The Jazz Bus: Listening to Tunes
What has been on my �turntable� as of late?
Richard Thompson DREAM ATTIC
John McLaughlin TO THE ONE
The Derek Trucks Band ROAD SONGS
The Black Crowes CROWEOLOGY
Brian Wilson REIMAGINES GERSHWIN
Jeff Beck EMOTION and COMMOTION
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Martians V. Venusians
The Jazz Bus: Martians V. Venusians
Men are from Mars, women from Venus…so true. One night my lovely bride suggested, strongly I might add ,that it was time to start our holiday shopping. My heart be still. Since it was not even Thanksgiving I knew Kohl’s must be having their annual 30% off and Kohl’s cash back sale. Up early in the morning, breakfast done, the dog walked, her credit card warmed up and with a few dollars in my pocket away we go. Not exactly remembering where this store was I misjudged it by a few streets. If she said we were going to the long defunct Mays, I would have known exactly where to turn. Shopping and store locations are not strong suites for me.
Finally arriving I find the parking lot is quite full. Entering the doorway I noticed the long lines already at the registers. I contemplated suggesting that I should leave, get a cup of coffee, and return in a month or so when the crowds might be gone, but thought better of the damage that statement might have caused. The bride was bubbling, ecstatic about all the shoppers which she equated to a boom in the economy. While knowing she was correct in her economic projections, I was scanning the place for possible escape routes.
Resigned to the fact that I promised “to be good”, I started searching for some “me items”. After only two minutes in the Men’s Department my “me” shopping was ended as we were on our way to Kids, Infants, Ladies, Misses, Teens, Shoes, Toys, Bed and Bath, Kitchen Wares; whew, I was tired and my arms hurt from caring all our “savings”. We never fully explored the first floor, except to enter, pay and leave. Knowing that Venusians are smarted then Martians I sensed a return trip was in order to explore the first floor “savings” and to spend the Kohl’s Cash we were rewarded upon paying for today’s “savings”.
During this shopping expedition I noticed that there were only a few other Martians but plenty of Venusians. Most Venusians traveled in pairs, or groups of 3 or 4. The Martians I saw had eyes lowered to the ground and were more like mules carrying the handiwork of the Venusians. What made it more curious was that many, many Venusians could multi-task, and mostly you could hear what they were thinking. One was looking at a clothing rack, contemplating the 30% discount plus the 15% additional saving for using her credit card while speaking aloud about Thanksgiving arrangements, who would be there and what size Little Johnnie was and did he like Toy Store 3. At first I just thought it was a crazy person, ranting to no one in particular. I searched for her cell phone in her hand but saw none as she was shopping two handed. Finally, I noticed what appeared to be a miniature ear piece and knew she was speaking to the mother ship. I hope they beam her up soon, or better yet, me. Martians, we don’t usually contact each other in that manner, a head nod with lowered eyes will do.jazzbus@gmail.com
Men are from Mars, women from Venus…so true. One night my lovely bride suggested, strongly I might add ,that it was time to start our holiday shopping. My heart be still. Since it was not even Thanksgiving I knew Kohl’s must be having their annual 30% off and Kohl’s cash back sale. Up early in the morning, breakfast done, the dog walked, her credit card warmed up and with a few dollars in my pocket away we go. Not exactly remembering where this store was I misjudged it by a few streets. If she said we were going to the long defunct Mays, I would have known exactly where to turn. Shopping and store locations are not strong suites for me.
Finally arriving I find the parking lot is quite full. Entering the doorway I noticed the long lines already at the registers. I contemplated suggesting that I should leave, get a cup of coffee, and return in a month or so when the crowds might be gone, but thought better of the damage that statement might have caused. The bride was bubbling, ecstatic about all the shoppers which she equated to a boom in the economy. While knowing she was correct in her economic projections, I was scanning the place for possible escape routes.
Resigned to the fact that I promised “to be good”, I started searching for some “me items”. After only two minutes in the Men’s Department my “me” shopping was ended as we were on our way to Kids, Infants, Ladies, Misses, Teens, Shoes, Toys, Bed and Bath, Kitchen Wares; whew, I was tired and my arms hurt from caring all our “savings”. We never fully explored the first floor, except to enter, pay and leave. Knowing that Venusians are smarted then Martians I sensed a return trip was in order to explore the first floor “savings” and to spend the Kohl’s Cash we were rewarded upon paying for today’s “savings”.
During this shopping expedition I noticed that there were only a few other Martians but plenty of Venusians. Most Venusians traveled in pairs, or groups of 3 or 4. The Martians I saw had eyes lowered to the ground and were more like mules carrying the handiwork of the Venusians. What made it more curious was that many, many Venusians could multi-task, and mostly you could hear what they were thinking. One was looking at a clothing rack, contemplating the 30% discount plus the 15% additional saving for using her credit card while speaking aloud about Thanksgiving arrangements, who would be there and what size Little Johnnie was and did he like Toy Store 3. At first I just thought it was a crazy person, ranting to no one in particular. I searched for her cell phone in her hand but saw none as she was shopping two handed. Finally, I noticed what appeared to be a miniature ear piece and knew she was speaking to the mother ship. I hope they beam her up soon, or better yet, me. Martians, we don’t usually contact each other in that manner, a head nod with lowered eyes will do.jazzbus@gmail.com
Friday, November 26, 2010
The Book I Read
The Jazz Bus: The Book I Read…
One of all time favorite albums is Talking Heads: 77. Prior to its major label vinyl release I had watched the band perform at a few venues in Manhattan, purchased a few of their indie singles, and waited patiently for the official release date of their first major label release. Bingo got it day one. Listened to it constantly and it became one of my first CD purchases when I hit that techno phase, Jimi Hendrix RADIO ONE being the other that day. This piece has nothing to do with T Heads, except stealing a song title, THE BOOK I READ.
The other day a minor story in the newspaper was written about high school seniors who are currently reading below levels established in 1992; a poor 288 points out of 500 in reading comprehension. While this is slightly above last year’s average it is still…wait a minute here, a reading test. Remembering back to my days in school the last thing I cared about was a test “that did not count”. Pretty diagrams I made out of the scantrons sheet blanks, always choosing “all of the above”, while never opting for “none of the above”. I didn’t care about having a correct answer. Why did these educators waste my time with a stupid test that doesn’t count for me? The questions should be “What did Johnny learn today and does he read on his own?”
Standardized testing must be a killer for our kids. Every year in elementary school another test that does not count for graduation, then Regents in high school, which is a bit more serious, then SAT/ACT, test, test, test. But, what does this test really evaluate?
During high school I was “required” to read a book, GIANTS IN THE EARTH by O.E.Rolvaag. I was and still am an avid reader but have maintained a personal philosophy of when reading a book if it is going nowhere for me, use it as kindling wood in the fireplace. GIANTS was going nowhere for me, seemed to be a long drawn-out reworking of The STORY of JOB except this family was ever so slowly moving through the Dakota prairie. I voiced my opinion in class and was subsequently called to task by the teacher who phoned my dad for a “meeting”. While I was trying to negotiate an agreement where I would read three other books but not GIANTS, the teacher firmly said “no, that one or nothing. You’ll need that one on the Regents.” At our “meeting” I reiterated my dislike of “the classic” but no one, including Pop budged. I calmly said, “I’ll take the zero now”, which I got. GIANTS never came up on the Regents but in my essays I did use references to other books I read which were not “required” reading .I passed the Regents with flying colors, while not faring so well on the course grade. However, then as opposed to now, you got the higher grade listed on “your permanent record”.
My point is simple, have kids read because they want to. jazzbus@gmail.com
One of all time favorite albums is Talking Heads: 77. Prior to its major label vinyl release I had watched the band perform at a few venues in Manhattan, purchased a few of their indie singles, and waited patiently for the official release date of their first major label release. Bingo got it day one. Listened to it constantly and it became one of my first CD purchases when I hit that techno phase, Jimi Hendrix RADIO ONE being the other that day. This piece has nothing to do with T Heads, except stealing a song title, THE BOOK I READ.
The other day a minor story in the newspaper was written about high school seniors who are currently reading below levels established in 1992; a poor 288 points out of 500 in reading comprehension. While this is slightly above last year’s average it is still…wait a minute here, a reading test. Remembering back to my days in school the last thing I cared about was a test “that did not count”. Pretty diagrams I made out of the scantrons sheet blanks, always choosing “all of the above”, while never opting for “none of the above”. I didn’t care about having a correct answer. Why did these educators waste my time with a stupid test that doesn’t count for me? The questions should be “What did Johnny learn today and does he read on his own?”
Standardized testing must be a killer for our kids. Every year in elementary school another test that does not count for graduation, then Regents in high school, which is a bit more serious, then SAT/ACT, test, test, test. But, what does this test really evaluate?
During high school I was “required” to read a book, GIANTS IN THE EARTH by O.E.Rolvaag. I was and still am an avid reader but have maintained a personal philosophy of when reading a book if it is going nowhere for me, use it as kindling wood in the fireplace. GIANTS was going nowhere for me, seemed to be a long drawn-out reworking of The STORY of JOB except this family was ever so slowly moving through the Dakota prairie. I voiced my opinion in class and was subsequently called to task by the teacher who phoned my dad for a “meeting”. While I was trying to negotiate an agreement where I would read three other books but not GIANTS, the teacher firmly said “no, that one or nothing. You’ll need that one on the Regents.” At our “meeting” I reiterated my dislike of “the classic” but no one, including Pop budged. I calmly said, “I’ll take the zero now”, which I got. GIANTS never came up on the Regents but in my essays I did use references to other books I read which were not “required” reading .I passed the Regents with flying colors, while not faring so well on the course grade. However, then as opposed to now, you got the higher grade listed on “your permanent record”.
My point is simple, have kids read because they want to. jazzbus@gmail.com
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
John McLaughlin in New York City
The Jazz Bus: John McLaughlin in NYC
Sticking with as one reader suggested “what you know” and staying away from a political slant I hit the road again last weekend, heading west to the greatest metropolis in the world, New York City. Taking the Iron Horse into Penn Station, my friends and I headed to a favorite watering hole to rustle up some chow, and a few “diet cokes” before entering “Town Hall”, an intimate historical spot in NYC, which for the past 80 plus years has served as a cultural center for the performing arts. Originally built to house a “vibrant group of suffragists”, the hall officially opened to the public on January 12, 1921, after the 19th Amendment had been passed. Having in its design no box seats as to best “reflect the democratic principles” of its founders, the stage has been graced over the years by the presence of such artists as Edna St. Vincent Millay in her first performance as well as the debut of Marian Anderson, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Cissey Houston, Carole King, and Woody Allen to name a few.
Our show was John McLaughlin, guitarist extraordinaire and his band. It’s been many a moon since his days with Miles Davis or the original Mahavishnu Orchestra, but since his latest release is a tribute to John Coltrane’s (my all-time favorite) influence on McLaughlin I felt it might be time to reacquaint myself with his music. With the seats being reasonably cheap I encouraged my two music compatriots to join me because as we say “this is what we do”. Remembering McLaughlin is an acquired taste I cautioned them, this could be very strange.
A beautiful fall evening in Manhattan, night fall, thousands crowding the streets from Penn to Times Square, yet eeriness was afoot. Many armed soldiers were patrolling the LIRR area and the streets outside of MSG. Down 7th Avenue, a few NYPD cars were noticed. The pedestrian mall once known as Times Square also had an armed presence.
The two hour show was quite enjoyable as McLaughlin led his band through his catalogue while emulating Coltrane’s sax runs. Outside as we walked back to Penn there were NYFD trucks, lights flashing, and firemen walking about with equipment, hoses, and radios blaring. Siren sounded in the distance. Walking on Sixth Avenue, just turning the corner to the Garden, seven NYPD patrol cars in succession, sirens blasting, sped by us toward Fifth. Strange night indeed.
One of my buddies had NY Giants tickets for that Sunday. The previous evening of noticing all the emergency services in the area did not truly register with me until the lights and TV feed went out in Giants Stadium that evening. He said inside was a bit chaotic, especially when cell phone service was non-existent during “the power outage”. Speaking to the other third of our trio on Monday he said something that totally alarmed me, “I always felt safe in NYC, but the other night (Saturday) was a bit surreal, and when the lights went out at the game I feared the worse”. Strange indeed. jazzbus@gmail.com
Sticking with as one reader suggested “what you know” and staying away from a political slant I hit the road again last weekend, heading west to the greatest metropolis in the world, New York City. Taking the Iron Horse into Penn Station, my friends and I headed to a favorite watering hole to rustle up some chow, and a few “diet cokes” before entering “Town Hall”, an intimate historical spot in NYC, which for the past 80 plus years has served as a cultural center for the performing arts. Originally built to house a “vibrant group of suffragists”, the hall officially opened to the public on January 12, 1921, after the 19th Amendment had been passed. Having in its design no box seats as to best “reflect the democratic principles” of its founders, the stage has been graced over the years by the presence of such artists as Edna St. Vincent Millay in her first performance as well as the debut of Marian Anderson, Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Cissey Houston, Carole King, and Woody Allen to name a few.
Our show was John McLaughlin, guitarist extraordinaire and his band. It’s been many a moon since his days with Miles Davis or the original Mahavishnu Orchestra, but since his latest release is a tribute to John Coltrane’s (my all-time favorite) influence on McLaughlin I felt it might be time to reacquaint myself with his music. With the seats being reasonably cheap I encouraged my two music compatriots to join me because as we say “this is what we do”. Remembering McLaughlin is an acquired taste I cautioned them, this could be very strange.
A beautiful fall evening in Manhattan, night fall, thousands crowding the streets from Penn to Times Square, yet eeriness was afoot. Many armed soldiers were patrolling the LIRR area and the streets outside of MSG. Down 7th Avenue, a few NYPD cars were noticed. The pedestrian mall once known as Times Square also had an armed presence.
The two hour show was quite enjoyable as McLaughlin led his band through his catalogue while emulating Coltrane’s sax runs. Outside as we walked back to Penn there were NYFD trucks, lights flashing, and firemen walking about with equipment, hoses, and radios blaring. Siren sounded in the distance. Walking on Sixth Avenue, just turning the corner to the Garden, seven NYPD patrol cars in succession, sirens blasting, sped by us toward Fifth. Strange night indeed.
One of my buddies had NY Giants tickets for that Sunday. The previous evening of noticing all the emergency services in the area did not truly register with me until the lights and TV feed went out in Giants Stadium that evening. He said inside was a bit chaotic, especially when cell phone service was non-existent during “the power outage”. Speaking to the other third of our trio on Monday he said something that totally alarmed me, “I always felt safe in NYC, but the other night (Saturday) was a bit surreal, and when the lights went out at the game I feared the worse”. Strange indeed. jazzbus@gmail.com
Happy Thanksgiving, Pilgrims
The Jazz Bus: The Mayflower
A 65 day trans-Atlantic ocean voyage on a tiny just sea worthy ship over-loaded with 102 passengers, most of whom were willing to risk all for their religious convictions; they miss their destination by hundreds of miles, arrive in a place uncharted, alien to them and those who piloted there. Disaster strikes. Now What?
You think a plot for a new reality show, but no, just the true story of “The Mayflower”, and a great book by Nathaniel Philbrick. Putting the book aside I reflected on Thanksgiving and what it means to some as well as the actual facts leading up to, as we called it in Scudder Avenue School, “The First Thanksgiving”. The modern day feast is the turkey, stuffing and all the trimmings, along with a few football games thrown in. Not exactly what the Pilgrims and Native Americans experienced.
These “Pilgrims” were actually a religious cult which broke away from the Church of England wishing for a life based solely on the teachings of The Bible. Described by some as “Separatists” they first emigrated to Amsterdam (1608) and then Holland (1609) to escape harassment and social persecution in their homeland. After 12 years in Holland, still unable to achieve religious and social recognition, one half the group left to settle in territories of The New World owned by The London Company.
Mishaps with ships and crew members (the Strangers) who mixed uncomfortably with this religious sect( the Leideners) , the 102 in total boarded The Mayflower on September 16,1620, landing in Cape Cod, November 19, 65 days later. They were granted land rights in Northern Virginia; unfortunately they missed their mark by hundreds of miles to the north. Alone, not joining up with other colonists or English civilization as they expected, and having no legal rights to the landing area, they were forced to draw up The Mayflower Compact which would help govern them when they settled. It took one month aboard that tiny ship sailing up and down the unfamiliar and quite unfriendly coast until they finally agreed upon a suitable place to settle, Dec. 26, 1620. The Mayflower which was late for its scheduled return back to England was now forced to spend what was best described as a horrible winter anchored in the harbor, On April 15, 1621, when The Mayflower started its return to England, half the colonists were dead. Those remaining were determined to survive.
The “First Thanksgiving” held October, 1621, was actually a Harvest Feast similar to English custom. After 11 months of fighting the fertility of the land, being both friend and foe to some of the Native tribes, the settlers harvested corn, squash, beans, barley and peas; hunted duck, geese, deer and wild turkeys. All this with an abundance of striped bass, bluefish, cod, and beer brewed with the barley, the feast began when some “Natives” offered their neighbors deer roasted on a spit. Their mutual challenge of survival was a bonding force. The colonists sat cross legged on the ground, eating with their bare hands and knives, as forks didn’t make it until 1690 or so. The colonists were considered “as a little child” by the Pokanokers, while the Pokanokers were “very trustworthy, quick of apprehension, ripe witted, just” according to Edward Winslow.
As you sit comfortably around your table with your Harvest Feast in front of you, with knives and forks at the ready, it is time to honor the true meaning of Thanksgiving, one where we actually give thanks to our friends, relatives and family, those who make our lives so special and rewarding. From all the riders on The Jazz Bus to your family, Happy T Thanksgiving. Jazzbus@gmail.com PS: I am finally on FACEBOOK.
A 65 day trans-Atlantic ocean voyage on a tiny just sea worthy ship over-loaded with 102 passengers, most of whom were willing to risk all for their religious convictions; they miss their destination by hundreds of miles, arrive in a place uncharted, alien to them and those who piloted there. Disaster strikes. Now What?
You think a plot for a new reality show, but no, just the true story of “The Mayflower”, and a great book by Nathaniel Philbrick. Putting the book aside I reflected on Thanksgiving and what it means to some as well as the actual facts leading up to, as we called it in Scudder Avenue School, “The First Thanksgiving”. The modern day feast is the turkey, stuffing and all the trimmings, along with a few football games thrown in. Not exactly what the Pilgrims and Native Americans experienced.
These “Pilgrims” were actually a religious cult which broke away from the Church of England wishing for a life based solely on the teachings of The Bible. Described by some as “Separatists” they first emigrated to Amsterdam (1608) and then Holland (1609) to escape harassment and social persecution in their homeland. After 12 years in Holland, still unable to achieve religious and social recognition, one half the group left to settle in territories of The New World owned by The London Company.
Mishaps with ships and crew members (the Strangers) who mixed uncomfortably with this religious sect( the Leideners) , the 102 in total boarded The Mayflower on September 16,1620, landing in Cape Cod, November 19, 65 days later. They were granted land rights in Northern Virginia; unfortunately they missed their mark by hundreds of miles to the north. Alone, not joining up with other colonists or English civilization as they expected, and having no legal rights to the landing area, they were forced to draw up The Mayflower Compact which would help govern them when they settled. It took one month aboard that tiny ship sailing up and down the unfamiliar and quite unfriendly coast until they finally agreed upon a suitable place to settle, Dec. 26, 1620. The Mayflower which was late for its scheduled return back to England was now forced to spend what was best described as a horrible winter anchored in the harbor, On April 15, 1621, when The Mayflower started its return to England, half the colonists were dead. Those remaining were determined to survive.
The “First Thanksgiving” held October, 1621, was actually a Harvest Feast similar to English custom. After 11 months of fighting the fertility of the land, being both friend and foe to some of the Native tribes, the settlers harvested corn, squash, beans, barley and peas; hunted duck, geese, deer and wild turkeys. All this with an abundance of striped bass, bluefish, cod, and beer brewed with the barley, the feast began when some “Natives” offered their neighbors deer roasted on a spit. Their mutual challenge of survival was a bonding force. The colonists sat cross legged on the ground, eating with their bare hands and knives, as forks didn’t make it until 1690 or so. The colonists were considered “as a little child” by the Pokanokers, while the Pokanokers were “very trustworthy, quick of apprehension, ripe witted, just” according to Edward Winslow.
As you sit comfortably around your table with your Harvest Feast in front of you, with knives and forks at the ready, it is time to honor the true meaning of Thanksgiving, one where we actually give thanks to our friends, relatives and family, those who make our lives so special and rewarding. From all the riders on The Jazz Bus to your family, Happy T Thanksgiving. Jazzbus@gmail.com PS: I am finally on FACEBOOK.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Kill a Tree for Me
The Jazz Bus: Kill a Tree for Me
The elections are over and the ballots all finally counted, the results are in with a few still being contested. No hanging chads this time, no “oh, he’s your brother the governor” scam, just good old time nasty “he say she say” politics. Finger pointing, outing the opponent for doing this or not doing that or for being “in-bed” with The Speaker of The House while never hinting at what this politician stood for, just against.
Then on Election Day I get to the polling place and knowing in advance a new system was being used I prepared for long lines and in-depth explanations on the procedure. But, ah, not to be. The line was non-existent, and the usual cast of characters from the Board of Elections was in place, mostly my neighbors. After some small talk about our respective families I signed in, got my number which was recorded at the next table, and proceeded to the third table to pick up my paper ballot. Already I was missing the security of the mysterious curtain surrounding the voting machine. The old lever system was good enough for me and the environment too, I think. But more on that later. So I instructed to use a black magic marker hooked to string (no one will steal that sucker) located in the “privacy booth”. This marker was the same one you probably used, as did the guys coughing, sneezing, and wheezing after me. Swine flu here I come. While this unsanitary situation was bad enough for me, it got worse. The most offensive thing to me was handing my completed ballot face up to a guy, my neighbor, who inserted it into the machine to register my vote. He certainly got an eyeful. Leaving a bit uncomfortable I later spoke to friends who felt the same way. Secret ballot, democracy.
A few days later I read in the local paper that millions of unused preprinted ballots, which can never be used in future elections, remain. All must be collected and stored by The Board of Elections for two full years. Accountability, in case they are falsely submitted or something to that effect. While the printing costs were astonishing to begin with, now an additional cost of over $1,000,000 will be needed to secure these unused ballots. So, trees across our great country were cut down to make paper to print these unused ballots, and now my taxes are paying to secure all the ex-trees. What a great system.
With little fanfare, no true hue and cry, a few citizens questioned why we needed a new system in the first place. Modernization, true accountability, and cost effectiveness was the gist of the answer. Your Honor, I rest my case. jazzbus@gmail.com
The elections are over and the ballots all finally counted, the results are in with a few still being contested. No hanging chads this time, no “oh, he’s your brother the governor” scam, just good old time nasty “he say she say” politics. Finger pointing, outing the opponent for doing this or not doing that or for being “in-bed” with The Speaker of The House while never hinting at what this politician stood for, just against.
Then on Election Day I get to the polling place and knowing in advance a new system was being used I prepared for long lines and in-depth explanations on the procedure. But, ah, not to be. The line was non-existent, and the usual cast of characters from the Board of Elections was in place, mostly my neighbors. After some small talk about our respective families I signed in, got my number which was recorded at the next table, and proceeded to the third table to pick up my paper ballot. Already I was missing the security of the mysterious curtain surrounding the voting machine. The old lever system was good enough for me and the environment too, I think. But more on that later. So I instructed to use a black magic marker hooked to string (no one will steal that sucker) located in the “privacy booth”. This marker was the same one you probably used, as did the guys coughing, sneezing, and wheezing after me. Swine flu here I come. While this unsanitary situation was bad enough for me, it got worse. The most offensive thing to me was handing my completed ballot face up to a guy, my neighbor, who inserted it into the machine to register my vote. He certainly got an eyeful. Leaving a bit uncomfortable I later spoke to friends who felt the same way. Secret ballot, democracy.
A few days later I read in the local paper that millions of unused preprinted ballots, which can never be used in future elections, remain. All must be collected and stored by The Board of Elections for two full years. Accountability, in case they are falsely submitted or something to that effect. While the printing costs were astonishing to begin with, now an additional cost of over $1,000,000 will be needed to secure these unused ballots. So, trees across our great country were cut down to make paper to print these unused ballots, and now my taxes are paying to secure all the ex-trees. What a great system.
With little fanfare, no true hue and cry, a few citizens questioned why we needed a new system in the first place. Modernization, true accountability, and cost effectiveness was the gist of the answer. Your Honor, I rest my case. jazzbus@gmail.com
Who R U??
The Jazz Bus: Who R U???
People have been e-mailing me asking,” Who are you?”, or better yet, “What are you?”, or my favorite, “What is this “jazz bus” thing?” It doesn’t really matter, does it? A few readers think there is an actual bus and I am the driver; one who blasts jazz music while riding on my route. Alas, it is not, nor am I that. Rather “the bus” is a literary vehicle with a blog and a column to the Copiague Weekly. However, for true clarification, the “bus” thing is based on “Jazz –B- Us”, a short lived business clearinghouse which was available online for jazz musicians seeking advice about local gigs, medical care, or financial information. As jazz musicians are known to do, they shortened the title to “The Bus”. Oh, well, could have been worse.
But, what if it was an actual bus? What would it be like? Yes, it would be a huge vehicle with extremely large windows, comfortable seats, and a great sound system. Absolutely free rides for all. No fares, and as the song goes “people, you just get on board”. Dreamers and drummers will always be found sitting silently in the rear seats gazing out the back window, wondering where their next gig will come from. Those politically savvy conservatives will of course be found on the right hand side, with liberals on the left. All must be “round trippers “so they can check out the view from the opposing side on the way home. Only then will they truly understand the other side. Long hair, short hair, bald, man, woman, any creed or nationality, doesn’t matter. Just sit back and enjoy everyday life while riding through town .The Grateful Dead claimed life to be “A long strange trip”. I add, “Enjoy the ride”.
A few weeks ago I mentioned “ the ride” as living in a world in which we were for things, not necessarily against things, a time when negativity and disrespect did not exist as blatantly as it does today, a time when we looked for solutions. Today, we offer insane rants about anything while blaming everyone. We have Democrats, Republicans, Liberals, Conservatives, Moderates, Tea Party, Coffee Party, Cocktail Party, whatever party. Be prepared, as it might get a little noisy on this bus so I will turn up some Coltrane on the stereo and drown out the din. I do condone standing up for your rights but not in the blaming of others for things out of our control. Blame has never been an answer, just a waste of time, a way to stall until an answer is found by others.
So the election of 2010 is over. While not belonging to any one political party (but the driver is usually seated on the left hand side of the vehicle) I wholeheartedly support those elected officials who wish to get the job at hand done. End the nonsense, clean up the environment, get the businesses up and running again, and help those in need. No arguments, no pointing fingers. Just get it done. Do you ride with me or not? jazzbus@gmail.com
People have been e-mailing me asking,” Who are you?”, or better yet, “What are you?”, or my favorite, “What is this “jazz bus” thing?” It doesn’t really matter, does it? A few readers think there is an actual bus and I am the driver; one who blasts jazz music while riding on my route. Alas, it is not, nor am I that. Rather “the bus” is a literary vehicle with a blog and a column to the Copiague Weekly. However, for true clarification, the “bus” thing is based on “Jazz –B- Us”, a short lived business clearinghouse which was available online for jazz musicians seeking advice about local gigs, medical care, or financial information. As jazz musicians are known to do, they shortened the title to “The Bus”. Oh, well, could have been worse.
But, what if it was an actual bus? What would it be like? Yes, it would be a huge vehicle with extremely large windows, comfortable seats, and a great sound system. Absolutely free rides for all. No fares, and as the song goes “people, you just get on board”. Dreamers and drummers will always be found sitting silently in the rear seats gazing out the back window, wondering where their next gig will come from. Those politically savvy conservatives will of course be found on the right hand side, with liberals on the left. All must be “round trippers “so they can check out the view from the opposing side on the way home. Only then will they truly understand the other side. Long hair, short hair, bald, man, woman, any creed or nationality, doesn’t matter. Just sit back and enjoy everyday life while riding through town .The Grateful Dead claimed life to be “A long strange trip”. I add, “Enjoy the ride”.
A few weeks ago I mentioned “ the ride” as living in a world in which we were for things, not necessarily against things, a time when negativity and disrespect did not exist as blatantly as it does today, a time when we looked for solutions. Today, we offer insane rants about anything while blaming everyone. We have Democrats, Republicans, Liberals, Conservatives, Moderates, Tea Party, Coffee Party, Cocktail Party, whatever party. Be prepared, as it might get a little noisy on this bus so I will turn up some Coltrane on the stereo and drown out the din. I do condone standing up for your rights but not in the blaming of others for things out of our control. Blame has never been an answer, just a waste of time, a way to stall until an answer is found by others.
So the election of 2010 is over. While not belonging to any one political party (but the driver is usually seated on the left hand side of the vehicle) I wholeheartedly support those elected officials who wish to get the job at hand done. End the nonsense, clean up the environment, get the businesses up and running again, and help those in need. No arguments, no pointing fingers. Just get it done. Do you ride with me or not? jazzbus@gmail.com
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