Convergence
Mostly these missives are about connections, stories that demonstrate how the universe and us two-legged animals are bound together in a waltz of light and thought and biology. The last one a month ago drew parallels between big-brained mammals, us included, that aren't so apparent and yet are foundational to the strengths of generational knowledge. Shared memories... story telling... generational bonds...
I'm kind of a jam band guy. I was listening to the Allman Brothers on my Dad's stereo. First album I ever bought was Yes "Fragile." (I know, prog rock teen). Second was "Woodstock." I knew I liked musicians who were masters of their tools. My father worked the concert doors at the University with his pals from the English department for fun, so my brothers and I saw The Who on their Tommy tour, ELP, Clapton, Sly and the Family Stone, Ike and Tina Turner, Marshall Tucker, The Doobie Brothers, Rod Stewart, Peter Frampton... I saw my first Grateful Dead show with 150,000 people at Englishtown raceway in NJ in '77 with my brother Andrew. I took Andrew with me to see Yes play in Charleston, WV; and when I recently looked up the date of that show, I discovered that somehow my Mom had let me take the VW Bug three hours over the mountains when I was fifteen with a learner's permit with Andrew to see laser beams and Roger Dean's art house stage set-up with Rick Wakeman and Chris Squire blazing away at maximum everything. It was epic. Andrew was 14.
In Philly, in college, I saw the Dead, Zappa, Return to Forever, The Boss, Santana, and Bob Marley from the second row. I've seen shows in New Orleans, Red Rocks, Nassau Coliseum, racetracks, fairgrounds, MSG, Saratoga Springs, The Warfield, The Fox, Roach's, Memorial Auditorium, Providence, San Jose and the Sphere... The Red Hot Chili Peppers wearing socks. Lenny Kravitz with no shirt and skin tight leather pants, Talking Heads, Violent Femmes, Zappa playing "Whipping Post" in Montreal, Phish...
And I have the stories to go with them: Lost ticket stub so I had to jump down from a ten foot wall to rejoin my peeps; Jorma coming on stage six and a half hours late, playing at 11 on his amp while scooping some white powdery stuff off his Mesa Boogie between songs and drinking out of a vodka bottle (My ears rang for two days; sometimes they still ring); Buddy Guy retelling the same tale between songs; George Clinton in full seventeen piece fury stomping the cosmic funk; Jerry blowing the audience into shreds of ecstasy; Pat Metheny playing religion -- the good kind. This could go on ... Rickie Lee, English Beat, Miles Davis from the second row, Jazz Fest and "Blue Sky" and an ice cold beer saving my soul...
But why now? Convergence. Two nights ago on the waterfront with a flawless sunset to our backs, we stood in the mayhem of rapt and shaking humans while the band Goose pumped their brand of airborne electricity into our ears. They are the newest in the realm of collective improvisation -- excellent musicians making it up on the fly with the drummer sprinting, keyboard chords held to the floor, bass man playing the rhythms of sub-Saharan early man while the guitarist solos in piercingly, perfect synchronicity. Elevate. Then, elevate, then... I was there with my brother who telepathically communicates, especially around music, and his son, and my son. Two generations standing together -- young men in their mid twenties and us grey hair teenagers. Genetics as close as they get. Communication. Communion. In concert.
This is what ART is about. My dad took my brothers and me to Stonehenge, to the Louvre, and to see Count Basie. We listened to Handel and Dave Brubeck and Brahms and Segovia on his turntable playing through colossal speakers he brought back from England. And there I was with my son and Kev and his son on the waterfront in the sonic tsunami, loving life.
Following up the last missive I shared, whales sing to their children and grandchildren. Elephants speak in subsonic frequencies of how the planet works and where the water is, leading the younger generations. I tell stories and my boys roll their eyes, but I will repeat them. The significance has to do with their rehearsal. Value endures in the utterance. Killer music has to be shared repeatedly. The virtuosos in the world deserve our attention and attendance. Our humanity balances on this focus of expression and continuation. As I said before, go see live music outside. AND take your kids.
In the art realm, I am starting a series based on concerts. Stay tuned.
And
Stay tuned.
Love and hugs,
Get outside in these shortening days.
The light is still strong. B mac
P.S. Did anyone notice the word above with nine letters and one vowel?
P.P.S. "Tell us a little bit, but not too much." Feel free to send me lyrics that resonate through your lives. I quote the Dead's Robert Hunter lyrics constantly and occasionally get a raised eyebrow. Last Saturday I was on the lake at sunset, paddling on my SUP. "Estimated Prophet" was cranking away on my ear buds. The sun shot through a hole in the clouds to illuminate a pool of lava over by the western shore. I turned to paddle directly thataway. The sun lowered and blazed across the surface exactly when the lyric sang, "like an angel, standing in a shaft of light." True story. Convergence.
