MIDDLE YEARS
MY SON
My son was eight when I took him to hear one of his favorites — Pat Benatar — in 1981. We went to Hec-Ed Stadium with a friend but were surprised to find no one there. We found our seats and I looked at the tickets and discovered we were a week early! We went back the next week, of course, but my enthusiasm for my son’s first rock concert was obviously more distracting than I had anticipated. Benatar’s performance and voice were striking as I remember, and the band was a sideshow unto itself. That woman knew how to wear a jumpsuit.
When my son was 15 we went on a two week road trip to visit Anasazi ruins in the southwest. We flew into Las Vegas to spend the night before renting a car. I have never particularly liked Las Vegas for all of the usual reasons, but thought it would be instructive for my son to see what I thought was the most vulgar, decadent, and saddest city in the US. The lesson was lost because he loved it, engaged by the glitz, the energy, and the people. We rented a car, and I made the shocking discovery that I hadn’t brought any music with me. My son, also a music lover and in his rap/hip hop phase, had brought nine or ten tapes with him. From Las Vegas to the Grand Canyon, it was N.W.A. (“Express Yourself”), from the Grand Canyon to the Hopi Indian Reservation and Monument Valley in the Navajo Indian Reservation it was LL Cool J (“I’m Bad”) and Slick Rick (“Children’s Story”), from the Navajo Reservation to Chinle and Canyon de Chelly it was the Beastie Boys (“Rhymin and Stealin”), from Canyon de Chelly to Mesa Verde it was EPMD (“You Gots To Chill”), from Mesa Verde to Santa Fe it was Salt n Pepa (“Push it”), and from Santa Fe to Albuquerque it was Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock (“It Takes Two”) and Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince (“Rock the House”). Or so my son says. At first he was very solicitous about trying to beep out the more explicit language, but we got over that and I began to enjoy a lot of it. We climbed around ruins, went into canyons by jeep, stayed off the main highways as much as possible, and even hit a flash flood or two. By the time we arrived in Albuquerque for our flight back to Seattle, I can’t say I was an expert, but I had at least lived through a two week immersion in some of the rap music popular in 1988.
Another time, we flew to New Orleans, not for the music festival, but just to explore. I wanted to show him one of my favorite cities when it wasn’t engulfed by a major celebration and flooded with tourists. We ended up hearing the Preservation Hall Jazz Band, then an ancient group of musicians, who typically started to play at midnight. I think the band has younger musicians now, but most of the group we heard were quite frail; one was blind and had to be guided to his chair. The music, however, was energetic, and kept us moving in the drafty hall. My son had adventures on his own without me, but they remain a secret.
After a concert at Jazz Alley to hear Joshua Redmon, my son drove my ‘64 Dodge Dart convertible (baby blue with a push button transmission) back home on one of those stellar Seattle summer nights. The song on the tape deck was Bob Marley’s “Get Up Stand Up,” the top was down, and my son was singing at the top of his lungs. Since neither of us are the best singers, it was probably an off-key version, but it is an enduring and sweet memory.
BUMBERSHOOT
In the days when Bumbershoot was still an actual arts festival, vibrant and affordable, with a large and eclectic range of music, theater, dance, decently curated art exhibitions (thank you, Mathew Kangas), and literary arts presentations, my friends or son and I would go for each day all day of the Labor Day weekend. It was the best all around arts festival I have ever gone to. Starting in 1971 and continuing to this day, albeit more problematically, I have heard untold numbers of musicians and writers, watched dancers and actors, eaten ethnic food, and watched exotically dressed people. I remember running from stage to stage because the acts were all so good and the scheduling so tight you frequently had to make weighty choices between missing the first half hour or having to choose between listening to Betty Carter or Ken Kesey, Taj Mahal or Ry Cooder. The ‘70s, ‘80s, and part of the ‘90s at Bumbershoot were a treasure trove of talent, from blues, jazz, pop, soul, and ethnic music. Literally everyone performing at the top of their game came to Seattle for the festival. Then in the early ‘90s Seattle bands took over the world with grunge, and Bumbershoot instead focused on ethnic music. There was a major divergence of opinion and leadership, prices started to climb, and the focus became more concentrated on Gen X, Y, and Z music, even as attendance diminished, and I didn’t recognize the band names anymore. My most vivid memories are of fighting the crowd with my son to hear Annie Lennox and the Eurythmics, listening to a mysterious and compelling Miles Davis, waiting through the 15 minute long James Brown musical introduction before he actually emerged, indefatigable as always, and watching Tina Turner make her energetic comeback with sheer verve and talent — in very high heels.
Another Bumbershoot memory was a stirring and impressive Tracy Chapman performance. I recently listened to her first, eponymous album again, was struck by how prescient and universal her songs are, and was reminded once again of the slow, sad arc of racial progress in America. Listen to “Talkin’ Bout a Revolution,” “Across the Lines,” and “Why?” from 1988; the lyrics could have been written about our current times. “Baby Can I Hold You” is surely one of the most beautiful love songs, written with subtle yet incisive clarity.
I heard Joan Armatrading once at Bumbershoot in the early ‘90s. She was always a favorite, and she sang what I think is her finest song, “Willow” — fierce, controlled, and moving.
SEATTLE BUSKERS
Buskers the world over, whether they are in Berlin’s Alexanderplatz, the Place in front of the Pompidou Center, the Piazza Navona in Rome, Piccadilly Circus in London, the Royal Mile running up to Edinburgh Castle, or around Seattle’s Pike Place Market, make an enormous contribution to civic life and provide us with hours of entertainment in sun and rain. The well known Seattle buskers, Artis the Spoonman (memorialized in “Spoonman” by Soundgarden and who performed with them and Frank Zappa), Jim Page (a political activist and troubadour who helped pass the 1974 ordinance allowing street performers to perform in Seattle), the “Tuba Man,” Johnny Hahn, Baby Gramps, and many others are fondly remembered for being everywhere during a certain decade or two. I still see Hahn at Greenlake, setting up his portable piano, and playing for the masked walkers. Artis, Jim, and Baby Gramps played at Still Life in our folky days in the late ‘80s, and were a presence at every local festival. Age and arthritis have quelled Artis’s wild gyrations, but he and Jim are both still around. There was also an incredible harmonica player around town for a while whose name I can’t remember anymore. He was so inspiring that I took a several weeks long harmonica class from him once. I still have the harmonicas, but not the ability.
MY ARCHITECT FRIEND
An old architect friend and I have shared many adventures during the wild and crazy years, some of them musical. On a whim, we decided to go to the Monterey Blues Festival, assuming it would be Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, B.B. King kind of blues. We flew in, rented a car, and went to our cheap hotel the night before the festival started. The only thing going on that night in Monterey was a performance by the Chippendales, so we went. Holy cow! I don’t know what was more startling, the dancers or the female audience. The Chippendales, if you’re not familiar with this group, are a collection of well-muscled, good looking, scantily clad men who wear bow ties and progressively little else as they strip tease to the shouts and applause of a raunchy crowd of women. We were definitely not prepared for what awaited us, and the actual festival the next night paled somewhat in comparison. The Chippendales have been around since 1979 and still perform today if you’re interested. At the festival, the bar was crowded, and the mainly black audience, well dressed, in a festive mood and having fun, listened to the likes of Solomon Burke, Charlie Musselwhite, and Barry White, more R & B than traditional blues.
Another time in the late ‘70s, we went to the American Booksellers Association Convention in Los Angeles (I had a children’s bookstore at the time). We arrived at a seedy hotel with some dubious characters at the front desk, and were given a room with an overpowering smell of bug spray. We demanded another room, and soon made our way to the two day book fair. We heard some famous writers speak — James Baldwin, Maya Angelou, Ray Bradbury — and met Maurice Sendak for some poster signing. We ended up at a book party on the steps of the LA Central Public Library (I think). I remember many steps with several unknown bands playing at different levels, and costumed men and women whirling around, up and down the stairs, a Felliniesque scene to be sure. The flavor of the moment is definitely remembered.
We heard Cassandra Wilson for the first time at the Port Townsend Jazz Festival. My memory is that it was in the early ‘90s but I could be wrong. She had an unusual singing style, more avant garde than I was expecting, and was exciting and original with a compelling voice. It was an impressive performance, and I have followed her career with interest. After the concert we went to a party on the beach. People were roasting oysters in a fire pit and getting stoned, but we were tired and not in the mood. We ended up spending the night in my old, green Datsun at the nearby State Park, parked outside of the bathrooms.
We went to several Vancouver Folk Music Festivals, one where we heard Michelle Shocked for the first time. She had just put out her “Texas Campfire Tapes” that she recorded on a tape deck at the Kerrville Folk Festival, and was starting to attract some attention. She was so original and unforgettable then that I have continued to go to her concerts over the years, the last one being at The Triple Door just a few years ago.
Another memorable and interesting performance was a Ferron/Guy Clark stage appearance and workshop. Guy Clark sang “That Old Time Feeling,” and then Ferron sang the lovely “Ain’t Life a Brook.” Clark was noticeably surprised and impressed when she finished, as was the audience, and I kept track of them after that.
Despite its name, the Vancouver Folk Music Festival showcases many different types of music with concerts and workshops, over three days and in a stunning location. For over 40 years, its enormous lineup of performers have run the gamut from unknown but up-and-coming to well known, and you could always discover someone new and interesting.
Now that we can’t go to festivals and concerts, my friend and I are spending a lot of time watching movies and tv shows. She and her husband (a fervid disseminator of the truth on Twitter) recently watched a program on Roman England. She said the documentary described the “snacks people bought along the road on the way to watch gladiators spilling their guts. They’d buy chestnut stuffed dormice.” I frankly hadn’t thought about the dormouse in a very long time, but after a quick Wiki search I learned that the edible dormouse was a delicacy in ancient Rome, either as a savory appetizer or as a dessert dipped in honey and poppyseeds. It’s still a delicacy in Slovenia and several parts of Croatia. Also, the dormouse has a furry tail as opposed to the leathery tail of the common mouse. We wondered how the dormice were eaten — holding them by the tail or on a stick? It is certainly a question to ponder. So you see, we are still sharing information, not always music related, and always learning, but I am digressing again.
NATIONAL OLDTIME FIDDLERS’ CONTEST AND FESTIVAL
In the early ‘80s, a friend and I drove to Weiser, Idaho, site of the Fiddler’s Festival. We ended up camping in a rowdy site that happened to be full of Hells Angels which was slightly disconcerting, but not a real problem until we tried to get some sleep. The bikers partied all night, and we were grumpy and tired the next morning. The most memorable event was listening to Mark O’Connor, a Seattle native, as he won the National Championship again. He was in his early twenties, and controversial due to his fiddling style — too modern for some of the old timers there. This video is from ‘91, but it’s close enough.
STILL LIFE IN FREMONT
The coffeehouse which morphed into a cafe was an interesting addition to the Fremont neighborhood in 1986. Originally a working class/artist inhabited part of Seattle by Lake Union, the area has now been transformed by tech businesses, sky high rent, and a much more homogeneous population. My business partner and I started the business on a shoestring budget, impossible to do today, and did much of the physical labor — sanding floors, painting walls, and buying second hand kitchen equipment, tables, and chairs. We gradually enlarged the menu, expanded the space, and had a wide variety of entertainment. In addition to Red Sky Poetry Theater (a story unto itself), Seattle Improv Theater, and assorted other poets, writers, and actors, I scheduled a concert once a week for 17 years. At the smaller Still Life in the University District, I did the same for two years, primarily in conjunction with jazz drummer John Bishop who founded the Origin Record label. Much of that time is a blur, but I remember some concerts clearly. We started out with folk singers and migrated to local jazz groups. Some of my favorites were Pearl Django, the gypsy jazz ensemble (Michael Gray, Rick Leppanen, David Lange, Neil Andersson, and others), B.B. White (an under-appreciated African-American jazz singer who lived in Seattle for a few years until she died in 2002), the bassist Jeff Johnson, saxophonist Rick Mandyck, drummers Will Dowd and John Bishop, multi-instrumentalists Amy Denio and Linda Severt, and bassists Phil Sparks and Buddy Catlett (many of whom played in different groups). And who can forget the Still Life Talent Show? It was a good feeling to stand in the back of the room and look out over the crowd, intently listening to music. The concerts were not always well attended or well received, but that was inevitable. Some very fine musicians graced our stage, and I was happy to contribute in a small way to the Seattle music scene.
OTHER FRIENDS, OTHER REMEMBERED MOMENTS
We heard Bob Dylan in the early ‘90s at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. For two sets he performed with his back turned to the audience, wearing a large cowboy hat, and we never saw his face. I understand that musicians like to move on with their music and not be condemned to playing all of their old hits, but it was disappointing not to hear anything familiar. This is not to discount his work or significance as a songwriter and poet, but I do think his most influential work was in the mid-’60’s.
We went to hear Stevie Ray Vaughn at a Gorge concert shortly before he was killed in a helicopter crash. Opening was Jose Feliciano, but Vaughn was mesmerizing. It was the first time I had heard “Riviera Paradise,” and it was unforgettable. It was also a particularly beautiful, warm evening with a dazzling orange sunset.
The night I heard Sonny Rollins play (in a tent at the Port Townsend Jazz Festival) was a moment of pure joy. The force and clarity of that performance has rarely been equaled musically for me. I don’t remember who I was with, but I’ll never forget his performance.
Continue to Meandering Through Music Memories: Part 3
Go back to Part 1
Post featured image credit: alaina buzas, CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
best i have ever seen !