music (571)

Music in my life

Is a huge part of my life. 2 of my 3 sons are musicians*. I took violin lessons for 7 years, gave it up in high school because it didn’t seem cool. Didn’t play it for 50 years. A few years ago I was in a music store and asked to see a violin that was hanging up. To my surprise I could play like I’d never quit.Bought it for $200.  Lesley had no idea I could play. I took it home and she was baking a pie. I snuck the violin out and played “Can she bake a cherry pie, Billy Boy.” Surprise and merriment.

*Will plays in the Brazilian band Sambada, from Santa Cruz: https://www.sambada.com/

Sirius Satellite Radio

I kid you not, Sirius has changed my life. The quality of music is just off the charts. My pre-selected stations are BB King’s Blusville; Outlaw Country (rockin’ country); The Joint (reggae); Bluegrass; the ’50s; a classical station Bach etc.); Raw Dog Comedy; I switch around a lot. Tuesday on the road: The Right Time by Otis Rush; Bumblebee by Memphis Minnie; Gregory Isaacs… reggae somehow goes with Mendocino county; I Have a Boyfriend by the Chiffons, made me think of all those great girl groups of the 50s with their intricate harmonies and witty backups. Doo ron-ron…As I write this I’m sitting in my round room at Louie’s listening to the Abyssinians singing Satta Mass Gana, “There is a life far, far away…”

Bass Madness: My new box bass is so great that I’ve been playing it a LOT. It’s wonderful to discover the world of bass playing. I never really heard the bass before. It’s like a different world, steady, the underlying current. Most people tune into only the melody.

My first musical love was the Mills Brothers, in the late 40s and 50s. The harmonies, the trumpets and trombone and bass done with the human voice. The much later, age 18, I walked into Sherm Welpton’s room at the Fiji house at Stanford and heard “Yes it’s me and I’m in love again” by Fats Domino (pic left). Ooo-wee! That led into the world of what was called rhythm and blues.. We started listening to KDIA, Lucky 13, in San Francisco, the black music station. We (ages 18-20) started going to R&B concerts in Santa Cruz and LA, with groups like the Clovers, Medallions, Robins, Drifters, Coasters…fantastic singing and dancing in unison…Earl Bostic on saxophone. Lieber and Stoller songs, what a couple of geniuses. Which all led me into blues and rock and roll.

This Tuesday, the Kahn family is backing up 91-year-old ragtime piano player Phoebe Babo at the Aegis Rest Home in Corte Madera. Brother Bob on banjo, son Will on drums, me on box bass. A sort of celebration of my mom’s life, for the residents. We’re going to film it. Here’s Phoebe a few weeks ago doing Bye Bye Blues: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TIM3WVFROYs

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Exile on Main Street

With all the recent publicity about the reissue of the Stones’ classic album, I realized I’d never owned it, so bought the new version. It’s tote-uh-lee great. Reminds me of the days when not a few of us dope-smoking drop-outs from polite society would vicariously strut along with Mick as he sang these incredible songs with his kick-ass band. Greatest rock and roll band in the world, you bet. Unique spin-off of deep and real American blues. I remember thinking that the English no longer control the world’s seas, but they have sure revolutionized music. How could white boys be so good?

I’m enjoying the heck out of it this foggy sunny morning, working on my tiny houses book. Here’s an anonymous comment on the album on Amazon:

“I came to terms with Exile when asked by a friend what I thought the five all-time greatest Stones songs were — songs that will still be alive 50 years from now. My response was fairly quick — Satisfaction, Gimme Shelter, You Can’t Always Get What You Want, Wild Horses, and Sympathy for the Devil. Just my opinion. But I realized immediately none were from Exile, which I think is the Stones’ all-time best album. Yes, Tumbling Dice and Happy are up there, and some cuts on Exile are, IMHO, absolutely awesome (viz their cover of Robert Johnson’s Stop Breaking Down) — but clearly Exile is not rich in standout hits. The whole is greater than the sum of the parts. Like few other albums, Exile is a world, a place I immerse myself in — a distillation of American blues and gospel and country and rock — a funky smokefilled bar or afternoon fishfry or steamy bordello, with beer and bourbon, pianos and slide guitars and hard-partying working people letting it loose, shining a light, shaking their hips, boogieing, scraping the sh*t off their shoes, rocking the joint all down the line.…”

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One last look at the Golden Gate Bridge

Tuesday I drove into San Francisco along the coast just after sunrise. I trurned right, right after the toll plaza and went along the ocean, then 25th Ave., then Geary out to Ocean Beach. My favorite route. Went to Trouble Coffee, had great latte and thin-sliced cinnamon toast, and had interesting discussion with the two 30-or-so -year-old guys working there about Bob Dylan and The Last Waltz. I was surprised that guys this genration knew Dylan’s work so intricately.

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Gettin back home

Much as I love NYC, there’s no place like…. I got into San Francisco around noon on Monday. (JetBlue v. cool airline.) Cruised by Ocean Beach (surf blown out, but kite surfers stylin), got latte, coffee cake at Trouble Coffee, then headed for home. On my way over the mountain, I stopped at the creek, jumped in the pool, floated over to let the waterfall pound on my head. Cold water like a slap in the chops from Mount Tamalpais. OK, so I’ve mentioned this before…

When I got home, there was this little halibut caught by fisherman Andrew, part of which we had with store potatoes and salad from the garden.

The next night I went running along the coast, then on the way back on an inland trail, stopped off at the secret swimming hole, a somewhat-hidden pond in a little valley. It’s lined with cattails, and protected from the wind so the water is like glass. I slipped in and swam across, there were birds swooping and singing all over the place. This is a blessed, magic planet, still alive in places here and there. Back to the pub for a pint of local Lagunitas pale ale. About 9 PM, headed home along the coast, listening to blues and country rock on Sirius radio, looking out at the sea and the still-darkening horizon.

It’s been raining lightly off and on, very unusual in June. When the sun came out yesterday, the honeybees were all over the poppies.

Columnist Jon Carroll, about the best part of the San Francisco Chronicle these days, closed a recent column with this poetry by Bob Dylan:

Don’t the moon look good, mama
Shinin’ through the trees?
Don’t the brakeman look good, mama
Runnin’ down the Double E
Don’t the sun look good
Goin’ down over the sea?
Don’t my gal look fine
When she’s comin’ after me?

If you are of a certain age and inclination, do you have Dylan/Stones/Beatles lyrics engraved in yr. brain, and know when you hear the first note, what the song will be?

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The Reverend Horton Heat

The Rev is a mean guitar player, a master gunslinger and this 3-piece band sounds like a 5-piece. High energy,kick-out-the-jams, funny, rockin hillbilly/punk/blues and oh yes, rock and roll. I wandered into the Highline Ballroom last night having no idea what the band was like and I had a great time.

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Ooh wah, ooh wah, cool, cool kitty,

Tell us about the boy from New York City

Whoo-eee! Ain’t nothin like it. After a restless red-eye flight, no sleep (in fact about 3 hours sleep in 2 nights), got a $20 van ride from JFK in to the hotel, Lexington and E 51st, and voila, the room was ready at 9 AM, so I’m now set up at Shelter Publications East Coast headquarters for the next 7 days.

I got cleaned up, checked email, got B. B. Kings Bluesville station (Sirius satellite radio) playing on my MacBook, and I am stylin…

I took a 30-40-min walk to check out the immediate hood. The people. The people. There are so many more people of substance on the streets than you see in California. They’re low on lame-os. A huge black guy, maybe 6′-9,” 285 lbs of muscle; an elegantly dressed guy speaking Italian; a 12–year-old girl dressed to the nines, walking down the street with her Dad, talking like a college grad; great-looking women of all persuasions, exotic tattooed punks…

The great depth of cafes and restaurants, the killer traffic, an ambulance went screaming down 3rd, bagel and hot dog stands, a lot of street food, the weather is actually perfect, overcast, maybe 70 with a breeze and a few refreshing raindrops. When she’s good, she’s very, very…

I’m about to set out for some reconnoitering…Oh boy!

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