Devil Makes Three, a band from Santa Cruz  (Calif.) plays bluegrass, rockabilly, and blues, and performed before a wildly cheering crowd last night in Petaluma (Calif.). The crowd, mostly in their 20s and 30s knew all their songs, and things were jammed close to the stage. Every so often someone would get passed along above the crowd and the big bouncer at left would jump in, grab the person, and hustle him/her off to the side.

Here’s one of their songs on YouTube: 

I drove in to the city along the coast as the sun came up. Heading down Fulton St. here, which focuses on city hall (unfortunately painted black and gold).Storefront next to Ritual Roasters on Valencia. Your guess as good as mine. Sometimes there’s a cat prowling around or sleeping in the window.Another store window on Valencia ( near 20th-21st — a vital couple of blocks in contempo San Francisco)It’s now 8:20 AM, I’ve had a latte and donut, now going to check the NY Times and email on speedy wi-fi. Billie Holiday CD playing.  I love coming into the city.

Yesterday 3 of us went exploring up a narrow, steep canyon out in the hills. There was Tomas — a botanist,  Peter — a local organic farmer, and myself. Tomas and I are both trained runners and I guess we both thought we’d have to go slow for Peter. We got about 10 minutes into the hike, up a steep fire trail and I notice Tomas and I were breathing heavily — and Peter wasn’t. We were at it for 5-1/2 hours, wading through the water, crawling over logs and ducking under brush.

Peter and TomasIt continually amazes me what”s in one’s own territory. If you get away from electronics and roust around in the nearby world, there’s a treasury of riches — true wherever you live.

Bones of a deer, laid out in precise order, deep in the canyon. Peter says coyotes would scatter the bones, but this was a mountain lion, who meticulously consumed its prey. You can barely see the skull with horns at the top. An artistic predator, leaving something that resembles a cave painting.

When we got as far up the canyon as we could, we climbed up the side and headed vaguely in the direction of a place called Pablo Point. For an hour and a half we bushwhacked through the brush, following the faintest of animal trails, doubling back, crawling and sometimes bellying along until we finally reached Pablo Point, trails to which are now abandoned. I won’t say Peter kicked our asses, but I’ll say that keeping up with him had me totally exhausted at the end of the day. We had just the greatest time. A beautiful day, exploring unknown territory, little waterfalls on the sides, listening to these two guys swapping info about trees and plants and — getting a killer workout.

Lloyd and Peter

PS I love doing stuff and coming back and writing it up like this. There just ain’t enough time to do as much of it as I’d like. 

Mark “Tuba” Smith

This is a companion website for the book Sidewalk Saints: Life Portraits of the New Orleans Street Performer Family: https://www.sidewalksaints.com/bands/51-mark-qtubaq-smith

(Sent me by Rick Gordon)

“I get back to New Orleans, they had agencies was giving away instruments to all the musicians. Everybody getting brand new horns, but me and a brand new horn, oh no. A new horn you gotta nurse it like a baby. The horn gotta grow up with you. I ain’t got time for that shit. I said let me get this here tuba, some forty years old, donated from Wichita, Kansas. Everybody saying, Tuba what’s wrong with you getting that old horn? Let me tell you something, ain’t nothing like a horn that’s ass done been whipped and beat up on. That way before the horn can beat me up, I’m beating up on the horn. It’s gotta have the seasoning, the flavor. Just like frying chicken. You can’t fry no chicken unless that skillet been seasoned. See, with chicken they got something called Tuba’s chicken, you know my momma and daddy done taught me. And that’s the best damn chicken. Now, I could tell you how to make Tuba’s chicken, but you go home and your chicken ain’t gonna taste the same. Why? Cause you ain’t go the same pot. Your pot ain’t been seasoned. See, me and my music done been seasoned. I gotta have me a horn that got the same flavor…”

On Tuesday night, my friend Roger (also a native San Franciscan) gave me an old scrapbook he’d picked up at a garage sale. Someone had cut out articles from 1948-’49 newspapers and made a period scrapbook. It was perfect, and brought back memories of those years, Jeez, SF was even more breathtakingly beautiful and wonderful in the 40s and 50s, when it was still a real port. Ah, well, ain’t it true everywhere?

We lived on the last block of Ulloa Street (26 kids on one block), near the “L,” “M.” and “K” streetcar lines. This rare photo shows one of the old-style streetcars from the ’40s. The cowcatcher is being lowered here. When direction of the car was reversed at the end of the line, the cowcatcher would be tied up on the back end via a cable through that round fitting in the center.

Throughout the city us kids would creep up behind a slowly moving car (crouching so the conductor, who was in the back, wouldn’t see us), then run up and jump on the cowcatcher.* We rode all over the city. The 2-mile long tunnel from West Portal to Castro – –  whoa! Sparks flying overhead from the electric trolleys, lots of alcoves where someone on foot in the tunnel could jump when trains came by, 30 mph rocking through the darkness. To come out into the dazzling city at Market and Castro.

Every Saturday I’d go to the movies. I loved the movies. There was no TV. Market Street was, among other things, an arcade of film palaces, the Fox, the Warfield, the Paramount… I’d walk the 6 or so blocks, looking at marquees; sometimes I’d go to two movies. Actually, come to think of it, when I was maybe 10, my grandmother used to take me for what she called “a toot:” taking in two movies on Market Street. (Different eras, different “toots.”)

These days I don’t watch too many movies. But once in a while I get stunned. Donnie Brasco (1997), with Al Pacino and Johnny Depp is a great film. It snuck up on me; halfway through I realized that the dialogue was brilliant, the chemistry between Al and Johnny perfect. I think it’s Pacino’s finest role. And Johnny can actually act, as opposed to the weird roles he’s been playing in shitty movies lately). The dialogue is on the level of “The Wire” or “Deadwood,” by which I mean tight, funny, finely-crafted dialogue. Check out https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0119008/quotes for dialogue from the film.

Music du jour: “Are you lonely for me baby?” by Otis Redding and Carla Thomas. And a beautiful version of “Something is wrong with my baby;”stands right up there alongside Sam and Dave’s version. Both songs on CD King and Queen, 11 duets of Otis and Carla (including “Tramp”).

*Fred Van Dyke, who grew up closer to the beach, says that sometimes if a conductor spotted you, he’d roll open the rear window and slap your hands so you’d fall off (not at high speeds).