Some Haiku 20-21
for M. M.
1.
Rain-green the headlands
resuscitate Tamalpais
thought of Mike McClure
2.
A woman I think
ceaselessly cutting her nails
on the public train
3.
A flimsy storm today
long dryness drinks it all in
and is still thirsty
The streetlights came on
as the winter sunset trees
told the tardy hour
Blessings to all involved
On Palm Sunday the Flaneur went into a church to pray for the first time in a year.
This hiatus was not due to negligence but to the facts on the ground -- the churches have been under quarantine. I went up to the Cathedral of Christ the Light while on a Sunday stroll by Lake Merritt. My thought was perhaps there would be blessed palms outside the doors. Lo and behold the doors were open a Spanish language mass had taken place earlier and only a few people were in evidence.
There was a vague feeling of absence lingering in the brilliant sacred space. It was not the proverbial "absence of God" but the almost ubiquitous emptiness of public spaces and the awareness that this had been maintained at a minimum by clergy and staff for an entire year. Evenings lit by altar lamps alone.
Yet the life of the spirit, of the mind, and of the heart endured while I stayed in contemplative solitude. Fitting that at Easter in early Spring the flower of life opens again.
31 March 2021
I Belong to the 45 RPM Generation
Vinyl seven inch records, introduced by RCA in1949, came in the early 1950's and so it happens did I. I recall having a kids' 45-only player and a small stash of brightly colored small patters. A picture disk "Superman" comes to mind.
Radio, block dances, and neighborhood jukeboxes hipped me to Rock and Roll at a precociously young age. I bought my first singles in 1961-- Dion was a favorite. The Sixties went on to be the Golden Age of the 45 single. Take a look at the hit singles charts from then, eighty percent are memorable classics. My brothers brought home records by The Beach Boys and by Spector-esque girl groups. My collecting really began in earnest in December 1963 after Jack Parr Show had shown a film of The Beatles. The next day I found their first hit with a fascinating sleeve -- pudding-basin haircuts & matching suits. The Rolling Stones, The Searchers, The Kinks, The Yardbirds etc. soon followed them into my special desk drawer.
The the most life-changing 45 of them all was the other-worldly Columbia release, "Like a Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan The rim shot that began the cultural revolution, July 1965. I went to the Newport Folk Festival for the first time that same month as the spell-binding song hit the top ten. I can say with out overstatement life has never been the same since. And I never stopped buying every single he subsequently released.
There followed many wonderful Folk Rock singles which segued seamlessly into the first singles by oncoming rush of psychedelia. Cream, Hendrix, Big Brother -- one mind-expanding revelation after another.
And yet by the time the decade drew to an close, the single began to wane. Original albums, which had once been almost afterthoughts assembled around previously release hit singles, became the dominant mode. As the seventies reached mid-point one usually only sought them out as odd one-shots or until the next album appeared.
Then came ads in the Village Voice and startling records in select record shops for a new wave of underground rock. I sent away to New York City for Television's "Little Johnny Jewel" on Ork records and for the Sire reissue of Patti Smith's debut "Hey, Joe/Piss Factory" which arrived autographed by her. My first signed 45 was in fact an indie release by Willie "Loco" Alexander, "Kerouac/ Mass Ave" which also came in the mail with an autograph. Punk/New Wave singles restored my faith in rock, after these earliest ones came the deluge.
I had already begun a hobby of collecting books that I would get signed at readings by authors and poets. In fact the first time I met Patti in Providence College in 1978 I got one of her books signed and not a single sleeve. But by that same year I had started to bring sleeves to club shows to get signed. I developed my modus operandi of bringing only the sleeve in a bespoke cardboard folder. I would tuck it under my belt in back beneath my sport coat. I could pretty much forget about it until an opportunity arose. I never lost or rumpled a single one.
The first two I sought and scored were The Talking Heads "Psycho Killer" and The Cars "Just What I Needed" (in red vinyl). Both were obtained at the Paradise Club in Boston by asking a stage-hand to take it to the band in the dressing room. They were both returned to me signed but after noticing the devious envious looks by the stagehands I decided I had better rely on my own luck in the future and to try meet the band in person.
I relocated to the West Coast in January 1979 and found I could often just charm my way to the dressing room door myself. The B52s welcomed me back for a chat at UC's Pauly Ballroom. I'd seen the band as a unexpected delight in NYC only a few months prior. The intense boywonder Elvis Costello welcomed me onto his tour bus warmly if rather briefly
Record store appearances were frequent in Berkeley in 1979. Autograph-hounding was expected at them and it was a easy score even if they usually lacked the cherished memories of backstage encounters. Examples included: Joe and Paul of the Clash looking disgruntled to be there on the afternoon before their American debut (also in Berkeley); John Cale acting almost misanthropic (few fans had shown up). The intense wonder Elvis Costello welcomed me onto his tour bus warmly if rather briefly
Gigs were perforce more fun. The only artist that acted Frank Sinatra-like when I asked for an autograph was Joe Jackson. He said, "As long as it's just you" (there was no one else anywhere around). The polar opposite would be Tom Robinson of in Berkeley and Paul Weller in San Francisco who hung out with us. I didn't usually bring sleeves to bigger shows in San Francisco and hadn't for The Jam but what matter? The attraction of seeking autographs, was meeting someone I admired, a band whose music sent me, to have a look in their eyes and see what they were like. The trophy of the signed record was almost secondary.
The Two-Tone Ska revival was pandemonius I met The Selecter, was backstage with The Beat and hung out a bit with The Specials all of whom signed multiple sleeves. The Specials were lounging around a club on Broadway in SF where their show for the night had been postponed for the next night in a larger venue. The Offs opened The Specials show was constant movement to the irresistible beat
I had a penchant for winning free tickets on KALX radio-- I always knew the answers to contest questions.I went to several shows a week on guest lists in addition to the ones for which I paid admission. I only sought signatures at a small number of them. Then as the 80s shaped up, I had more connections through radio work and eventually work on box sets for Rhino records which led to more guest lists and all-access passes.
By the 1990s I rarely engaged in the sport but of course would when the artists involved were too beloved not to go and meet. John Lydon at a bookshop for his book signing graciously signed my Sex Pistols & PiL single sleeves as well. Joe Strummer on his last go round provided a heart-warming memory with a little heartache attached. I waited until his in-store set and long long line of admirers had gone by to become the last person in line and to talk a bit. He was much sweeter than in our first encounter (we had both just turned 50 that month). I gave him an original color photo print from his glory days signing "White Riot" and a 101ers sleeve. He selected them from the small pile I had brought with me--you were supposed to ask him to sign only his new CD..
Today they are still sparkling memories and treasured possessions which as everybody knows you can't take with you when you go. I am still delighted by them and gratified by my careful preservation and enhancement of them. Perhaps somewhat younger than myself, can carry them on in a kindred spirit.
Children get your culture and don't stand there and gesture.
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A Year of Self Isolation
The Flaneur is back out on the streets after a double shot of Moderna.
When the CDC recommended revising one's behavior I said,
"Self isolation? Social distancing? I invented it!"
Yes, the Flaneur is a longtime loner mostly by choice
yet he is not misanthropic and he enjoys the company of others.
I am quite capable of the sort of dialectical thinking
that can hold two opposing premises at once.
"Hell is other people."
"Heaven is other people."
All of the above.
So circumstances permit me to resume the occasional blog.
It remains to be seen if anyone notices
Posted a few haiku on social media platforms
in the Dark Year of 2020.
A yearly minimum to keep one's poetic license valid.
Here is something written on National Poetry Day 2021
Maturity
I rest my skullcap
On the four corners of the globe
Heedless traffic passes underneath
Semi-deserted in recent years
I'm having myself cremated early
To save my loved ones the trouble
March 2021
