playing a passable version of "Turkey in the Straw."
By 8, he was entertaining people on his harmonica and a two-button accordion. "I was kind of a hard kid to raise," Hinton is quoted on the website, www.samhinton.org. "Mama tried to divert me, sometimes. I wanted to catch snakes, and she thought it would be nicer for me to raise gladiolas."
At 19, Hinton got an offer he couldn't refuse: to join the Major Bowes traveling vaudeville show. He was attending Texas A&M, paying his bills by singing and also selling snake venom. Joining the traveling troupe, he toured 46 states and parts of Canada, singing and playing in front of audiences of all sizes.
He enrolled at UCLA, earned a degree in zoology in 1940, and married Leslie Forster, a violinist and singer. The marriage endured until her death in 2005.
In 1942 he became a director of the Desert Museum in Palm Springs. In 1943 he took a post doing war-related research at the University of California's Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla. The
research involved helping the U.S. Navy find better ways to carry the fight to the enemy or, as Hinton later put it, "how to sink and not get sunk."
Over the next five decades, Hinton held several jobs at the university, including director of the aquarium and director of the university's outreach to local schools. He co-wrote two books, with Joel Hedgpeth,
"Exploring Under the Sea" and "Common Seashore Animals of Southern California."
He also wrote a nature column for the local newspaper, performed at schools and festivals, and made a series of recordings, some for the Library of Congress, including "Buffalo Boy and the Barnyard Song," a collection of Anglo-Irish songs and ballads.
Unlike other folk singers, notably Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger, Hinton's songs were not known for their biting political or social commentary. Still, he had a run-in with the House Un-American Activities
Committee with his song "Old Man Atom," also called "Talking Atomic Blues," which included the line, "peace in the world or the world in pieces."
By his own reckoning, he knew more than 2,000 songs, many of which he had written.
In 1988 San Diego proclaimed a Sam Hinton Day and then-Mayor Maureen O'Connor praised him for bringing "pure joy and delight" to the city.
Hinton's songs contained humor and often a gentle admonition to children and others to be kind to others and to the environment around them. "Whoever Shall Have Some Good Peanuts" is a playful way of reminding the young what happens when they are stingy with others.

"Whoever shall have some good peanuts
And giveth his neighbor none
Then he can't have any of my good peanuts
When his good peanuts are gone
Oh won't it be joyful, joyful, joyful
Oh won't it be joyful
When his good peanuts are gone."

Besides his daughter, Leanne of Berkeley, Hinton is survived by his son, Matthew of Trinidad, Calif.; two grandchildren; and a great-grandchild. A memorial service is planned for San Diego.
tony.perry@latimes.com
Copyright © 2009, The Los Angeles Times

And you can also listen as Leanne Hinton reminisces about her father on All Things Considered.

September 12
I was supposed to babysit Eliza today but won't get to, as I am not feeling 100%, so until I see the doctor on Monday and get rid of whatever this germ is, I don't want to be near her.

Last night Jennifer and Bruce and I went out to the Greek Theater to hear Bonnie Raitt and Taj Mahal. I had not seen Taj in many years, so it was great to get to hear him sing and play again.  And Bonnie was an amazing revelation as always. The only not-fun part was that we wanted to visit some with her after the show, which meant that we didn't get home till nearly midnight, and when that alarm clock went off at 4 a.m. to get me up for the radio show, I was cranky.

September 11
Wow, what a week of losses!


September 10
September 7
Al Franken channels Mick Jagger: I'm trying to imagine sitting in the Solid Gold audience in 1982 and thinking, "Yeah, I can totally see this guy being a U.S. Senator some day."  What a wonderfully weird country we live in.

Tomorrow night I'm taking my pal Jim out to dinner to celebrate his birthday. Thursday night is my music biz committee meeting, and Friday night I'm taking Jennifer and Bruce to Bonnie Raitt's concert at the Greek Theater. So when, you may ask, am I going to program Saturday morning's radio show? What a good question. But the real fun will happen Saturday afternoon, when I get to babysit Eliza for the first time. One of Kate's colleagues at her law firm is getting married that day, and Kate has been long promised to be at the wedding, so Grandma gets the first of a lifetime of one-on-one times with the little one. My current plans call for me to spend the evening teaching her to speak French , memorize the fifty states and their capitals, and do algebra; I'm also taking bets as to how many times Josh and/or Kate will call home during the wedding reception, "just to check in." This is, as far as I know, the first time they have ever both left her at the same time, so a little nervousness is only natural. Not quite a month old yet and already driving her parents crazy; she's right on track for this family!

September 4

September 3
It's. Just. Too. Hot.

September 1
Nigel Russel, who wrote the Stan Rogers song "White Collar Holler," died a couple of weeks ago. This from his sister Lesley:

Hello. I'm Nigel's sister in Hamilton.
My dear brother died on August 14, 2009. His son Garrett was killed tragically in February, 2008 ... at the young age of only 15. This was a huge loss and sorrow for him.
Nigel died in his sleep as a result of seizure .. a condition he had for many years. It was speculated that it was cased by a brain injury as result of a motorcycle accident many years ago. Although the disorder only affected him in his sleep ... and was usually fairly well controlled by medication ... he still had episodes ... and this one was fatal because he suffocated during the seizure.
His family and friends are heartbroken.
Nigel was a member of The Studebakers based in Austin Texas. You can see a couple of videos of Nigel's music as well as his obituary if you visit this link:
http://www.kateandchris.net/nigel
His memorial service was yesterday .. a fitting and beautiful tribute to a unique, talented and joyful man who generously shared his music and his dear self with friends (old and new) in many far flung places.
hugs and peace to you my dear brother.

Sunday August 30
I'm serving on a music business committee that has weekly meetings for the next month or so, and somehow that one meeting per weeknight is looming very large on my schedule. However, I do it because I feel that I should; not sure where I get the strong streak of volunteering masochism that seems to run in my bloodstream!

Now that the radio show is back on the air (well, till we see what happens at the Fund Drive in September, anyhow!) I am listening to a lot more music at home in the evenings and on the weekends than I used to. There's a lot of wonderful new stuff coming out all the time, and it's a lot of fun to sort through it all. However, if truth be told there's a surprising amount of absolute garbage out there too, but the good news is that I usually only have to listen to a couple of tracks from those offerings to know that there's nothing useful to me.

I got to spend a little time with my granddaughter yesterday, and changed my first diaper in about 32 years! I haven't lost my touch - but there have been some amazing changes since I last did it. The obvious one: no more diaper pins; they are held together by tape now, which is so much more sensible - prevents accidentally sticking the pin into the baby! Even more interesting is the light yellow strip that runs down the center of the diaper, which turns blue when the baby wets on it! (In my day one had to stick a finger down into the front of the diaper to check for wetness; no more!)

To my friends far away who keep up with my doings by reading this: the fires in this area are very bad, but are nowhere near my hillside. Yet.

Wednesday August 26
http://www.theatermania.com/new-york/news/08-2009/songwriter-ellie-greenwich-dies-at-69_20883.html
By: Brian Scott Lipton · Aug 26, 2009   · New York
Ellie Greenwich, one of the foremost songwriters of the rock 'n' roll era, has died at age 69, according to reports.
Greenwich's songs were the basis of the 1985 Broadway revue Leader of the Pack, which earned a Tony Award nomination for Best Musical. She also appeared in the production, alongside Patrick Cassidy, Dinah Manoff, Annie Golden, Jasmine Guy, Darlene Love, and other stars.
In addition to the song "Leader of the Pack," Greenwich wrote such iconic hits as "Be My Baby," "Da Doo Ron Ron," "Tell Laura I Love Her" and "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)." In 1991, she and Jeff Barry, her former husband and songwriting and producing partner, were inducted into the Songwriters' Hall of Fame.
Greenwich's songs were also featured in three other Broadway revues: Uptown, It's Hot!, Andre De Shields' Harlem Nocturne, and Rock 'n' Roll! The First 5,000 Years.

Tuesday August 25
The most recent schedule of radio show guests is posted on the playlists page - check there for updates and changes, too. Tom Sauber ("Ballads, Banjos & Bluegrass") is having a hip replacement, but as soon as he is well he too has said yes!

My computer died of a bad case of fried brains on Sunday morning at 5:00. For about four hours I did everything I could think of to recover the files, but it was, you know, dead. At about 10 a.m. I gave up and called in the big guns: Josh and Bruce. They poked the corpse, ran some diagnostics through Josh's laptop, and agreed that it was, in fact, dead.
In that computer were all the programs and all the files I use to maintain this web site, including the calendar and the playlists and this unimportant stream of drivel. I was at my wits end (not that I had too far to go...)
So yesterday I went to Office Depot and bought a new computer <insert image of my credit card, gasping for breath and fanning itself> and Bruce helped me set it up, and today Josh came over and poked around on the internet and said, hmmm....hmmmmm.....hmmmmmmmmm....for a  really long time, and then he said, okay, try THIS, and it worked. ALL my calendar files, all my playlists, everything is back. This is a happy ending. Except for the part about eating bread and water for six months to pay for the new computer.

Friday August 21
http://www.yakima-herald.com/stories/2009/08/21/award-winning-musician-dies
Award-winning musician Larry Knechtel dies
YAKIMA, Wash. - Award-winning musician Larry Knechtel, who recently called Yakima home, has died at the age of 69. Knechtel performed live and in the studio with top-selling artists for nearly half a century. Most recently, he played keyboard on the Grammy award-winning Dixie Chicks’ album “Taking the Long Way.” He was a key member of such groups as the Wrecking Crew and Bread.
Born in Bell, Calif., Knechtel also played with artists as diverse as Neil Diamond, Randy Newman and Elvis Costello.
Knechtel died Thursday at Yakima Valley Memorial Hospital. Memorial services are pending.

I know I'm not writing as much here as usual; life is just really crowded right now, but everything is fine. Tomorrow, frinstance, I am up at 4, on the radio 6-8 a.m., then to breakfast, then to the Post Office and a bunch of other errands, then to visit Eliza and Josh and Kate at 11 a.m., and lunch with them, followed by a meeting with someone who wants me to do research for a forthcoming folk music documentary, then  I hope a nap before doing three loads of laundry and having dinner with friends.  And Sunday is more of the same, only without the laundry. I am so tired all the time that I hardly ever go out and hear live music any more; I have to be up at 4:45 every weekday morning for work and 4:00 on Saturdays, so staying out much past 9 p.m. is hell.

There will be a memorial service for Mike in December in the DC area, for friends only (not, in other words, a public service.) I am not sure yet about going; I can't be gone from my office for the ten days it would take to do the whole round trip journey by train. I can go if I fly, but...

On October 11th I am, for about the 25th year in a row, emceeing the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention. This is one of the most wonderful things I get to do in the music area of my life. Lots of little kids toting banjos and fiddles and playing "Cripple Creek" out of tune -  that may not sound like much fun, but it really is. And there are enough talented kids (and grownups) that it's just a delightful day. By the end of it my feet are always telling me things, but it's worth it. Will stay overnight in S.B. that night and hope to have breakfast the next morning with friends there, and a cruise through the book stores and music stores up there that I only get to visit once a year.

The Dodgers are blowing hot and cold, as I knew they would by this time of year. Still in first place, at the moment, but not by (as) much.

Wednesday August 19
From my pal Tom Freeland's lawyer blog:
A significant percentage of the people who believe that President Obama was not born in the United States also believe that he was born in Hawaii. This is because they believe that Hawaii is not part of the United States. There have to be certain agreed-upon premises before people can engage in a meaningful conversation.  A person who believes the earth is flat cannot have a coherent discussion about what is in the sky with an astronomer.

Just heard that folksinger Fred Starner is in the hospital with pneumonia. He can't talk on the phone due to vocal cord problems, so the best way to get in touch with him to send get well wishes is via email to fstarner2@earthlink.net.

I'm Fred's daughter Tasha. He wanted me to e-mail you to let you know he has been in the hospital for about a week and will be unable to do any concerts for awhile. They think he has pneumonia and some other infections that are not under control just yet. As well his right vocal cord is paralyzed. We hope and pray that this is temporary. Needless to say it has been a difficult week for all - him mostly.  If you want to e-mail Fred I will take it to him. He has a whisper and a hoarse voice so speaking on the phone is frustrating for him.

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.

Another one in the net: Ben Elder has agreed to come in and guest host the show with me on Saturday, October 10.  Next victim, Tom Sauber (anybody remember his wonderful show "Ballads, Banjos and Bluegrass?"), if I can talk him into it. Then Mark Humphrey says that he will come in and guest host a show sometime in December.

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.

Wednesday August 5
My pal Andy works for a company that has a corporate box at Dodger Stadium. The tickets are rotated around among the various folks at his office, and last night was his turn, and he was kind enough to invite me! So I got to see a 17-4 Dodger blowout win from the comfort of REALLY good seats. Ahhh, Dodger Dogs. Ahhh, peanuts. Ahhh, I was a happy camper. This was my first time this year to see a game live, and the only time I went last year was ALSO courtesy of Andy's free seats. (Good thing the seats were free because the food and drinks are incredibly expensive!) I had my cell phone in my hand the whole time, waiting for a text or a call from Josh that they were on the way to the hospital to deliver Eliza, but that young lady was courteous enough to stay put in her mother's tummy so that I got to see the whole game. There was plenty of action - lots of hits, lots of runs, lots of hit batters (!), one ejection, several fumbled plays (fortunately all by the Brewers) and it was all great except the part about not getting home until 11 p.m. When the alarm clock goes off every morning at 4:45 I am kind of cranky when I have stayed out too late the night before. And I didn't get anything done toward Saturday's show, so tonight after work I must do nothing but plow straight through on it.

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!

IT'S OFFICIAL! ALIVE AND PICKING IS BACK ON THE AIRWAVES! TUNE IN EVERY SATURDAY MORNING FROM 6-8 A.M. ON KPFK, 90.7 FM. And thanks to everyone for your supportive letters and emails. If you live far away, you can listen live online; go to www.kpfk.org at your equivalent of 6:00-8:00 a.m. Pacific Time on Saturdays and click on "listen live" on the left hand side of the station's home page.

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!

Tuesday July 13
Tomorrow would have been my old friend Keith's birthday, and I would have tortured him about it big time!

Wednesday July 8
Sorry to learn that singer Mary Travers of Peter, Paul & Mary is seriously ill and has been hospitalized. All outstanding Peter, Paul & Mary tour dates have been cancelled, with the exception of a few, and those few will be fulfilled by Peter and Noel Paul performing as a duo, without Mary. *ETA* that on July 16, from the stage in Morristown, NJ, Peter Yarrow announced that Mary is now officially in retirement from performing.  That's the end of an era in the folk music world; I think PP&M started performing together in about 1961, so thay had a 48 year career with the same personnel. Other groups may have been together longer, but not with their original personnel; the Kingston Trio still perform, as do the Limeliters, but there is no one now in either of those groups that was an original member. (In fact I think one current member of the Limeliters was not even born when that group started out). Anyhow, sorry to wave a long goodbye to Peter, Paul & Mary, all old friends of mine since the beginning of their career. I hope that Peter and Noel Paul, gifted entertainers and good guys, continue to do concerts either separately or together.

Funny quote du jour, from my pal Tom Freeland's blog, on Alaska Governor Sarah Palin's recent resignation announcement:

The CNN article has Palin’s spokeshuman stating that "the governor needed a break after being on duty two and a half years solid." Who woulda thought that getting elected to a four year term would be longer than two and a half years? The devil is in the details.

Wednesday July 1
I was very sorry to learn today that the hilarious British comedy actress Mollie Sugden has died. She was the funniest of the many gifted actors on the UK comedy show called "Are You Being Served," on which she played Mrs. Slocombe. Oh dear, I laugh just thinking about her. What a gift that is. The show runs here in L.A. on PBS once a week, and although these are reruns (it's over 40 years old and most of the actors have died off) and although I have seen all of the episodes several times each, it's still funnier than anything American television cranks out.

Kate and I went shopping recently for baby things. We bought a pack-n-play crib for my office and another for my home, a stroller, and a baby carrier that straps around me (and the baby) for easy transport. We went to Babies-R-Us, a sub-store of Toys-R-Us, and oh my gosh there are so many things for babies now that didn't exist "back then" when I was having kids (I was pregnant with Jennifer 40 years ago). Some of the stuff we saw was just silly (or should I say silly and incredibly expensive), but some of it makes so much sense I don't know why it took so long for it to be invented. Hard to believe that my own youngest baby is going to be a daddy in just a few more weeks.

May 8
Jean Ritchie posted this lovely note to Mudcat yesterday:
Here. We're back - son Jon from a two-week hospital stay, still having tests after getting home as they still can't find what the trouble is. George from another series of tests, taking 18 different pills a day, soon to be told to start dialysis. Myself growling around the house with a hundred aches and pains. I can see and feel big changes coming, and know that this long Growing-Old part of our lives is coming to an end --- We ARE old! I start reading sympathetically about poor OLD people, and suddenly it hits me: What? I myself am 86. What do we do with our house? Man - all these taxes, who'll pay them next year? Will we go to a nursing home? Have a live-in nurse? I tell you, it's so hard when you finally realize that Life makes you keep on learning- right up to the end. I guess, as long as I can understand Life's messages, I'll be able to go on.
And I tell myself, "Just think of all the people that ever lived in this world. How many problems and worries and tragedies have they endured, along with the fewer joys and goodtimes and successes? And, when you come down to it, one is one and all alone and evermore shall be so. Or another way of putting it, You got to cross that lonesome valley by yourself.
I don't dread it, once I accept it. I have so loved my Mother and Father, all my gaggle of sisters, my three brothers (only one out of all of them is still in the world with me). We hurt with them if they have pain at the end, but we cannot go with them or ease that journey. Someone said, "The dead always look peaceful." I believe they are. I believe that they have walked the valley and found at last the destination we all are are striving to find. What else is Life, but a trip towards something higher and better? People who have almost died, have talked of being in a dark tunnel with a faint but bright light far ahead; then their passage is forbidden and they have to turn from the light and return to Life- to do an unfinished task there? To help or guide someone else for awhile longer?
I wonder- but it doesn't matter, does it? None of us can live forever. We must live Life to the fullest, then give those behind us a loving farewell. That's what I hope I can do.
I'll stop, because I don't know what I'm trying to say, but I thought it ought to be said. I guess I was trying to understand, myself, that not all of us CAN live to be old, or WANT to, and so arrive earlier at that entrance into the next world. In my personal prayers, I always say in my thoughts, "Lord, I'll stay as long as You need me, so show me what to do..."
Big Mick, feel better, and I hope that Fate, or Karma, or whatever, eases up on you. I know you'll be needed in this Life for a long time, so take the reins that have been handed to you, and have a good, long run. You have many who love you and are running along with you, and that lonesome valley is still far away.
Love to you all, Jean
PS: Darn- I bet y'all will think this is a stupid letter, and tomorrow I may think so myself! But it's what I felt like saying.

April 25
Certainly got a lot of walking done today! Jim and I went to the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books at UCLA, and my pedometer was gasping for breath by the time we finally left. He got two books autographed by Joseph Wambaugh, and we ate hot dogs and had frozen lemonades (I mean, what would a blob be without a food review?) and we wandered around looking at all the booths. There were lines of varying lengths for different authors; Kristin Chenoweth seemed to be everywhere, and Steve Lopez (who wrote the column in the L.A. Times which then became a book, and then a film, about his meeting with and befriending of street musician Nathaniel Ayres) had the longest lines I've ever seen at this affair. My dear friend Peter Yarrow was there to sign copies of Puff The Magic Dragon and his other childrens' books; Jim and I rendezvoused with Josh and Kate at Peter's stage before he went on, and then after he finished his set he got to meet Kate for the first time (and in typical Peter fashion he sang "Puff" to her tummy, so my granddaughter has already had her first folk music concert and she won't even be born till July).
Then tonight we went to the Hammer for a program of Vitaphone short films. There were all kinds of films: music (The Mound City Blue Blowers were hilarious), comedy, rope twirling, (melo)drama, and lots more. It was great fun, and best of all we ran into lots of people that we knew: Bobb and Barbara Lynes, Ian and Regina Whitcomb, lots of the Monday night Conrad's regulars, and Mark Humphrey, so there was much pre and post film visiting. And when I got home, the Dodgers had won, again!

April 22
Had a great time last night; went out to the Coffee Gallery Backstage in Altadena to hear my pal Peter Feldmann make music with his two partners Rick Cunha and David Jackson, in a group they call Mother's Boys. We foregathered early, by arrangement, so they could unload their instruments at the club, and then we all went to dinner at a place I'd never been before, near the corner of Lake St. and Orange Grove in Pasadena called Tonny's: Mexican, funky, home cooking, not expensive. Good guacamole, always a critical point for me; no alcohol, which made the guys rather gloomy since the club also doesn't sell any. A whole show with no beer; what's the world coming to? We talked awhile about the music business (shocking, I know) and then went back to the club and I sat there and got a brief all-to-myself show (soundcheck) and then owner Bob Stane let the "real" audience in (a pretty good house for a Tuesday night! said Bob) and the guys did two sets. Rick on 6, 12 and Weissenborn guitars, Peter on mandolin and guitar, and David on a gigantic acoustic guitar/bass. I've known Peter for, oh my goodness, well over forty years - from when the Scragg Family used to play at the Ash Grove - and he's a wonderful old-time and bluegrass player.  He's also the founder of the Santa Barbara Old Time Fiddlers Convention and the person who conned me into emceeing it all those years ago, and I've been doing it ever since.
At dinner they told me that they've been making a record at Rick's home studio that's all Carter Family songs (hope they didn't notice that I was drooling), and they did quite a few of those during the show. The alarm clock that goes off every morning at a stupidly early hour meant that I had to leave after the first set, but Todd, who came and sat with me and then stayed for the whole show, said in an email later that the second set was terrific too.

April 19
Two interesting internet finds, and they're related; I trust you to figure out how:
The first is an excerpt from a  1993 Jerry Garcia interview by David Brown & Rebecca Novick in VOICES FROM THE EDGE (Crossing Press, 1995, pp. 60-61):
Rebecca: So what is the dynamic between you and the audience when you're on stage?
Jerry: When things are working right, you gain levels. It's like Tibetan bardos. The first level is simply your fundamental relationship to your instrument. When that starts to get comfortable, the next level is your relationship to the other musicians. When you're hearing what you want to and things seem to be working the way
you want them to, then it includes the audience. When it gets to that level, it's seamless. It's no longer an effort. It flows and it's wide open. Sometimes, however, when I feel that's happening, the music is really boring. It's too perfect. What I like most is to be playing with total access, where anything I try to play or want to happen, I can execute flawlessly. For me, that's the high water mark. But perfection is always boring.
Rebecca: I've heard that musicians using computer synthesizers are complaining that the sound produced is so perfect it's uninteresting, and that manufacturers are now looking to program in human error.
Jerry: Right. I think the audience enjoys it more when it's a little more of a struggle.
David: What is it that you feel is missing in that case?
Jerry: Tension.
David: Tension between what and what?
Jerry: The tension between trying to create something and creating something, between succeeding and failing. Tension is a part of what makes music work: tension and release, or if you prefer, dissonance and resonance, or suspension and completion.

The second is from "The Real Work: Modern Magic and the Meaning of Life," by Adam Gopnik, in The New Yorker, March 17, 2008:
Of all the arguments that can preoccupy the mindful magician, the most important involves what is called the Too Perfect Theory. ... The Too Perfect theory says, basically, that any trick that simply astounds will give itself away. ..... In every art, the Too Perfect theory helps explain why people are more convinced by an imperfect, "distressed" illusion than by a perfectly realized one. ... The theory explains the force of the off-slant scene in a film, the power of elliptical dialogue in the theatre, the constant artistic need to turn away from apparent perfection toward the laconic or unfixed. Illusion affects us only when it is incomplete.
But the Too Perfect theory has larger meanings, too. It reminds us that, whatever the context, the empathetic interchange between minds is satisfying only when it is "dynamic," unfinished, unresolved. Friendships, flirtations, even love affairs depend, like magic tricks, on a constant exchange of incomplete but tantalizing information. ...Frauds master our minds; magicians, like poets and lovers, engage them in a permanent maze of possibilities. The trick is to renew the possibilities, to keep them from becoming schematized, to let them be imperfect, and the question between us is always "Who's the magician?"
When we say that love is magic, we are telling a truth deeper, and more ambiguous, than we know.

Well, Jim and I were supposed to go hear Wanda Jackson perform at a hair salon in Redondo Beach today, but although he manfully drove us all the way down there, it turned out that her performance was going to be delayed by several *hours* from its projected start time; so instead we had lunch at a Mexican taco joint, visited a little bit with Jennifer and Bruce, did not buy a pocketbook that cost $220.00, and then drove from Redondo Beach to Highland Park, or was it Echo Park, or was it Glassell Park? Anyhow, over there somewhere, to the magical world that is Galco's Soda Pop Stop. Jim had seen it on Huell Howser's show, but didn't remember its name, only that it was on York Blvd. somewhere. We drove over to Ray Campi's house, since he lives in that area, figuring that he would be able to tell us where it was, but he wasn't home, although his cats and his cars were. Then I had the bright idea of calling Tom and Claire (what did we do before we had cell phones?), who know everything there is to know in their neighborhood; sure enough, Claire knew, and Googled it, and just as she was reading me the address we drove past it! This is exactly the kind of place I go crazy in; Necco Wafers! JuJuBes! Good'N'Plenty! Dad's Old Fashioned Root Beer! Milk Duds! Orange Crush! And, first time I've seen them in decades, those little teeny soda bottles made of wax that have some kind of sweet colored liquid in them. (I was hoping to find bottles of Nehi Orange and/or Grape Soda Pop, but surprisingly they didn't have any so I bought Nesbitts instead). Coming home we drove surface streets around Echo Park in areas that neither of us knew about, and got home just in time for me to turn on the TV and see that the Dodgers were leading the Rockies 11-0 (the final was 14-2)!

April 18
A funny story about how I met Dick Waterman:
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 Appalachians 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).  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. All right, here it comes, or as Ron Thomason would say, I told you that to tell you this:
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 11
Baby names: there are a couple of front-runners at the moment, Eliza (my great-grandmother's name) and Tess. But there's still three months to go, and minds may change. Let's just say I'm not having anything embroidered or personalized for my granddaughter till I see the birth certificate!

The Phil Spector murder case has gone to the jury. This, on the face of it, has nothing to do with me, yet I've followed the trial since it started, and followed the first one, the one that ended in a hung jury, before that; not through the news reports, but through Art and Todd and Jim, all of whom are old friends of Spector's and all of whom have been in and out of the courtroom(s) throughout the proceedings.  Because they ARE old friends of his, they are doing what old friends do. They show up, and they stand by him; sometimes during the noon recess they'd go out to lunch with him and his wife; now that the trial is over, from time to time one of them will get a call from him, and the word goes around. They meet him at a restaurant somewhere, and they sit together and talk; Jim says that Spector invariably picks up the tab. Out of friendship, and regardless of their own opinions of the case, they're doing their part to distract him from the process, which seems to have been one of almost continuous delays. There were days when they sat in court all day and nothing happened, other days when a juror was ill and nothing happened, other days when the judge had another case and nothing happened. The two trials, spanning over five years, have cost so much in lawyer's fees that a mortgage has been taken out on Spector's elegant house, the same house where what Guy calls "the incident" happened. It makes me want to throw up when I hear the violent death of a human being referred to as "the incident," but I remind myself that, whether he's guilty or innocent, this man is their friend, and they are trying to be loyal; Guy's dad Ray was a charter member of the Wrecking Crew, so he has known Spector almost all his life. Now, it seems, something is close to happening. The jury has had the case for three weeks, and surely something will be resolved soon. But while they are all waiting, my guys are standing by their friend. Jim says that if Spector, now nearly seventy, is found guilty, he and Art will carpool to visit him in prison regularly; and there will be another, civil trial regardless of the outcome of this criminal trial, and they will show up and stand up for him at that one too. He is lucky to have such supportive friends; I wonder who is standing for the victim in this case? I hope her memory fares as well.

Here's a nice version of Will the Circle Be Unbroken? sung by some familiar folks.
  
April 10
A trio of angels (Dolly, Linda and Emmylou) sounding heavenly; that's Sam Bush on mandolin and Carl Jackson on guitar.

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 (40 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 pregnant with Josh (33 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, and 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 lives just two blocks up the hill, and having paparazzi and helicopters there every damn day makes it hard to get through the one lane canyon street I live on so nobody's really thrilled about having her there, but we all agree that it's 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.

April 6
Bonnie Raitt lost her brother Steve over the weekend, when he finally lost his long battle with brain cancer. He was tougher than the doctors thought, though; he was given six months to live - back in 2001. His story is here.

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.
 
Last weekend was fun; although I only got back to town on Wednesday night, and had to work Thursday and Friday, I had managed to schedule a party for Saturday. Yeah, well, my timing has never been all that great! Jennifer's, Josh's and my birthdays *and* Josh and Kate's wedding anniversary all fall within a nine-day span in early March, plus I had been out of town for Mardi Gras, so how could we not have a party? It was lots of fun and not all that much work; Jennifer and Kate came over early Saturday morning to help, and by noon we had it nailed down. I made a big pot of jambalaya and another of barbecued chicken; Clare brought two kinds of cornbread (jalapeno, and not), Esther brought FOUR lemon cakes (!), Celinda brought bean salad, Josh and Kate brought potato salad, Jim brought wine, Andy and Ria brought soft drinks, and Billy, as usual, brought a six pack of Pepsi to be sure he'd have something to drink! It was lovely to see so many of my friends all in one place.

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 De Ville 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, we 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?"