So many Caucasians in one place! Haven't seen that in a while. White-haired, saggy Caucasians. Must be my demographic.
So fine to see these guys again. They've been a musical mainstay of mine since the eighties.
The venue, a 100 year old movie theater is quaint and quite charming, though ill-equipped for clean sound. The dance space nearly nonexistent. But it still felt good... So good, hearing live music with such a poignant connection to my musical past.
Markedly more subdued and low key on my part, compared to many other memorable times I've seen them, but much fun. These guys are the real deal.
Here they are... playing 'Little Wing' a few years ago. (One of my favorite songs, ever.) http://youtu.be/7CD7Bi14aFM
...From the side parking lot. A wonderful building. In bygone days, most every little plantation town on the island had its own theater.
This one is still going strong, lovingly restored through the years by its owner, who was my physician until he retired recently.
It not only features movies, but the occasional concert. Tonight, Pato Banton is playing in celebration of his birthday. He is a reggae and dub artist. Would enjoy seeing the show since it is relatively close-by, and is a genre we both enjoy. However, my friend from Moorea gets into Hilo tomorrow, and we are busily preparing for her arrival.
Last week, Leon Russell played there, which we honestly had no interest in seeing. I did see him perform at one time... Forty or so years ago!
The man surprised me with tickets to see Mark Yamanaka play music at the Imiloa Planetarium on the U.H. Campus. Both of us have wanted to see him live since we first heard him. Such a voice--especially his falsetto. So, after preserving five pounds of figs yesterday afternoon, we hit the bright lights of Hilo.
I learned that Hawaiian men began singing in the falsetto style way back in the early 1800's--because women were rarely around to sing those high parts.
Our favorites of his are the traditional Hawaiian language songs. I shared a video link of him performing one of his originals below.
The planetarium has these space age comfy chairs you can melt right into, absorb the sounds, and observe the virtual night sky above as it rotates, slowly. Pretty cool. Another favorite, Cyril Pahinui is scheduled to play there later this year.
The fig jam project worked out well, and the figs keep coming. In other fruit news, there will be mango jam, chutney, and salsa preserving in my near future. I do enjoy utilizing what is growing all around us. It's like some crazy dream.
And of course some chillin' (Older daughter in atSNWMF in Boonville yesterday)
We had a great weekend right around here, in our own back yard. How many 22 1/2 year old kids want to go to a reggae fest with their parents? She did and we all had a splendid day together, here in Mendonesia.
...and about as far from Zappa's songs as you can get. Below is today's friendly song worm. (Curse you, Safeway!) A totally cornball tune that takes me right back to being a kid. It came out the year my mom took us back to the city, after five years in Wisconsin. It reminds me of 7th grade dances, and a boy named Bruce Buxton. We weren't cool kids, but we did own Nehru jackets, and that was our connection. I don't think we ever danced to this particular song, but I will never forget what we did slow dance to. That would be "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother." One of the most awkward, painfully long slow dances in all my life. (Not that I have spent that much time slow dancing.) Besides, does anyone recall the way in which youngsters back then slow danced? You hugged real tight and swayed back and forth in one spot. Or at least that's the way I remember it. Which seemed pretty damned erotic at the time, but pales in comparison to some of today's dances.
A dear pal from my oft-sordid past just got back from Zihuatanejo, and I snagged this photo. I've been invited to be part of her camp on the Playa next year. Hooray!
I'm feeling good. Honestly, it's been a while since I have felt this good. All the same bullshit exists to some degree. But I have coping skills again! Maybe I'll even get some writing time in. The election madness has most certainly sabotaged my quest for Nano.
So, not much to rant about. Just another weird love/music flashback. There was a band that was momentarily popular in the 1970's, called Pablo Cruise. Sort of schmaltzy, and a bit too pop for my taste, but they had a few fun tunes. One of them popped into my head a day or two ago, and I've posted it below. It's dated and mushy. It reminds me of Gary Shapley. Nowadays, he is a CPA in Iowa. In 1976, I was shacked-up with Gary on the North Shore of Lake Tahoe. He played a 12-string Takamine guitar and drove a red 1965 Buick Wildcat. He was a chef and I worked at the Ponderosa Ranch. Really! I wore a white cowboy hat and a gingham shirt and sold crappy souvenirs for big bucks.
We didn't last long, but we had some fine times. Gary had the deepest blue eyes and the world's sweetest smile. He got homesick for Iowa, and opted to return. On his drive back to the mid west, he called me crying at regular intervals. He deeply regretted his decision, but kept on driving. That was 32 years ago.
Now he is a 52-year old accountant, living and dying in the town where he was born. I can't help wondering if he remembers his days in California.
A moment of brevity... she's a handful, but she sure makes pretty music. Here she is with her similarly talented friend. They had a gig at a local hangout last weekend. One of the tunes they did was a song by The Killers, called 'Mr. Brightside'. Wish I could post the kid's version, but here's the original.
Spread the message...November 4th is almost upon us. Yeah, yeah, yeah...we're all 'sick of this year's election.' Reject apathy! This is the most important presidential election in my almost 51 years. It will determine the fate of my children. And yours too, if applicable. I don't know about you, but I didn't go through a total of 27 months of pregnancy, 36 months of nursing, and almost 3 decades of sporadically sleepless nights to leave my kids a world ruled by violence,hatred,and greed.
I remembered someone. I'm pretty sure his real name was Ralph. I called him by his nickname. He had long, wavy auburn hair (Didn't they all?) and could play six and twelve string guitar better than anyone around. A madman. Like so many lost little girls, guitar players were a recurring affliction. One I paid dearly for.
We met at Lake Tahoe, where I lived for about five years during the mid-to-late seventies. He was a friend of dear friends of mine on the West Shore. One of those friends was pal Gem. Still best friends with the very same Gem today. So anyway... immediate attraction.
I can't recall now what finally brought us together that summer night, but we ended up in nearby Blackwood Canyon, on the Western Shore of Tahoe. His beard stubble rubbed my face raw. It didn't matter. And he played tapes that I hadn't heard. Excellent songs. One that stillstands out from that night is 'May You Never' by John Martyn. Later covered by Clapton on Slowhand. One of those goddamn tunes that haunts my thoughts sometimes. I listen to that one archaic song and I am right there in his blue Dodge van. With little bubble side windows. All these years later, and he's still in my memory bank. I liked him. But he was having none of that. Ended up sailing all over the planet, among other things. I think of him sometimes, and wonder how his life is now. Do men have these flashbacks too? Music is my crazy-ass time machine!
Last night we went to see youngest daughter play guitar and sing songs in a local play. One of the songs she played was an (ancient) Chad and Jeremy song. Totally mushy. Mushy has it's place.
"A Summer Song" is posted below. And I changed the photo above to better reflect it's subject matter...
Mysterious girl. Thought I had it all figured out, this whole mommy thing. I've spent the last near-thirty years being one. Figured it would all just fall into place perfectly, the way it (mostly) went with my first two. This swan song of my somewhat prolific loins has shattered that silly fantasy. Providing me with some choice mirror images of stuff within that I thought I'd ditched long ago. It all comes back. Lesson learned.
