How did she know?

Annie Ross tells the story of my childhood. You too? Too cool.

Memento Mori

I'm in a gloomy mood today. I might be coming down with something or it might be that the weather is dismal. Either way, I'm tired and things refuse to come into focus. I've been trying to put together a little piece on Madame Pamita and her place in the context of California: the land where genuine mysticism, outright hucksterism and show biz meet and greet. All this inspired by a book and lecture by Erik Davis. I guess it will happen when it happens.

When I was about sixteen years old. I attended a reading by Allan Ginsberg. It wasn't just any reading either. He read to a rather small group of young people at the Paterson, New Jersey public library. Ginsberg was in town, visiting his father, Louis, when some local hippies managed to talk him into giving a reading for whoever they could scrounge up. Word went out on the radio and thirty or so kids showed up.

That reading changed my life but it changed it very slowly. I wasn't struck by lightning and thrown from my chariot. Somehow, Ginsberg, his writing, his Buddhism and the example of his life, kept coming back. Considered as an American literary figure he seems larger than life, and a bit ridiculous. Trailer dwelling bus drivers do not, as a rule, look to Allan Ginsberg for inspiration. The thing is, I sat at his feet. I bumped into him in the hallway. I know perfectly well that he was a human as me.

One of the great mistakes of my young life was falling for the academic shuck. The tragedy was compounded by the fact that I "have a learning disability". Which is a way of saying that I cannot learn anything by sitting in a room being mumbled at by someone who has made it his business to drain the life out of things. I am unable to attain the heights of academic rigor and for years I was deeply ashamed.

I know that there are brilliant minds out there, people who can jump through the hoops of academe and then use the institutions of higher learning to bring their insights to a public that thirsts for knowledge. The sad truth is that possibly as many as two out of eleven academics are cynical hacks. Professor, perhaps one of them is your colleague?

Coming from the outside, it now appears to me that academic criticism sets out to prove that:

1) Your favorite artist is not as good as you think he/she is

2) Their art does not mean what you think it means

3) It's all very derivative and not at all original

On top of that, there's the whole business of The Canon and what belongs in The Canon. The over all intent is to tell the lover of art that he/she is a fool, that life is a dreary business and the facts are the facts.

I felt foolish, but immensely relieved when I figured it out. Today, I am feeling old and tired. I know this house is not meant to stand forever. I also know that James Brown really did give more than any man could, that he really needed to be wrapped in a succession of capes and led from the stage, drained. I know that Jerry Lee Lewis really did arrive on the midnight train from Mars. I know that William Blake conversed with angels and poets of all ages. I know that he was tutored in engraving by the ghost of his brother. I know that Bill Wilson and Lodowick Muggleton were both touched by the hand of God and permitted to reveal great truths by His divine mercy. I know that Allan Ginsberg was a prophet whose mission was to reveal that divine mercy and that I was blessed to sit at his feet.

From time to time, I have to pause and explain the name of this blog. It is an allusion to Ed Sanders' mimeographed journal, "Fuck You: A Magazine of the Arts". Ed really is the hardest working man in poe-business and when he is led from life's stage he will be wrapped in glory.

Ed Sanders- Song For Allan(buy)


Paterson as seen from The Great Falls. Notice the angels in the treetops.

Interlude

Mad Peck Studios, 1969

Consider if you will, this radio piece on The Holy Modal Rounders. I've been listening to a lot of funny jazz and jugband music. My current interest was inspired by recent ukulele excursions, however, it's roots go back many years to my interest in the Holy Modal Rounders: the other example of genius to emerge from the great New York folk music scare of the 1960's.

Alright, I'm gonna try this shit, but I have seemingly angered the technology godz. Here, the evil ones willing is Happy Rolling Cowboy from a late iteration of the Rounders.

I'm watching The Wrestler. It's another movie set in New Jersey. I left New Jersey when I was a teenager. I've never regretted that decision. Every time I watch a movie from New Jersey, I get the sinking feeling that I am fooling no one and that I need to give up and go back to Jersey.

Tired

I wonder how many Mexicans died because of air pollution today. I wonder how many died trying to cross over into the United States. I wonder how many died because of respiratory irritations caused by living downwind from an industrial hog operation.

I am drained. I had a big fun Saturday. I went to my Saturday morning meeting of the friends o' Bill where we practiced the secret handshake. Then I went to the beginning of the big fundraiser for my friend, Rosanne. She has cancer. This is her third recurrence of cancer. She won't be with us much longer.

Things seemed under control there, so I went to my friend, Dave's big retirement party. I had a good time, ate free food and hung out with bus drivers. I listened to bus drivers play music. I watched a couple of bus drivers dance. I told jokes to bus drivers and bus drivers told me jokes. It was OK. More about that later.

Then I went back to Roseanne's fund raiser. The joint was jumpin'. I missed my friend, Cory, singing, but caught most of a set by a group of women whose name I never heard. They had flown in from North Carolina just to help Roseanne. They could really rock and they were tight as hell. Roseanne is a lesbian and it seemed like every sober lesbian in California was there. We boys, straight and gay, stood around the edges and smiled.

You know, I've known a lot of lesbians, but I haven't been to any social events organized by and for lesbian women. I'm pretty used to the gay men's scene, but this event was a little bit of an eye opener. I'm used to lesbians keeping their guard up in mixed company, but this was all about women, all kinds of women, being completely relaxed in their own element. It was really very pleasant to see. I didn't feel excluded. I knew a lot of women there, but this was party was not about me or people like me. More about that later.

Then I had to run to the store and drop off a cake for more friends o' Bill who were celebrating various lengths of time practicing the secret handshake. I couldn't stay for the meeting because next I went to Santa Rosa and saw Tippy Canoe and The Paddlemen and my new hero, Madame Pamita.

The event was held at recording studio/hang out/performance space called Atlas Studios. There was a group of really nice young people there. I had several people stop and introduce themselves. That was OK too.

My friend, Bob, met up with me. That's Bob G from Santa Rosa, not to be confused with my boyhood friend, Bob C, from SF. Even with a nice friendly crowd, it was good to have a friend along.

I got to meet Madame Pamita for the first time. She was friendly as could be. We talked about Tarot and old timey music. She introduced me to Tippy Canoe. Tippy is slightly famous in Bay Area club circles and fairly famous in ukulele circles. I'd never heard her music and was looking forward to her performance.

Tippy opened the show. She was accompanied by a guitarist, Mikie Lee Prasad. I think I've got his name right. They sang and played mostly original songs from Tippy's CD. The songs were simple enough, but beautifully carried off. To tell the truth, the club's PA did not do justice to her voice. I liked all of her songs. I'll try and post one and talk about the others, but that, too, will have to wait. Tippy was playing a beautiful custom ukulele built by our mutual friend, Peter Hurney. More about that uke later.

Let me pause here to say that Tippy reminded me, through her songs and performance, that it is a damn good thing to do art. I do not enjoy art that makes me feel passive. I like art that makes me want to do things. When I was a kid, The Beatles made me want to play music and Dadaists and Surrealists made me want to do art. When I was older punk rock made me want to start a band and Lester Bangs made me want to write. I do not have Tippy's talent, but she made me want to play music with people. That was OK too.

Next up was Madame Pamita. I've been a fan of the concept of Madame Pamita, but it was apparent that I would have to see her act to really see what was up. I've got to say that there is nothing fancy about her music or her act, but the woman is larger than life. She went from being a quiet presence to the center of attention in seconds. When she turns it on, she puts out thousands of watts of energy. She tells me that spiritual practice is part of what she does and there was a strong hint of magic in the room. If Tippy made me want to do art, Madame Pamita made that goal seem as though it was in my reach.

At the end of her set, Madame Pamita encouraged everyone to join in with some audience participation. Tippy was accompanying her on the washboard. She motioned to me to take her ukulele and play along. I was really honored because this is a special instrument, built specially for her. It was like having Merle Travis hand me his guitar. It played like butter too. That was really fun.

I'll be putting up links to Tippy and Madame Pamita's CD's soon. I bought copies of both. Tippy's CD sleeve is a beautiful piece of Art Nouveau design that goes nicely with her music. If you can manage it, I would suggest buying the CD rather than downloading the songs.

Madame Pamita's CD was originally recorded acoustically on a wax cylinder recorder from 1898. It doesn't get any more lo fi, but the sound of crackles and the announcements at the beginning of each song are a part of the art. Again, I would suggest that you buy the CD direct from Madame Pamita. She packages each CD with a vintage piece of good luck, a wonderful magical device and a personal fortune with Tarot Card. This is the coolest record I've bought since Sergeant Pepper's came with all of those paper cutouts and The Who Live at Leeds came with a bundle of documents. That was a long time ago and I have bought a lot of records since then.

The last act of the night was a Santa Rosa band, The Spindles. I would have liked to see them, but I was too, too tired. They looked interesting and I hope to see them soon. I was so tired I was nodding at stop lights on the way home.

I had a real good time that day.

Now let me go back to earlier in the day. Before I left Dave's retirement party, I stopped to thank Dave for 20 years and a nice party at the end. He grabbed my arm and said something I will not soon forget: "Jon, there's nothing that great about that job, nothing special anyway. It could of been hell, the last twenty years, but we helped each other and watched out for each other, all of us, so it was heaven. We did a great thing." That pretty much sums up the day.

The grand experiment

Speedy West and Jimmy Bryant. The image was taken from If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger... Probably the coolest site on the entire web.

I had a visit from the great Doctor Wayne today. We were listening to music and railing against The Man. We both agreed that, if we lived in a free world, everyone would be free to be their truest selves. Your cultural identity, your gender, your sexuality would not have to meet anyone's expectations but rather be the truest and freest expression of your real self.

"Just think," I said, "There could be hillbillies playing Bebop! It would be magnificent!"

Of course, some of us have minds that will not be constrained. Speedy West and Jimmy Bryant gave us hillbilly bebop more than fifty years ago. Wayne Hancock continues the tradition to this very day.

So here's the deal on me, Dr Wayne, Speedy West, Jimmy Bryant and Wayne Hancock: I hate imeem as much as you do. Maybe more. I'm trying a little experiment here. Let me know if it works. OK?

Life is mostly hard and full of disappointments

Madame Pamita's Santa Rosa appearance was cancelled. But wait, it's been rescheduled! Saturday, April 25th, 8:00 PM. The new venue:

Atlas Studios
300 S. A Street, Santa Rosa, CA
707-486-9139

Madame Pamita will be appearing with Bay Area legend, Tippy Canoe and a promising Santa Rosa band, The Spindles.

Madame Pamita has released her wax cylinder recordings as a CD. You may purchase a copy from CD baby, or download it at her web site.

Life is mostly fun and exciting. Even if you live very far away from Madame Pamita, I would recommend that you join her mailing list. Her emails are always entertaining and often quite charming. 

(The tattoo photo above is there because it's cool and fun. It has nothing to do with Madame Pamita, other than being cool and fun)

Teabagger

Thanks to Princess Sparkle Pony for this photo of a teabagging Ayn Rand fan.

So, today I was thinking why don't the Somali Coast Guardsmen, or if you will the evil, demonic, subhuman monstrous did I say evil, Somali Pirates try a little rebranding? Some eyepatches, some of those roll top boots and they can all change their names to Captain Jack Sparrow. Hey presto! From demonic global villains to lovable scamps!

" Why wouldn't that work?" I asked myself. Oh, right. Because they're not white.

Whoever Jesus might have been, he most certainly did not have blonde hair or blue eyes.

I went to Easter Mass today. I was at the early show. Rise and shine at 8 AM. It was OK. As I usually do, when I find myself at church, I asked myself, "What the hell am I doing here?"

The answer, as always, was, "Being one among many."

With a hat tip to Moon of Alabama, an excellent blog on global politics, here's some poetry for Easter. Today's selection is an excerpt from Goethe's "Faust".

From the ice they are freed, the stream and brook,
By the Spring's enlivening, lovely look;
The valley's green with joys of hope;
The Winter old and weak ascends
Back to the rugged mountain slope.

From there, as he flees, he downward sends
An impotent shower of icy hail
Streaking over the verdant vale.
Ah! but the Sun will suffer no white,

Growth and formation stir everywhere,
'Twould fain with colours make all things bright,

Though in the landscape are no blossoms fair.
Instead it takes gay-decked humanity.

Now turn around and from this height,
Looking backward, townward see.

Forth from the cave-like, gloomy gate
Crowds a motley and swarming array.

Everyone suns himself gladly today.
The Risen Lord they celebrate,

For they themselves have now arisen
From lowly houses' mustiness,
From handicraft's and factory's prison,
From the roof and gables that oppress,

From the bystreets' crushing narrowness,
From the churches' venerable night,
They are all brought out into light.
See, only see, how quickly the masses
Scatter through gardens and fields remote;
How down and across the river passes
So many a merry pleasure-boat.
And over-laden, almost sinking,
The last full wherry moves away.
From yonder hill's far pathways blinking,
Flash to us colours of garments gay.

Hark! Sounds of village joy arise;
Here is the people's paradise,

Contented, great and small shout joyfully:
"Here I am Man, here dare it to be!"

I've been off work for two weeks. It's been swell. That's all over. I'll be back here sometime.

While I'm Posting Stuff From Youtube

These guys are the fiercest ukulele players in the world. Really snappy dressers too.

I'm really happy about this. Jordan Barab has been appointed the acting head of OSHA. Most young workers have never heard of OSHA. It's the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. OSHA is supposed to enforce laws that guarantee the health and safety of workers.

For most of the last thirty years, that is, for most of it's existence, OSHA has been getting weaker and weaker and smaller and smaller. The free market crowd considers job injuries and illness to be a necessary cost of economic growth. As is always the case when those people start talking about necessary costs, they mean that someone else has to pay the price. So, nobody enforces workplace safety rules and all we ever hear on the subject is that Worker's Comp costs are "Out of control". It's those damn workers. If we would just stop whining about our damned agonizing injuries then the people who matter wouldn't have to worry about anything getting out of control.

So the bad news is that OSHA is understaffed and underfunded. The good news is that Jordan Barab is a real advocate for workers. He gave up his blog, Confined Space, a couple of years ago, but it is still worth looking over. I was a regular reader. Tammy Miser has continued one feature of his blog at her Weekly Toll Blogspot. It's a report on who died on the job this week. I intend to avoid farm labor, construction work or work in convenience stores.

Barab took it upon himself to tell the story of workplace fatalities because he really cares about people who work for a living. I'm not happy with Obama's expanded war plans. I'm dismayed, but not surprised that he is protecting the super rich. I'm moderately hopeful that Jordan Barab can save a few lives.

Which Side Are You On?n - Dropkick Murphys