Did He Want to Be Elvis, The Monster, or Chopin? Why Choose?

From Up-Tight, The Velvet Underground Story...

Victor Brockis: Did you see John's (Cale) personality breaking in two, in the sense that on the one hand he was a very creative personality balancing on the edge, on the other hand he had a very old-fashioned romantic sensibility?

Betsy Johnson: Yeah... and on the other hand he always wanted that hit-45 or hit Single. He's the same way now.

Art Finkelstein: I could never figure out whether John Cale wanted to be Elvis Presley, the Frankenstein Monster, or the young Chopin.

Hanky Panky Nohow by John Cale

If the sacheting of gentlemen

Gives you grievance now and then

What's needed are some memories of plaining lakes

Those plaining lakes will surely calm you down

Nothing frightens me more

Than religion at my door

I never answer panic knocking

Falling down the stairs upon the law

What law?

There's a law for everything

For elephants that sing to keep

The cows that agriculture won't allow

Hanky-panky know how, hanky-panky know how

Hanky-panky know how

There's a name for everything

For elephants that sing to keep

The cows that agriculture won't allow

Hanky-panky know how, hanky-panky know how

Hanky-panky know how

The Tell-Tale Tricky-Dick Back Trick!

Have you been following Rachel Maddow? She is tracking with the Russian Dupe in the White House Investigation on a daily basis. She really gets into the weeds on the story. Deep dive details. She is great at giving a grand overview of what's happening at the same time she delves deep into the murk. Not easy to do, so many characters, so many contradictory story-lines, a complex tale, unfolding now.

She also has been giving us a little history lesson. Reaching back to Nixon and the Watergate Scandal. There are many overlapping threads between that scandal and our current raging scandal. The one key thing they have in common: There is a Criminal in the White House. Except in today's scandal we have an ominous Russian twist.

One thing I love about Rachel's little history lesson, it shows that the country can survive a devastating scandal. The rule of law can work. The Courts, the Congress, cooler heads in the Republic can prevail. Hopefully, that is a precedent we can follow in our present predicament.

I do expect this guy, famous, self-described "rat-fucker," Roger Stone will emerge as a key player in the Russian Election Hack saga soon. I am expecting a Roger Stone indictment any day now. What was the tell-tale sign that this guy was/is a serious dirty trickster to be reckoned with? He had the ultimate Dirty Trickster, Tricky Dick himself tattooed on his back... the tell-tale tricky-dick back trick!

A Sluggish Life!

Geese flying overhead at dawn. They call to each other and their voices are like ancient souls, speaking in an ancient tongue, calling from the great beyond. Puts me in a wistful mood. It's the same when I hear a train whistle. Time. Going by. The sun is behind clouds. The streets are dark, it's cooler here, a big storm last night banished the heat. I'm in a foreign place, drinking someone else's coffee, typing on someone else's keyboard, listening to John Cale's "Vintage Violence," the full album via You Tube. Cale is my latest rage. All of his work speaks to me. A couple days ago, I rifled through my CD collection and pulled out all the old Cale records I own. Is anyone better than John Cale in all his various guises? I think not.

Slept well. It happens often when I'm sleeping in someone else's place. Better mattress, better pillows, quieter. There is an element of "being on vacation," vacation from my normal routine. I hear on the radio this morning, that it might be better to be "lazy," a slower metabolism might mean a longer life. Live a Sluggish Life! Funny. I am constantly stoking my metabolism with coffee, hyping myself up, working myself into a lather. Often I am just an aimless ball of energy looking for something to do. What a life.

Some days you feel totally in the stream, in the middle of the stream, flowing along with the day, other times, you feel like you are on the shore, on the sidelines, lurking, sort of invisible to the day. Today has that invisible kind of feel. I could disappear into the ether at any moment and no one would notice. Falling into the Great Unknown. The Great Unknowing. A Sluggish Life.

"Do Something Beautiful..." G. Maupassant

"It was 1965. They decided to follow Guy Maupassant's dictim to "Do something beautiful in the form that suits you best according to your own temperament."

I am re-reading "Up-tight" a great book about The Velvet Underground. Excellent summer reading. The origin story of the Velvets. A story of the 60's and one of the great seminal r&r bands. Folks all dressed in black (except Nico), with dark shades, and a commitment to exploring the stark realities of existence all presented in a wild multi-media extravaganza: Andy Warhol's "Exploding Plastic Inevitable."

I love Andy Warhol's mantra: "Do the work."

I love stories about artistic folks finding each other. I love stories of unique souls getting in a room together and creating something new. The original lineup of the Velvets only lasted for one record, Nico left after the first one, John Cale left after the second one. Seems Lou Reed was difficult sort; brilliant, driven, uncompromising. Reed saw himself as some kind of R&R Raymond Chandler, chronicling the underbelly life in the big city.

So many great characters turn up in this saga: Reed, Cale, Nico, Sterling Morrison, Mo Tucker, Warhol, Allen Ginsberg, Betsy Johnson, Edie Sedgwick, Gerard Malanga, Warhol's galaxy of Superstars.

I find it all inspiring. Creative, impossible characters always onto the next thing. While I'm reading the book I've been close listening to all the records. The Velvets recorded some of the finest, most uncompromising, original, edgy r&r ever committed to vinyl. They didn't sell a lot of records at the time, but how many bands did they inspire over the succeeding years? Too many to count.

Who's in Command Here?

Sometimes you wonder if anyone is in charge. Who is the Authority? Is everything up to us? Is there anyone we can look to for guidance, for advice? Are there any Wise Souls out there? Are we really all on our own? Are we the Authority? Are we making it up as we go?

Is this all just a grand Manichaean soap opera? Is it a daily, existential battle of Good vs. Evil? Or is it a murky, infinite, spectrum of gray? I kind of like the idea of a dualistic cosmology, dueling cosmos. Crossbows at dawn!

"Manichaeism taught an elaborate dualistic cosmology describing the struggle between a good, spiritual world of light, and an evil, material world of darkness.[5] Through an ongoing process that takes place in human history, light is gradually removed from the world of matter and returned to the world of light, whence it came. Its beliefs were based on local Mesopotamian religious movements and Gnosticism."

Can we put our money on Zoroaster, you know, the old, wise-guy who predicted : "the ultimate destruction of evil."  I guess the jury is still out... to be continued... I mean, we are only here on a temporary basis, this Good vs Evil thing seems like it could be a bit of a drawn-out affair...

I think of this famous scene from Apocalypse Now... who is in command? Maybe Roach knows...

Willard: "Who's the Commanding Officer here?"

Gunner: "Ain't You?"

(Later in the scene...) 

Willard: "Hey Soldier, do you know who's in command here?" 

Roach: "Yeah."

Gratifying & Unexpected!

Our band whitewolfsonicprincess played a r&r benefit show out in the Western Suburbs last night. Way out West. We think of it as the "Land Beyond O'Hare." Or, "The Land that Time Forgot."

We played a full set of originals, on a bill with a whole lineup of cover bands: Boston, Rush, Prince, Beatles, Stones, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Heart. We felt like fish out of water, for sure. Was it a good show for whitewolfsonicprincess!? The Sound-Tech said, "You guys made my night." The drummer in the last band on the bill said, "You guys were the best band tonight." A woman at the bar said, "Everyone at the bar was mesmerized." The burly ex-punk rocker said, "Loved your set, it was beautiful." Yes, surprisingly, it was a good one.

You never know, right? We have a weird, arty, bohemian kind of vibe to our band. We definitely felt and looked like strangers in a strange land. Maybe it's good to see so starkly what we are not, so we can embrace what and who we really are... We did connect. Our weird-ness, our strange-ness came across, and still, folks were listening. That was gratifying and totally unexpected.

Trump's Favorite Pecker Spilling Beans Now!

Tabloids. We have all seen them in the check-out line at the grocery store, and at the pharmacy.  My favorite headline, ever, which I used in one of my plays back in the 2000's: "Ventriloquist in Coma, Dummy Still Talking!"

That wasn't from David Pecker's National Enquirer, it was from the Weekly World News, which was the Onion, before the Onion.  Looks like Trump's favorite Pecker just got immunity, and will be spilling the beans soon. Oh my!

Anyway, I didn't find the Ventriloquist cover, but I did find some good ones this morning...

An empty tomb. Now that's some excellent, posthumous, legend-building PR. Worked for Jesus too! 

The Dead-Enders of the Dead End.

Let's just state it plainly, this MAGA Zombie Death Cult supporting our Little Baby Man President, you know, the Corrupt Idiot King, is a dead-end. These folks are the dead-enders of the dead end. There is no reasoning with them, no arguments will persuade them. They are beyond hope and redemption.

The media has been in thrall to them for too long. Some have tried to persuade us that they represent a legitimate movement, that they herald in some new dark future where Anger & Hate and Racism & a bred-in-the-bone Ignorance rule.

We need to reject that framing of the political landscape. These MAGA folks are the Kool-Aid Drinkers of Jonestown, or the "religious millenarian cult" followers of Heaven's Gate. MAGA is a cult of the brain-dead. They will follow their corrupt, compromised leader over the cliff, no matter what. We need to tune them out. Out-vote them. Move them out of the way.

Their Dear Leader is imploding, choking on his own suppurating corruption. The worms of death, decay, and putrefaction are oozing from all his orifices. There is a deep ugliness on display. It will get worse. Little Baby Man's Long Nightmare is just beginning. The Smart People will keep their distance, please avoid the toxic, noxious, putrefying fumes emanating from the MAGA crowd. MAGA will die hard.

Knocking the Game-Board to the Ground!

"Nothing is True, Everything is Permitted."

"Truth isn't True."

"Crime isn't Crime."

The Apologists and Supporters of our current Cult Leader tell us, their favored, Powerful, Brain-Addled MAGA Hero can do no wrong. We have entered a Kaleidoscopic Hall of Mirrors. If you are losing the argument, in court, in the public square, in the face of a mountain of facts, well, I suppose you just knock the game-board to the ground.

The rest us should just take a deep breath. We can keep our feet on the ground. Renew our trust in gravity, common sense, the scientific method, the rule of law, a constitutional order. Don't get distracted by the Bullshit, the PR Blitz, Propaganda, Disinformation.

This is actually a very simple story: Corrupt people living lives of corruption, at the expense of the rest of us. And what were these corrupt people willing to do? Sell us all out, for $, for power, for comfort, luxury. Things have gotten quite twisted, and lots of folks are confused, or maybe just will-fully ignorant. There is lots of hate and bad blood, and the majority of the MAGA folks are really just trolling us.

We have to be clear-headed, clear-eyed. Be meticulous in our thinking. Don't let passions overwhelm. We can work through this together. Truth will out. Crime is crime. Not everything is permitted. And that's a good thing. We can do our best to live honest lives. We can lean to the light. We know right from wrong. We can be smart, compassionate, enlightened. Yes. We. Can.

Still Life - Banana!

You would think I'd want to comment on the political firestorm that blew up yesterday. "A sitting President is implicated in a criminal conspiracy to mislead the American public in order to influence an election."  I do think the story has legs, and it may be the beginning of a long nightmare for our Little Baby Man President.

But, no, I would rather post and comment upon this "accidental" still-life photo I took yesterday. I was unpacking CDs from my Yippiefest sound-tech duties, re-organizing big piles of CDs, and this particular CD ended up next to this particular banana. No kidding.

I wondered, Is the Universe sending me a message? I'm not sure. I did eat the banana. I also ended up listening to the CD. Nutritious. Satisfying. It was only later that I regretted eating that banana. It was so handsome. I thought, I could have done a whole series of still-lives; that particular banana with significant CDs from other eras. Too late. That banana is long gone.

The Pre & Post Show Hustle!

A three day weekend. A flurry of activity. Hardly slept. Hardly ate. Powered by adrenaline. Not sure if that is healthy or not. Yesterday, still hustling, cleaning up, putting large black boxes back in their usual places.

"Rock music is mostly about moving big black boxes from one side of town to the other in the back of your car." - David Thomas, Pere Ubu

It is funny. The pre & post show hustle is just as important as the time you spend on stage in front of an audience. The preparation, the rehearsals, the getting gear sorted out. It can be a Zen thing. Pick up the box, carry it down the stairs, hustle it back to the rehearsal space.

Then there is the post-show assessment. What went right? What went wrong? I broke a string on Sunday. It happens. Sometimes I play with a bit too much enthusiasm, but then there is the normal wear and tear, the humidity, all the up and down tuning. My backup guitar is a gorgeous-looking Epiphone guitar, but it just doesn't have the same gravity that my old 1979 Japanese-made Hohner possesses.

And it just doesn't feel the same. I am so married to that old, clunky Hohner. I am now on the search for another one. Same model, same year. Another mad quest. Just to make the show, and our performances a little better. It's the day after, the day after.

The Physicality of the Human!

"Baby, baby, you are out of time..." I can hear Mick Jagger singing that line...

My last three summer days were spent in a theater space. Running sound, performing, watching other performers. It was a pretty amazing display of human creativity in all it's forms: music, poetry, theater, comedy. The human thing. Lots of humans creating. They called it Yippiefest 2018. 

You should have been there. There is a really unique thrill about being in a room with other human beings focused on creative exploration. A visceral kick. Sharing the same space, the same air. The physicality of the human. You can't get it on a screen: a tv, a laptop, a phone.

I was reminded that I am a man "out of time." I think it was the iPod (an ancient device), or the Walkman (pre-historic), the collection of CD's (obsolete), I armed myself with, plus, also, of course, the cells of my body (worn, ragged, beat, beatific?). These hands, this head, this body. How many turns around the sun for me? Too many to count.

I was overwhelmed by the energy of the room. The flow of the days and nights. The energy. Energy really is Eternal Delight (hat tip: Wm. Blake). I conjured up a bit of my own energy too. I was tired, over-extended, but when I entered that theater space I was flooded with energy. Renewed. A festival of the Human Thing.

What is that Stuff?!

I was going to ask Google: "What is that drug my neighbor's brother is hooked on?" But I realized, that isn't really how it works, right?

What't up with my neighbor's brother? He usually seems like a nice enough chap. But once in awhile he indulges in some unique substance that makes him go into a weird, exotic, monkey-man routine.

He was out in front of our building one night going nuts: jumping up and down, slapping himself in the face, wheezing and choking and coughing. He looked like a mad-monkey on meth. He looked like he was dying on his feet.

Weird noises came out of him. He was in major distress. You wonder is it crack, meth, synthetic marijuana, or some strange combo? Folks were out in the street, they kind of gave him a wide berth. Whatever he was up to, no one wanted to engage with him. After about 40 minutes or so of this toxic-shock foolishness he kind of mellowed out a bit.

An officer of the law came by, and they had a sociable conversation. Funny. And then the officer decided to move on to more pressing things.

Madman. The stuff, whatever is/was, makes you act like a total madman. You'd think it would be a one-time thing, maybe he accidentally took too much of something, he'd never touch that shit again, but no, our neighbor's brother was back at it about a week later. Same mad-monkey meth routine. Weird. Whatever that shit is, this guy can't get enough. Madness. I'd take the Nancy Reagan advice: "Just Say No!" A mind is a terrible thing to waste. There are the "miracle drugs," and then there are the "Mad Monkey on Meth Drugs." Choose wisely Grasshopper!

My Own Little Madness!

There are those days that run away from you like wild horses. You try to catch up, not possible. You watch the day gallop away, you are left in the dust. Today has been that kind of day.

It follows a long night in a dark theater space, running sound for a festival of acts. Not unusual for me. I have spent many hot, summer days in August in a little black box theater trying to commit grievous acts of creation. Semi-theatrical, musical, odd-ball performances of all kinds.

I am not made for summer. My summer-wear: black jeans, black boots, black t-shirt, dark shades, and a hat, usually of a darker shade. It's my own little madness.

"In the Hologram You Create."

Yeah. When I grow up, I want to be like water. I also want to remember all the great things I used to read and to know. So much of our time on earth is spent "laughing, crying and forgetting..."

Tao Te Ching...

The highest good is like water.

Water benefits all the material beings very well, and doesn't contend.

It stays at the place which many people think is bad.

Therefore, it is close to Tao.

Simply, it never contends, so it never errs.

Tao Te Ching (paraphrased)...

Be like water. (若水: "like water" in Chinese characters / kanji. 

In Tao Te Ching's original text, it is written 上 善 若 水, which mean "high, good, like, water" respectively, according to the order of the characters.) 

It is the best way.

Water never resists. It accepts all.

It never judges.

Therefore, to be one with Tao, be like water.

Do not fight. For you know there is neither a winner nor a loser in your hologram that you create.

Stuckness vs. Flow.

Stuckness: "The state or fact of being unable to move or progress; the feeling of being stuck." 

Yeah. Being stuck is unhealthy. We get stuck in our thinking. Things get stuck in our craw. There is lack of movement. No flow. Obstruction. Obstacles. Blockage. Things get stuck in our heads, our bodies. A kind of illness.

We need to release, relax, let things flow. As per George Harrison: "Life flows within you, and without you." There is deep wisdom there.

Life is grasping, and letting go. Work around. Re-think. Start again. Reboot. Recharge. Flow. Go with the flow. Always be flowing. If you are stuck, in a state of stuckness, it's time for a re-think, a break in the routine, stand on your head, shake it up, baby.  Twist. And shout. Flow.

Still Waters Run Deep!

Still waters run deep: "a proverb of Latin origin." Had a long sleep, but it was all tossing and turning. You may think everything is under control, that you are doing fine, handling everything you need to handle, but then, you are possessed by crazy, disturbing dreams, inundated with odd, weird, uncanny, David Lynch-ian sequences.

Nightmares.

So then, in the light of day, you wonder... What's was that all about? What's going on? What am I missing? Why was my sleep state so disturbing? There is no grand narrative thread, just disjointed scenes, odd images.

I do remember being in a car, a little black Pontiac Fiero, (I owned one of those in the eighties), a terrible car, a mid-engine design, very unstable on the road. And yes, I took a corner too fast and ended up spinning out, up and over an embankment, and flipped-out over a stone wall.

I landed in a field. Upright. Okay. Shaken and stirred. Out of control. That's the message. Out of control. Still waters run deep.

Does Anyone Really Believe that B.S.?

White Supremacy... it's a joke, right? A bad joke. Funny & Not Funny. It has caused a lot of pain, heartache, and horror for generations of humans.  Genocide. Slavery. The Horror. Man's Inhumanity to Man.

A bunch of white folks get together and decide that they are better, more worthy, than all the other varieties of human beings. It's sounds absurd, ridiculous. How is it possible anyone would believe that bullshit?

As a long-time white person myself, one who has been around lots of white folks for most of my life, I can assure you we white folk aren't superior to anyone or anything! Some of us are just barely functional, barely competent. We are just Human Beings pretty much like all the other Human Beings running around wreaking havoc on the planet. Flawed. Conflicted. Complicated. Complex. Bifurcated. Messed up.

Human Beings are so easily fooled, so easily confused. We fuck up all the time! We end up believing all kinds of crap that has no basis in reality. It's pretty evident that the amount of melatonin in our skin doesn't matter a whit, except maybe in terms of how much sunblock we need when the sun's rays are beating down on us.

Some of this white supremacy Shite is, of course, just pure, bad faith. Meanness. Evil. Rat Bastard Evil Shit. Stupid Rat Bastard Evil Shit. Monumentally, Epically, Willfully, Stupid Rat Bastard Evil Shit. Add it to the enormous shit-pile of really Idiot Ideas that have clouded Human Being's minds since the Dawn of Man!

Greatly Out-Numbered!

I turn on the radio this morning and hear that the Alt-Right Nazis marching in Washington D.C.  and Charlottesville were greatly out-numbered by the Counter- Alt-Right Protestors.  That's all I needed to hear. I snapped off the radio, and immediately put on a CD... Dead Can Dance.

Celebrate the good news. It comes in drips and drabs, but sometimes that is all we need... I loved reading this over at Vox: 

"From the moment they arrived in DC, the alt-right attendees were greatly outnumbered by thousands of counterprotesters, who took to the streets in both Charlottesville and Washington, DC, this weekend to push back against emboldened white supremacy."

Glory Be to the Vibe!

And what of me? I have spent much of my time in small rooms with other people, making invisible connections, and creating energy.

A Life of Vibes!

Folks will often say to my primary collaborator and I: "I love the vibe you guys create." Hah! Creating vibes. What's up with that? It's always a bit surprising. This comment usually comes up when we are in a room trying to create something. We are just doing our thing. Being. Maybe we have kind of developed a "way to the vibe," or discovered how to get to a creative space here we can facilitate a vibe, but this comes very naturally, without thought. We have no idea how this really happens.

What kind of vibes do we conjure? I'd guess, Creative, Supportive, Theatrical, Musical. Sometimes, hopefully Transcendent. If all goes well, we conjure vibes bending/working towards the spiritual. It's just a result of our creative efforts. To conjure something (a song, a set of music, a scene, a monologue, a stage picture) that didn't exist until we all got in a room together.

Vibes are invisible, ephemeral, insubstantial. They don't have a long shelf-life. They are hard to define, hard to pin down, you can't store them and keep them for another day. They are not the "coin of the realm," they won't pay the rent, but once you experience them, you realize you are on the right track. The Life-Track!

The process, the work of creating vibes is essential, powerful, beautiful and soul-enriching. It's not an intentional process, it's instinctual, this "vibe-creating" just kind of happens when you focus on the work, when you sink deeply into the moment. You lose yourself to the flow. It's a beautiful thing when it happens. Especially with a small group of creators.

I do believe the creative work is sort of a branch of magic. Conjuring up something new, something that never existed before. Even simple things, little things. Focusing on the act of creating is a powerful endeavor.

The vehicle is the song, the scene, the word, the action, but the greater thing we are creating, the thing we are shooting for, is a collective vibe. A process where 2+2=5. All for the vibe. Glory be to the vibe.