Journal Entries
-
- 1
- 2
-
My Weekend
Posted Aug 7, 2000
Friday:
Got home from work and met the two 15 yearold Japanese students who were staying with my family for the weekend. After dinner, I left them in the capable hands of my teenaged siblings, who rented the Akira Kurosawa movie Ran, and went out with some friends to see some band one of them said was good. The band was called the Somethingerother of Good Roots. They were pretty good, especially compared to the group they were opening for, the Rustic Overtones. The ______of Good Roots were kind of Pearl Jamish, kind of Jam-band, kind of their own thing. The guitar player had a terrifically raspy voice, and the sax player safely avoided cliched solos. The Rustic Overtones weren't very rustic, but they did indeed have overtones. They were kind of a hip-hop-punk-pop outfit. Usually, if I've had enough beer, I can groove to anything with a good bass line, but the Overtones were an exception. We left after a couple of songs, rather disappointed. We'd put our faith in hard working contemporary bands, ten dollars of faith, and what did we get in return? Atheism. Or at least agnosticism- that is, we'll believe modern music is good when we hear some that's good. Maybe we're just getting old. Maybe we were just in the wrong scene. In any case, it will be a while till we take another risk on an unknown entity. Saturday we took the Japanese kids sailing. We had occasional wind, but spent most of our hour on the pond waiting for something to happen. Sunday we went kayaking on the Charles River, up in the backwaters. It was gorgeous. Except for the houses on the bank, and the buildings in the distance, it could have been New Hampshire. Sunday night I went to see an Irish folk singer, Freddie White play at an Irish Tavern called Mr Dooley's. It's kind of an upscale place that tries hard to be an authentic Irish Pub. I guess it does a decent job, because there were certainly a lot of Irish people in attendance, including most of the staff (it took me five minutes to translate the waitresses broughe when she asked "D'you want spicy fries or steak fries?") Freddie is an amazing performer. He sang mostly covers, as it was a drinking crowd, who were mostly there for the atmosphere, not the music. But his agressive guitar playing and croaky bass voice wrapped themselves around familiar songs in a way which did justice to some, and much improved others. When he played Greg Brown's "Think about you", and "Small Dark Movies", I closed my eyes, and couldn't tell the difference. When he played Dylan's "Things have changed", I couldn't help preferring his stripped down version to the original. After an hour or so, my friend Miranda finally found the place. It' s actually for the best that she was late- I got to enjoy the intimate first set in solitude, but had company when the bar started to fill up, and the music became harder to pay attention to. It occurred to both of us that I could very well be doing gigs like this in twenty years (or sooner). It was a reminder of why I don't want to be a musician full time. I've done similar gigs on occasion, and they do become tedious. I don't have the attention to do it every week. By the end of the night, I'd had enough stout to convince myself to buy a CD. Afterall, the man was talented, and working hard. If I do find myself playing gigs like this, I'd want someone to buy my CD. I picked the live one, as I am always wary of folky's excursions in the studio, especially when keyboards are listed. Too often it means gushy synthesizers and bad production. The live one, I hoped, would be something like what I'd seen that night. Unfortunately, it was quite a different style of performance. I guess playing for an attentive Irish crowd meant he didn't have to play as forcefully to cut throught the din, and consequently, the guitar tracks are a bit weak. I wish I could say that the CD was good in its own way, but, I'll have to give it a few more listens first. Why is it that so many musicians are so much better live than on CD? I vow to make a CD that won't dissapoint, a CD which is faithful to what I do live, a CD which doesn't have cheesy synths. So when you see me performing in some bar, if you like what you hear, BUY THE CD! It'll be good, I promise.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Aug 7, 2000
How to Have a Night on the Town For 60 Cents or Less
Posted Jul 31, 2000
Saturday night I found myself in Davis Square, Somerville (MA). Somerville is right next to Cambridge, and has always been known as a workingclass town, but in recent years, Davis Suare has become known as one happening place. Despite the disappearance of some of my favorite establishments in the squrare, such as Dolly's All Nite Diner, which was only open from 11pm to 7am, and the commercialization of the Somerville Theater, which used to show only independent and classic films on one large screen, and now shows the latest summer blockbusters on several tiny screens surrounding the main one, Davis Square is still a fun place to be. Trendy, yes (it's been nicknamed "The Paris of the Nineties"), but gritty too, and a lot less touristy than Harvard Square. The first thing I did was head over to The Burren, one of the best Irish Pubs in the Boston area, famous for its live music. The doorman told me that the house band, the Tarbox Ramblers would be playing at 10:30, but it was free to go in early, though it would be a wait. I decided to hang out outside. It was a nice evening, and I figured I could do a little busking. I had my new small scale guitar with me, so I found a good spot between one of the clubs and the movie theater, infront of a closed store, and sat down. I've been writing songs and playing them in different coffee houses and the like for years, but this was the first time I'd ever been in the right place at the right time, and most importantly, with my guitar, to try playing for change. Davis Square was the perfect place for it- no competition, lots of people out for an evening on the town, no problems with cops. I played for about an hour and a half, and came away with $8.40, more than minimum wage after taxes! The doorman at the Burren remembered me, and waved me in sans cover, so my efforts paid for two beers while I enjoyed the sounds of one of the best countryblues bands in Boston. The Ramblers served up infectious beats driven by a mean electric slide guitar, backed up by a stand up bass and a drummer who couldn't sit still, and ornamented by a fiddler who played the meanest country pizzicatto I've ever heard. Unfortunately, I had to leave after the first set to be sure of catching the last train home, but they play the Burren every Saturday night, so I'll be able to catch them again. All in all, a very successful evening, and it only cost me 60 cents in tips at the bar.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Jul 31, 2000
Sailing in a Homemade Boat
Posted Jul 31, 2000
When she was fourteen, my friend Miranda built a sailboat, and named it the Mariah, after a folksong about wind. She went to bookstores and studied diagrams in expensive books, and bought some more affordable ones. She used whatever scrap wood was left over from her parents' last project, and didn't look back. Highschool interrupted halfway through construction, and the frame warped a bit, but she completed it nonetheless. However, besides a brief maiden voyage several years ago, cut short by a leak around the centerboard, it's sent its whole life in her backyard. Saturday, Miranda and I decided to see if it would still float. It took about an hour to get the thing ontop of the car. We planned to take it to a nearby pond, but as we pulled out of her street, we weren't sure it would make it even that far. We put on the hazard lights and inched down Mass. Ave., each of us holding on to the boat with an arm out the window, trying to reduce its rocking at every bump. Finally we arrived at the pond, and unloaded. It took her some time to remember how to rig it up, but when she did, it was an inspiring sight. A boat. A real boat, made by her hands, with a sail adapted from a tent fly. We pushed it into the water, and waited a minute or two until we were confident that it wasn't going to sink too quickly. Just in case, I left the contents of my pockets in the car. Then we were off. It was close quarters, and took some practice before we were able to "come about" with any efficiency, but the wind was good, and soon we were scooting right along. We sailed for about an hour, and returned to the shore when the wind happened to be especially good in that direction. As we pulled the boat in, a man approached us and asked if we had rented it nearby. We considered taking his money and pushing him out, but instead, we put the Mariah back onto the car and inched our way home.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Jul 31, 2000
Songwriters I Heard This W
Posted Jul 31, 2000
Friday night I thought I'd check out a local singer-songwriter at a local bookshop/musicshop/cafe/performance space. When I asked a folkie co-worker about the guy, he acknowledged that he knew him, but didn't want to volunteer any more information. "Well," I asked, is he good? "He can play," my friend said cautiously, "and he can sing, and write songs... but...." I got the point. Still, I had nothing better to do. All my friends were out of town, and heck, it was right down the street. So off I went. Five bucks was a fair price to pay to help support the arts. I made myself pay before trying to cop a listen. I found a seat, and watched as the guy with the guitar in the front of the room spouted cliche after cliche, mediocrity, after mediocrity. Every verse written in the plainest, most unpoetic language. Some might call it a conversational tone, and they might be right, but if so, then the guy is not the most phenomenal conversationalist. Every chorus was a cliche, often a mythological reference. Rather than thinking up his own similies and metaphors, the guy used whatever saying or myth was likely to be most well known. It was frustrating sitting there watching him. I wanted him to be good. I wanted to be inspired. As a songwriter, I don't believe it's healthy to have a high opinion of myself, but the fact is that I'm a much better songwriter than this guy. I don't want to feel that way. I want to be inspired by my elders. I want to see people who have been writing longer than me and come away thinking, "Boy, I've got a lot of work to do!" I want to be able to go to a local place and see a local guy and be really impressed, and though I was warned, I was disappointed. At least, I thought, as I walked over to the pub across the street in the middle of his second set, I got lucky earlier in the week when I gambled on a $1 CD by a guy named Frank Tedesso. I was skeptical at first, afraid that even if the lyrics looked good in print, the production might be awful. But what I got was one of the best "man & his guitar" CDs I've ever heard. The lyrics are inspired and quirky, and the voice and phrasing, though they took a little getting used to, are like grow on me each time I listen. My favorite song, about which I love everything except the title, is called "Stumpy's Last Dance". I know, I wouldn't expect it to be a masterpiece either. But it is. It's the only song I've ever heard about a crippled person, that isn't just a song about being a crippled person. It is a beautiful portrait that blends magical-realism and Tedesso's own everyday imagery like kids playing hopscotch and sunlight on the sidewalk, all accompanied by three chords which he plays with just the right emphasis at just the right moments. I just wish more songwriters could be as original and as satisfying to listen to. And that I spent six bucks on his CD, and none on the show, then everything evens out.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Jul 31, 2000
Olmstead Park and the West Nile Virus
Posted Jul 31, 2000
Friday afternoon, I walked part of the way home from work through Olmstead Park, named for its creator, the 19th century genius landscape architect, Frederic Law Olmstead. Olmstead Park is just one link in a chain of parks surrounding Boston known as the Emerald Necklace. Olmstead believed that greenspace and parks were vital to maintain the sanity of city dwellers. He saw his creation as fostering community by providing a space where everyone could hang out and be themselves, without the divisions of class, and the competition of work environments. Whether the parks ever succeeded in this function, I don't know. I love wandering in them precisely because they allow me to be alone. Olmstead Park is my favorite stretch of the Emerald Necklace not only because it runs paralell to my bus route, but because it is one of the more wild areas. When walking through its trails, I can almost imagine that I am far out in the country (especially when I can convince myself that the rush of traffic on the nearby highway (it was a quiet carraige lane in Olmstead's day) is really a waterfall.
I was enjoying my walk Friday when I remembered the headlines of the day before. The dreaded West Nile Virus, a mosquito- borne disease currently on tour in the Northeastern U.S., had been found in a dead crow in Olmstead Park. The virus causes flu-like symptoms in healthy people, but can be deadly to people who are frail, or have weakened immune systems. Now, considering that the only way to get the disease is to get bitten by an infected mosquito, and considering that most of the mosquitoes in the city are located in the parks near ponds, one might think that the best course of action would be to warn those who are frail or have weakened immune systems to stay out of the parks, and indoors at night behind closed doors and screens. Authorities could also warn healthy adults about the risks of entering the parks, and, advise precautions such as repellant and longsleeve shirts. Indeed, the authorities did all of these things. But they decided that these were not enough. Terrified citizens somewhere (I don't know where exactly) must have compelled them to take Decisive Action, and so the headlines on Friday morning announced that spraying of insecticide in the ponds of Olmstead Park had begun. So the present crisis appears to have been averted. The immune deficient and elderly will be able to sit out on the porch this August without fear. The healthy adults will no longer have to wear longsleeves in the parks. Of course, we have yet to see what creatures will die as a result of the chemicals sprayed on the pondsor what cancers will be caused down the line. But at least we won't have to worry about flu-like symptoms from a foreign sounding disease!
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Jul 31, 2000
-
- 1
- 2
-
Radagast
Researcher U140267
Write an Entry
"The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is a wholly remarkable book. It has been compiled and recompiled many times and under many different editorships. It contains contributions from countless numbers of travellers and researchers."