Friday, December 11, 2009
Le Cimetière de Montparnasse
Located in the 14th arrondissement, Cimetière de Montparnasse is just one of the many cemeteries in Paris that invite curiosity-seekers, cemetery tourists, and folks in need of a quiet respite from the brouhaha of constant people motion. With limited free time, I picked this particular place simply because it was in the arrondissement I happened to be poking around in. Well, not all true that. Unlike other folks obsessed with Jim Morrison's or Oscar Wilde's grave site, Jean Paul Sartre and Samuel Beckett's were my dead-'n-gone fixations and Le Cimetière de Montparnasse contained both. The same cemetery also was home to Man Ray's, Eugene Ionesco's, and their respective spouses' resting places.Man Ray is buried with his wife ("Together Again") Juliet Man Ray in a grave
marked with "Unconcerned but not Indifferent" etched out in a loose handwritten style on one of the two headstones. Empty plastic film containers along with some flowers were placed near the headstones.The guide maps that are given out free at the main entrance were accurate enough to get you to the general area of the cemetery where you then meandered up, down, left, & right in the vicinity until you came upon your searched site. Or, like me when it came to finding Man Ray's grave, you could ask one of the helpful cemetery workers for assistance.
Each of the fellows I put my inquiry to was extremely patient; I just wish my French ear was sharp enough to catch and comprehend their little asides they threw out as they left me by each site. I'm sure these pithy remarks would have made my Montparnasse memories more vibrant. Samuel Beckett's grave site was simple with clean lines. I moved a bouquet of flowers to allow a camera shot of his name (To prevent any spiritual backlash, folks, I immediately placed the flowers back in the EXACT SAME SPOT (No Beckettian JuJu on me!)). At the foot of the grey-white speckled marble, a pamphlet written in dedication to Beckett, in Italian, was laid out, open to a page that the author signed with a "For You, Sam" salutation.
Suzanne Beckett is also buried with Samuel Beckett, as is Rodica Ionesco with her husband Eugene Ionesco. The joining together in death all made sense to me for these people....But...Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir being together surprised me. Actually, not the being buried together part, but the actrual act of being buried at all, specifically Sartre's body. Somehow, I assumed that being the Ultimate Existentialist, Sartre would NOT be buried at all.
Not being an Existentialist but being a royal Pain in the Ass (a condition that covers many philosophies), I barked on through that day and the following to anyone within my yapping as to "Why is Sartre the Existentialist even buried?" My daughter's fellow students quickly learned to skeedaddle upon espying me entering their domain. I was the verbal equivalent of the beggars parked at most Metro entrances, preying on your loose1 or 2 Euro coinage. With Sartre, I'd expected a casting of ashes to the wind, flecks of existentialism
forever riding air waves in and about Paris. The finality of a sealed box 6 feet under at Le Cimetière de Montparnasse seemed so....uhmm...anti-existentialist. The interesting location of the grave (it's the grave closest to the main entrance/exit (depending on one's viewpoint) of the cemetery) suggested to me that perhaps he was still waiting to escape the walls of his confinement.The day that I happened to be walking in and around the grounds of the cemetery were mainly overcast with an occasional shaft of sunlight shotting through. Perfect conditions for soul-searching and gravestone-gaping. When not bugging the workers in the cemetery for locations, I had a Nano plugged in with Tortoise's TNT on constant replay. "I Set My Face to the Hillside"? A perfect song for the rumination.
One last note, Cesar Baldacinni's grave was amazing. The 12 year old site was remarkable in the weathering that it's gone through, the sculpture's sharp edges still holding up to the Parisian rain crying down on it.
Click on any image to see a larger version
Labels: Paris, Road Trips
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Le Caveau des Oubliettes
With only a week to enjoy the infinite possibiliites of Paris, a choice had to be made as regards a night out in the jazz vein. Amongst the choices, Le Caveau des Oubliettes came out on top. Caveau de la Huchette, Franc Pinot Jazz Club, and Le Baiser Salé Jazz Club were other possibilities, but Le Caveau des Oubliettes (Cave of the Forgotten Ones) was too tempting with its unearthly title and history. 
What started as a gang of five afficionados going to the Wednesday "Latin Swing Jam" night ended up as a solo visit by yours truly. Oubliettes is located in the 5th arrondissement, across the Seine from Notre Dame and two Metro lines away from my rented apartment in the 11th arrondissement, a short ride there but a guaranteed longer walk back home if I missed the last Metro at 12:30 a.m. The club is located in a touristy part of the city, but once 10:00 has struck, the tourists tend to depart and the area is occupied by locals.Stepping through the door of the premises, I did a quick stop. A huge flat screen was the center of the patrons' attnetion. It was the night of the (soon-to-be) infamous France-Ireland World Cup qualifying match. Aside from Thierry Henry's "Hand of Gaul" goal, there did not seem to be any hands of Jazz on hand. I proceeded to the back of the bar, where one man out of many stood out as he was the only one not paying attention to the game. It seemed to be safest to pose the "Ou'est le Jazz?" to him; I feared bodily harm and suspicious glances if I asked such an inquiry to anyone else.
A perfunctory up-and-down scan was followed by a slight nod to the right. Turning away from the packed bar upstairs, I descended some steep stone stairs to what appeared to my still adjusting eyes as a basement, a cellar recently used to store coal or other soot-emitting material. Lighting was minimal, stone was maximal, drink prices were astronomical. With no cover charge, 8 Euros ($14) for a beer encouraged a drink-nursing behaviour. But, one wasn't paying for the beverage; it was the atmosphere that required the high bottle rent. The jazz club was divided into two slim but long sections. One was for sitting, drinking and talking. The other was for sitting, drinking, and listening. The musician's gear was stacked at one end of the 100 ft long space, while tables and chairs were laid out in the balance of the room. I arrived 15 minutes early for the 10:00 o'clock show, which probably would have started fairly close to that time, save for the football hysterics happening upstairs.The band, nameless as far as I can tell, was young and was part of the World Cup intensity. So, the first set began close to 11:00, only 1 hour and a half before the Metros closed down for the night. Composed of an electric piano player of good form, a 6-string bass player and spokesperson, and the tallest drummer (must've been 6"8', easily) I'd ever seen, the band was energetic and more than willing to play the 10-15 minute songs, eschewing brevity for langorous intensity. The drummer was especially action-packed, figuring that speed and strong strikes of his sticks would hide his lack of subtlety. The crowd was between 18-30, with one or two of us oldtimers sprinkled in, so youth ruled both from the band's repertoire and the
audience's desire for the same. The Oubliettes' acoustics were phenomenal; clarity and power without reverberation. Highly recommended with the additional note that it would be a good idea to have a rental car for the night, so that you, unlike yours truly, could stay for the second set.
Oh, and the $14 beer? Yep, I was able to nurse it through 2 hours of absorbing, sitting, and listening.
Labels: Paris, Road Trips
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Shakespeare & Co.
Looking around from the peaks of Notre Dame Cathedral (IMHO, still the best place to see all of Paris...yeah, yeah, I know you Eiffelites are barely holding yourselves back in insisting your vantage point (allegedly because it's higher) is better. To this I ask, "Which is at the center of Paris, the Cathedral or the Tower?"), I concentrated on the lower buildings on the left bank of the Seine, staring, rudely at times, until the store came into view. LikeShakespeare & Company is all it's made out to be, the cathedral of English print books in Paris. It is a mecca but it is not a tourist trap. Were there other idiots like me, mouth agape and itchy finger on a digital camera, there? Absolutely! But, to the credit of the staff and of the other customers there, we were not treated like pests or neophytes. There were occasional chuckles dripping in my direction but not even a slight mote of sarcasm was detected. After a good 2 hours in the store and a (mightily) self-controlled purchase of only one book (Richler's "The Incomparable Atuk" ), I felt at home, my pulse back down to a steady unhurried beat. If there is a place of comfort more soothing to the soul than a tome-packed non-chain
bookstore, then, folks, please let me know of such a nirvana. Shakepeare is crammed to the gills with books and yet one doesn't feel hemmed in at all. Lighting is minimal but it isn't dark inside, almost as if the contents of the works are illuminating your way through the alleys of verical, horizontal, and pyramidal stacks. All of the books on the first floor are for sale and for one's perusal. There was no bum's rush behaviour evidenced by the folks working there; one felt acknowledged to be there in the presence of gob-millions of words.In the back of the first floor, by the right corner, a narrow staircase took you to the next floor. The painted stairs were well-worn with a carefully placed stack of books took up each step's wall-side end. Pictures and drawings took up the balance of the free wall space as you slowly ascended the stairs, stopping at almost each step to give the once-over to the books and the wall art.
Folks were very patient with each other as they ascended/descended the stairs, not rushing to each other's destination, simply enjoying the trip.The second floor had three sections, defined by their use and not any fine demarcation. There was a children's section, centered around a small "cave" of a secretive place where 3 walls and a ceiling were plastered with pictures and notes of people who'd laid down for a read and a nap. Another area had an upright piano (not sure if it worked as it was loaded up with books) as its center piece, with packed bookshelves all around as sound-deadeners. In the front part of the second floor, with windows looking out toward Notre Dame, the Seine, and the book/art/postcard/souvenir sellers along the wall of the Seine, was a working/sitting area where authors and poets did the occasional reading. Up here on the second floor, all the books were for reading. On the premises. No books were for sale up here; they were parts of the permanent charm of the place.
(Click on any picture to get a larger view.)
Labels: Books, Paris, Road Trips
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Twiddling One's Thumbs Activity
This previous summer, I had a chance to realize one of my long-held dreams, which was to visit Lake Louise and its low-key spectacular hotel. Just in case I win the lottery or come into money from a relative I've never heard of, I decided to apply for the Fairmont Hotel card, so that the next time (I'm considering converting to Hinduism to ensure there's a next time, even if it's not in my current time) we go to Lake Louise, I'll be able to get a special rate.Well, Folks, the application only cost you the amount of time it takes to fill out, so if you feel like doing something that will keep your change in your pocket and yet give you a (perhaps false) sense of grandiosity, I suggest you get yourself one of these cards.
Why bother with another piece of plastic that you may never use?
Well, scroll down about half-way on the application and highlight the category "Title".
I've filled enough card applications in my lifetime such that filling another one is automaton-ish. Same old..same old. Well, Fairmont Hotel's stopped me in my tracks.
Who would have thought that I could title myself Prince, Archbishop, Viscount, Sultan, Prime Minister, Maestro, even Yg Di Pertuan Agung? I settled on "Count" as there's a barely tenuous grip my surname has on a self-annointed royal family back in the Old Country. My father, as a joke and as a term of endearment by his friends was nicknamed "Grof", Croatian for "Count". With his sense of self-inflicted humor, he was laughing somewhere as I hovered my mouse over and then clicked on "Count".
Can't wait to receive the plastic acknowledgement of my royal standing.
"Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise? Yes, please make a reservation for 2 for Count Darko....."
Labels: Life Decisions, Manly Advice, Road Trips, Vacations
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Pickup Pittsburgh May 2009
So, rather than posting the play list for the annual college pickup, I thought I'd try posting these short (and not so short) bits of footage with music playing rather loudly in the background on the car's stereo.
Driving into Blue Mountain Tunnel westbound on the PA Turnpike on Sunday May 17, 2009
Between tunnels on the PA Turnpike, driving by the famous World of Pigeons. Tip of the hat to Ol' Froth, who actually stopped to take the photo on his site. I've passed this decrepit barn innumerable times in the last 8 years, once in a while catching a glimpse of flocks of pigeons circling the barn on a flyover.
Driving to and through Tuscarora Tunnel with the late William Clarke on the harp.
One more to fit here after I download it. It's about 14 minutes which is a problem as far as downloading it to YouTube.
Entering Pittsburgh from the northwest and driving through Shadyside
Driving into Blue Mountain Tunnel westbound on the PA Turnpike on Sunday May 17, 2009
Between tunnels on the PA Turnpike, driving by the famous World of Pigeons. Tip of the hat to Ol' Froth, who actually stopped to take the photo on his site. I've passed this decrepit barn innumerable times in the last 8 years, once in a while catching a glimpse of flocks of pigeons circling the barn on a flyover.
Driving to and through Tuscarora Tunnel with the late William Clarke on the harp.
One more to fit here after I download it. It's about 14 minutes which is a problem as far as downloading it to YouTube.
Entering Pittsburgh from the northwest and driving through Shadyside
Labels: Pittsburgh, Road Trips
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Delusional Self-Gazing
Jim, sitting over there in PA at SerotoninRain, open-armed offered a great idea for a post.
Seven Posts About the Same Thing
A great way to relapse into past doings with hopes of reviving interest in one's navel-gazing. I'm all for that navel-gazing, especially these days as it keeps my eyes from tearing up each time I look at any financial news.
So, how about a hop, skip, and a jump down the Croatia memory lane?
A few years back, before financial meltdowns quashed any plans or even dreams of foreign travel, the fam had a chance to visit the Land of Croats.
Getting into the right mood for a trip there was difficult. I know my mojo had been on sabbatical, but my fjaka? Well, I'd become too much of an American, sorry to say and to realize, to possibly ever retrieve it.
Thank goodness, there were distractions to keep me from wallowing in that loss. Frankopanska torta, a hallucinogenic drug disguised as a cake was a welcome reprieve.
The natives, as friendly and non-critical as I remembered them, were also there to uplift one's mood.
My of my many cousins, a raconteur of the highest order, made sure we were parked at various cafes' umbrellaed tables while he regaled us with tales of business and travel.
Once our inhibitions had been loosened with rakija and vino, everything was possible. Even visitations back to the sartorial splendor of Speedos.
And when everything came together? Speedos, rakija, wine, and food? Well, that meant we were in Ston, enjoying a particularly fresh meal.
Ziveli to all and to all a Good Night!
Seven Posts About the Same ThingA great way to relapse into past doings with hopes of reviving interest in one's navel-gazing. I'm all for that navel-gazing, especially these days as it keeps my eyes from tearing up each time I look at any financial news.
So, how about a hop, skip, and a jump down the Croatia memory lane?
A few years back, before financial meltdowns quashed any plans or even dreams of foreign travel, the fam had a chance to visit the Land of Croats.
Getting into the right mood for a trip there was difficult. I know my mojo had been on sabbatical, but my fjaka? Well, I'd become too much of an American, sorry to say and to realize, to possibly ever retrieve it.
Thank goodness, there were distractions to keep me from wallowing in that loss. Frankopanska torta, a hallucinogenic drug disguised as a cake was a welcome reprieve.
The natives, as friendly and non-critical as I remembered them, were also there to uplift one's mood.
My of my many cousins, a raconteur of the highest order, made sure we were parked at various cafes' umbrellaed tables while he regaled us with tales of business and travel.
Once our inhibitions had been loosened with rakija and vino, everything was possible. Even visitations back to the sartorial splendor of Speedos.
And when everything came together? Speedos, rakija, wine, and food? Well, that meant we were in Ston, enjoying a particularly fresh meal.
Ziveli to all and to all a Good Night!
Labels: Croatia, Life Decisions, Links to Posts, Road Trips
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Summer Driving
Slow driving through Lewes, Delaware on a mid-July 2008 early evening. Sound quality is questionable, heavy on the thudding bass of the car's stereo. Yours truly at the wheel and on the Flip maintaining a slow speed to minimize t-tickets.
Driving into Lewes, DE with Ry Cooder's " Waitin' For Some Girl" cranked up (most probably too high) just because it's summer, it's Ry Cooder, and the sun will be setting shortly.
Cruising through Lewes, DE with Ry Cooder's "Fernando Sez" cranked up on the car stereo. (Please excuse the BASS!!)
Review's of this summer's best CD's is here and here.
Driving into Lewes, DE with Ry Cooder's " Waitin' For Some Girl" cranked up (most probably too high) just because it's summer, it's Ry Cooder, and the sun will be setting shortly.
Cruising through Lewes, DE with Ry Cooder's "Fernando Sez" cranked up on the car stereo. (Please excuse the BASS!!)
Review's of this summer's best CD's is here and here.
Labels: Road Trips
Friday, July 18, 2008
I, Flathead. I, Love it.
Ry Cooder brings his Cal Trilogy to a close with late June's CD release I, Flathead. The guy's simply amazin'. The first album, 2005's Chavez Ravine, revolved around Mexicans, Los Angeles, Urban Growth, and the victims of the latter. Buddy, a cat and center piece of 2007's My Name is Buddy was another California based background concept album delving into the downtrodden, the homeless, and unions and strikes. Both albums were strong on those folks most affected by politics and least likely to affect politics.In "I, Flathead", Mr. Cooder gets a bit more personal, less global. Some reviews thought this album to be lighter in weight than the preceding two reflecting that a lighter touch is a less affecting one. I beg to differ. This is simply another strong outing with songs that will stay with you long after you leave your car. And this CD is a Car CD, meant to be played loud while wasting expensive gasoline. Mr. Cooder has taken the price of gas into the song equations. The 14 songs are short, dense, and sweet. Averaging 3:47 minutes, that's about 3 3/4 miles of traveling while doing 60 mph. Four songs, maximum five should be enough to get you to most of your daily excursions.
Personal favorites are "Waitin' for Some Girl"
I was robbed I was framed
What ever happens now ain't no fault of mine
I got Born I got blamed
Guess I should have read that detour sign
I took off I hid out
Jesus promised me he'd show me a sign
Take your little world and shove it up you're askin' me buddy I'm tellin' you friend
You ain't gonna pin that rap on me this time
'Cause I'm waitin' for some girl to pick me up on her way down
She'll know me in the suspect book in the show-up line in the lost and found.."
to pick me up on her way down. A great loser's clip.
Mr. Cooder, as the Singer/salt flats racer Kash Buk, is excellent in "Drive Like I Never Been Hurt" and "5000 Country Music Songs".
As Mr. Buk writes in the liner notes, "Get in the vehicle and play this damn thing looud and drive, where to I don't much care".
Two versions are available, CD with very short story and lyrics or DELUXE edition with a novella (that would fill in holes in the lyrics where supposition trumps intention). As is usual, Nonesuch's production, design and enclosures are excellent, save for two segments in "Waitin' for Some Girl" that sound as if the CD is skipping. Otherwise, like all Nonesuch releases, it just seems this company is incapable of producing a dud.
Reviews have been mixed. I found The Independent's take on the album closest to my own. The Guardian quipped that "It's a classy album, but by Cooder's standards it sounds just a little too effortless." A bit snarky, I thought. The Rolling Stone's David Fricke saw I, Flathead as the movie score of a film not yet existing.
Labels: Reviews, Road Trips
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Little Heaven
Got a little toy for my birthday a while back and I was out road-testing it. Here's one of the results. A wee bit seasickness inducing, I'd say. (But, you may ask, how's the quality (before it hits YouTube)? Check out the delightful Mr. David Pogue (who doesn't love this nebbish guy???? I'll hurt you if you don't) here, for an idea.)
Please excuse the limited commentary of the video. I tend to slobber heavily when I'm at this establishment, so vocalization proves difficult. The herky-jerky filming unfortunately doesn't truly reflect the charm of the place. The staff are quite enthusiastic without being cloying, knowledgeable without being preachy, and funny without being performing. Each trip there is different as the used stock eternally changes. There are some bargains to be had, some treasures to be unearthed, and some times of calm to be spent here. Nothing fancy or ornate; simply tuneage displayed for easy perusal. You'll tend to find folks here, customers, I mean, who wander the aisles with the purpose of monks; Minimum talk, maximum reflection. Stockbrokers in $1k+ suits going through the bins right next to Mohawked kids shuffling through the same genre.
Aside from the university, the Exchange is the other main reason to stop by in Princeton.
Please excuse the limited commentary of the video. I tend to slobber heavily when I'm at this establishment, so vocalization proves difficult. The herky-jerky filming unfortunately doesn't truly reflect the charm of the place. The staff are quite enthusiastic without being cloying, knowledgeable without being preachy, and funny without being performing. Each trip there is different as the used stock eternally changes. There are some bargains to be had, some treasures to be unearthed, and some times of calm to be spent here. Nothing fancy or ornate; simply tuneage displayed for easy perusal. You'll tend to find folks here, customers, I mean, who wander the aisles with the purpose of monks; Minimum talk, maximum reflection. Stockbrokers in $1k+ suits going through the bins right next to Mohawked kids shuffling through the same genre.
Aside from the university, the Exchange is the other main reason to stop by in Princeton.
Labels: Reviews, Road Trips
Monday, June 09, 2008
Fell's Point Heat
Meeting up with a too-long-not-seen friend in Baltimore yesterday, we quickly picked him up from the Amtrak station in Baltimore and drove down to Fell's Point. It was 11:30 and the heat was coming off the cobblestone streets right through our shoes. Walking past the familiar Baltimore Police Station, we slogged our way toward the end of one of the multiple piers, hoping to get some cooling harbor breezes. Not of that this day. With the sun pulsating above, we repaired to Kooper's Tavern, for an excellent brunch, with bottomless Bloody Marys and Mimosas thrown in on this day when quaffing anything cold was a life-preserving necessity. We sauntered around Fell's Point, staying on the shaded side of the streets until the heat forced us into Max's Beerhouse, a veritable fountain of beers on tap and in bottle. A light, cold breeze was blowing through, Croatia v. Austria in Eurocup 2008 was on one of the large HD screens, stand-up comics doubling as bartenders were pouring out the precious stuff, tipsy customers held in control by said bartenders (wavering on that cusp between entertaining and loutish drinking), what more could we have asked for?
Three hours later, we stepped outside the a/c'ed tavern and were plastered with late afternoon heat and on our way back to Delaware. We'll soon be coming back to Fell's Point again. Great places to eat and sit. Noticeable lack of tourists dribbling in form the Inner Harbor about a 1/2 mile away. Old tugboats to goggle at. Laid back atmosphere throughout. Baltimore at its best.
Three hours later, we stepped outside the a/c'ed tavern and were plastered with late afternoon heat and on our way back to Delaware. We'll soon be coming back to Fell's Point again. Great places to eat and sit. Noticeable lack of tourists dribbling in form the Inner Harbor about a 1/2 mile away. Old tugboats to goggle at. Laid back atmosphere throughout. Baltimore at its best.
Labels: Road Trips
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Hank's
Located on the northbound side of Route 1 in Chadds Ford, PA, just about 100 yards down from the little gem of a museum, Brandywine River Museum, sits Hank's Place. It's a place beloved by locals and appreciated/ogled at by tourists. Preferential treatment is non-existent. No reservations; if you get there at the wrong time, expect to be waiting 10-30 minutes.
Is the food worth the wait? Well, IMHO, the best breakfasts I've had, not counting the food mounds provided by my aunts in Croatia, in the last few years have been here. Scrambled eggs, on the wet side. Pancakes that resemble and taste more like crepes. Continually filled coffee cups. And, the best hash brown potatoes that your mother hasn't made. My only complaint with Pamela's is that their coffee is on the weak side; as Mr. Waits says, no chance for the coffee to beat up the spoon, as it can barely get its caffeine up.
Hank's food? As far as breakfast is concerned, the eggs are on the dry side, the hash browns, though made from scratch (Big Points here!), taste a tad undercooked. Not enough of that greasy brown crust that my favorite hash browns have. For me at least, great hash browns should stand on their own. A breakfast of simply hash browns and some crusty buttered bread should be enough for putting the appetite beast down and keeping the taste buds happy. But, this place is more about atmosphere than about breakfast. Now for some good eating, come in for lunch or for dinner. Located just down the road from the Mushroom Capital of the World, you'll find much of the menu using what's available from the fungi world. Hank's stuffed peppers and all of their desserts are highly recommended as well.
What's the atmosphere about? On my last trip back from Pittsburgh, a stop for lunch at Hank's made it seem like a convention of deer-hunters. It was hard finding an empty table or stool with all of the camouflaged men, seeking shelter from the rain and from the deer-less woods. Like fisherman's tales, stories of 25 point deer were abundant at each table along with the concomitant woes at how Nature got in the way of a proper shot. As I swiveled in my seat to dive into a mushroom lasagne, a waitress passed a large card to me.
"Here, sign this. It's a birthday card for one of our regulars. He'll be 80 today." She sized me up and then glanced over at the stool next to me.
"He's still working and he's pretty hungry when he gets here. He usually sits right there," indicating the stool next to me, "Be sure to give him some eating room. He tends to get busy with his utensils quickly."
I signed the card and lingered over my meal, hoping to meet this fellow. After about 30 minutes, I opted to leave.
"He's usually punctual. Right on the nose of noon," the waitress said as I was paying to go.
"Hope he'll live through his meal today. He is, after all, 80," she continued, with a bit of a worry tone.
"But, he's still working. So, I'm sure he'll be hungry."
I pushed through the twin doors, smacking my lips in the universal sign of appreciative grub. I'd lucked out on timing; a line was squeezing itself out of the rain and onto the handicapped ramp that led into Hank's. If the 80 yr. old regular was there, I hoped that someone would break the rule and let the guy in early.
It was, after all, his birthday and he was a working guy.
Labels: NaBloPoMo, Reviews, Road Trips
Monday, November 26, 2007
Road Tuning
On a recent return trip back from Pittsburgh, I tried to minimize the amount of times I'd be swerving back and forth on the road as I picked out the music to put into the CD player. So, I kept the number of CD's available for choosing to 4. Although that 4 is misdeceiving since two of the 4 were double/triple CD's.1) Joe Henry's new release,Civilians, reviewed quite favorably by Mr. Whisky Prajer here, is an album to play when you get to that moody deep thought part of the trip. Long straightaways, distant horizons, foreboding weather conditions. I don't know about you folks, but necessary (although completely irrelevant) life-decision pondering of the past/current/future variety usually comes on about 2 hours into any major travel. Mr. Henry's newest album assists one into getting to that stage, earlier if you wish it. He's done quite a bit of pondering and deciding on his own so you can use his experiential jet stream to draft along.
FWIW, I'm with Whisky Prajer's opinion that Civilians is a strong candidate for one of the top albums of 2007. Having Mr. Bill Frissell along for the ride on this album certainly makes that proposal stronger.
2) Alligator Records 35 X 35 Collection, came out early last year. 2 CD's of Alligator Records talented performers doing 35 songs in honor of 35 years of the label's existence. The producer of the album is WXPN's own Jonny Meister, the maestro of the station's blues programming and one of the country's top Blues dj's. Selections include a scorching harmonica solo from the late William Clarke in his "Lollipop Mama", Koko Taylor doing "I Got What It Takes", the Holmes Brothers on their wonderful "Speaking In Tongues", and "In The Wee Wee Hours" as done by Professor Longhair The only clunker of the bunch may be Dave Hole's "Short Fuse Blues".
3) Blind Pig's 25th Anniversary Collection, released in 2001, also has 35 tracks, on 2 music CD's and a Video CD. As I was driving I could not enjoy the video CD and waited until coming home to take that in. High energy tracks, excellent production, fine stable of artists. A good point on this CD collection was the performance of some of the artists on multiple tracks. Especially strong are George "Harmonica" Smith's "Last Chance", Snooky Pryor's "Work With Me Annie", the Gospel Hummingbirds' "That Same Thing", one of my favorite blues performers, Magic Slim and the Teardrops, with his song, "Wake Me Up Early", and the sassy E. C. Scott's "What A Good Feeling"
4) Herlin Riley's Cream of the Crescent, released in Sept. of 2005 is solid, from the first song,"Bird Life" , to the last, "Trombone Joe". Giving him a hand is an all-star cast featuring Victor Goines on saxes, Wynton Marsalis, not too shabby on the trumpet, one of my favorite jazzmen, Wycliffe Gordon, on the clown prince of jazz instruments, the trombone, Mr. Herlin Riley on the funky drums, Reginald Veal keeping it together on the bass, and Eric Lewis, on piano. One of the best jazz albums of the last couple of years. All ranges of speed and mood, necessary components of musical accompaniment on a long trip.
Labels: NaBloPoMo, Recording Reviews, Road Trips
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
On the Road...Again and Again
Back by popular demand (well, I'm assuming that Whisky Prajer's request speaks for all of Canada, or at least, for Ontario so I'll say back by Canadian demand), here's a short list of some of the road music that eased the miles on my last run to Pittsburgh.
Billy Bragg: Brewing Up with Billy Bragg. Brought this older cd along specifically to hear The Saturday Boy again, a song that Isoglossia had mentioned a while back as one of his favorites. Ah yes, nothing like grammar school self-delusional love to get one's old memories front-loaded to play:
We dreamed of her and compared our dreams
But that was all that I ever tasted
She lied to me with her body you see
I lied to myself 'bout the chances I'd wasted."
Faster paced blues, especially solid guitar work always makes the trip enjoyable. Along on the ride with me were:
Jimmy Rogers w/ Ronnie Earl & the Broadcasters (a live recording going back to 1993): I love Mr. Rogers, who is unfortunately not in our house any longer (One of my all time favorite blues albums is his Blue Bird). This particular recording finds two great blues guitarists of two quite different styles playing off of each other for over an hour's worth of scorching fun.
I'd brought 2 of John Mayall's older recordings with me as well, The Turning Point and Jazz Blues Fusion. The former sounded a bit dated, so I just listened to a few of the cuts, "Room to Move", of course, and "Saw Mill Gulch Road". The latter was my introduction eons ago to the late trumpeter, Blue Mitchell (whose cd, The Thing to Do, was also played, somewhere up in the mountains of Pennsylvania. Jazz Blues Fusion is a mess of a great time. Along with Mr. Mitchell, Clifford Solomon on saxes, and Freddy Robinson on a very lively guitar gives one a great reason to listen to each and every cut. Mr. Mayall's voice is his usual high and dry out-of-key then in-key ranting self. Fortunately, there are enough fine musicians waiting for their solos such that Mr. Mayall sings a few verses and then he steps back to let the pros do what they do so very well.
Along for the trip was the recent Metheny/Mehldau release by Pat Metheny and Brad Mehldau. Simply gorgeous...but not the type of music to listen to when one is driving alone. I ended up listening to it when I pulled into Pittsburgh and had 3 hours to kill. It put me into a zone where clouds seemed to fly through the car windows and rain water washed over my feet. Luckily, I was parked for these effects.
But on the road?
The old reliables:
Suba's Tributo: How a Serb ended up in Brazil as one of the top recording producers is both an interesting story and an enchanting tale of ambition and love of music. A tragedy that he died at 38, a very talented and inventive musician and producer.
The Iguanas' Plastic Silver 9 Volt Heart: As usual, these guys do it all. R & R. Los Lobos-like Hispanic ballads, long jazzy interludes and all with a solid drumbeat pushing you forward.
Tony Allen's Lagos No Shaking: The drummer for the late Fela Kuti has put out a few albums of his own. This is one of his best. As usual, there is a gang of folks to help him out and keep the spirits high. As one chorus goes, "Don't morose your face!". And this cd will most certainly not let you do that.
Stanton Moore's III, Medeski, Martin & Wood with John Scofield on Out Louder, Viktor Krauss' Far From Enough (with Bill Frissell, Jerry Douglas, & Steve Jordan), Kathleen Edwards' Back to Me, and Wynton Kelly Trio w/ Wes Montgomery recorded live, Smokin' at the Half Note rounded out the other cd's that made this trip enjoyable.
Last and definitely part of the mix (this cd, for some reason, sounds best descending mountains. It's a juggernaut) was Ozomatli's Street Signs. Blasting "(Who Discovered) America?" is hard to top when you're entering Pittsburgh driving downhill on 376-East.
And a final note.
While waiting in Pittsburgh, I had a chance to start reading the most excellent short story collection written by a certain Darrell Reimer. I didn't get a chance to finish it in Pittsburgh since I re-read most of the stories twice, before moving on to the next story. With a bit more time on hand, I'll be finishing it this week. If you folks have enjoyed reading his alter-ego's blog, you will enjoy his book. I encourage you all to buy it.
Labels: Pittsburgh, Recording Reviews, Road Trips
Monday, October 09, 2006
Road Trip Tunes
This past weekend saw the downsized family off to Pittsburgh to visit one of the departed-nest members at the University. The ever-loving wife is thinking the Empty nest syndrome is not the modus operandi for us, since we are still (heavily) partaking in the administration of the various coop-flyers' lives. As she puts it, "Our nest has merely expanded to include various states..."To which, I'd retorted, "...and the sticks and ribbons for that nest-building have increased dramatically in cost."
The two of us are revisiting the Educationally Penniless State, an economic condition that Adam Smith failed to cover in his Wealth of Nations.
With promise of great weather for the weekend, a fast trip to see how our most recent departee was doing seemed in order. The mood was almost bucolic, all that was missing was some sheep (although we had this to ponder about). Our spirits were high. I was intensely monitoring myself for the unique questions only a father of a college-bound child can concoct, so as to minimize the glares and deep sighs from our ever-amazing daughter. Patience is a commodity long sought for in one's child. Throw in some bonehead questions to said child and that seeking becomes a long-term odyssey accompanied by poor lighting. To keep this paternal grilling preparation on low heat, I'd picked out some music for the 5 hour trip to take my mind off of the inquiries.
The ever-loving wife, ever-curious as to the stew cooking within my noggin, posed the q., "...and how did you pick out the music for this trip, dear? I always thought it was a random grab off the cd wall. I didn't realize that planning was involved." (I noticed an arch in her smile as she said the word, "dear".)
Having the tough hide developed through the leather goods shop that is the sacrament of marriage, I interpreted these japes and nips as my wife's turn in politesse, a frequent stopover in her many-times stated purpose of further understanding the creature she'd bonded with for life.
Fool that I am, I pontificated on for a bit about the uniqueness of each long trip's tunes. Words and word-combinations like "temporal", "speed/congestion plentitude", "feng shui of luggage comportment", "vocal declination vis-à-vis back seat padding", and "pasenger interminability" hurled from my mouth like mini-projectiles aimed at the dartboard of comprehension. I failed to detect the disguised sarcasm in my ever-loving spouse's question tone, so I roared on, a train headed for the inevitable derailment.
"So, you put so much time into this...project?"
Oh, Oh. The cloth was being laid out for my glorious multi-story splat. Like a bull, I roared on into the red.
"Why yes, I don't think people realize how much work that phrase In the Mood requires. You are confined to the limited space of your car, tied to a seat securing your safety and movement, and cursed with the knowledge that you'll be this way for at least 5 hours. A proper mood is a dire necessity." Throwing a bouquet of complements in her general direction regarding her engaging qualities of wit and story-telling, I, nonetheless, point out that music, even if it's simply a drape of background droning, contributes to the plentitude of charming tales that she regales us with on these long journies.
Crossing my fingers (yes, both hands still on the wheel) in hopes of placation, I squint in her gerneral direction for signs of confirmation. Like a fool, I bravely belabored my point.
"Jazz is fine, as long as it's agitated. Even a jazz vocalist is o.k. as long as it's not someone like Ella or Louis. The latter two should be left at home where, lounging back in a sofa, feet extended onto a coffee table, a glass of wine swirling in one's hand is perfectly acceptable deportment. Driving at 72 mph does not allow one to lounge, not if reaching a destination safely is one of that day's goals."
"But I love Ella!", my wife pleads.
"As do I. But, you also love sleeping in a sedentary position, which is against most state's driving laws if you're sitting in the driver's seat.
So, Ella's out and Tania Maria is in."
So, what else will be bombarded by?, she says, a mote of optimism struggling to survive.
I ignore the thematic war direction and stick to the facts of the dictatorial driver list.
Olu Dara. Both. Thick production. Interesting mix of trumpet, guitar, and, most defintely, a voice to eliminate trip ennui.
Los Lobos. The new one. Critics have compared it with Kiko. I'd say it's a great mix of Good Morning Azatlan and This Time, 2 of my favorite Los Lobos' albums.
Little Feat's The Last Record Album. One of my all-time favorite albums by anyone. The only fault I have with this album is that it's not long enough. Extended versions of all of the songs would have been greatly appreciated. A little harangue here: ANY Little Feat album put out after Lowell George's early death should NEVER be considered as Little Feat albums.
Billy Bragg’s Worker Playtime, because his heavily-accented voice will take you through the truly boring landscape that is a vital component of any trip.
Blackilicious’s The Craft is spoken word. No aural wordjam blocking up your (or your) passenger’s ears. Fast, funny, introspective.
Stanton Moore’s one of my favorite drummers along with Leon Parker. Moore’s All Kooked Out! brings in the sun on a rainy day. (looking forward to his newest release, III, but that’s another road trip.)
Toumani Diabete’s Symmetric Orchestra is a soaring amalgamation of drums, voices, and kora with a tempo-varied song list that will let you cover 100 miles of asphalt in a minimal amount of time. And all without (excessive) speeding.
Monty Alexander and Ernest Ranglin on Rock Steady was the token reggae-imbued album, although any of either Alexander's or Ranglin's albums, such as Ranglin's Below the Bassline would have done in a pinch. Side note: Mr. Ranglin's In Search of the Lost Riddim is a gorgeous cd released in 1998 to underwhelming success. A truly great recording.
Oh, Brother Where Art Thou, a 1995 release from The Legendary Jim Ruiz Group, (No, not that Oh, Brother Where Art Thou) The ever-loving wife thinks a beehive hairdo and a cocktail with tooth picked olives is de rigueur. I say that’s fine but none for the driver. He’s preoccupied listening to "Who’s going to drive My Bloody Yugo when I die". (Scroll down on the link.)
Steve Forbert’s The American in Me finishes off this particular road trip. Clangy and loud enough to keep said driver alert and yet introspective enough to keep the ever-loving wife thinking she’s traveling with a pensive kind of guy.
So, this music selection, some stimulating conversation, a blessing of minimal traffic, and no hell-bound tractor-trailers made this last westbound trip quite enjoyable.
Any special music choices that you make for those longer journies?
I stepped out of the Fossil Age and tried doing the Nano-FM music connection. I probably did it incorrectly. If you're travelling 200-500 miles (or more) how the heck do you get the Nano connected via the FM attachment that you don't have to be fluttering the dial as you are travelling through the unused FM dial? Should I have been reading the directions or is the only way that the Nano-FM connection work if you're driving in a 10 mile radius circle?
Inquiring mind would LOVE to know.
Labels: Pittsburgh, Road Trips
