I usually like to stick to a theme, or a group of themes, but I don't have one tonight; one my emerge, I suppose, so I guess I'll just ramble out some random thoughts and see what comes up.
The Bookfair
Today I went, as I have almost every year for about a decade, to the Annual Anarchist Bookfair in Golden Gate Park. I saw my friend D, who was working one of the tables; he, too, has been going every year, for longer than a decade. Just a few weeks ago we discovered that odd fact about our relationship - we'd both been attending the same (rather small) event for over ten years together but never met, nor remember seeing each other there. However, that aside, it's one of my favorite communal events in SF because you DO see the same people, either in actual fact or the next wave or generation of them: people who share like ideas, people who are providing books you actually WANT to read, and you all enjoy just being in each other's company. I feel comfortable there - much more comfortable than I was when I found myself at, say, the giant Harley Davidson gathering that happens in Austin annually - I really stuck out THERE.
What cool books did I get? A tiny zine about Atlantis - but with a MAP or diagram, "as described by Plato," the caption said, and so I couldn't pass THAT up. I also grabbed a Lonely Planet book which describes all the places you basically want to go in your life but don't yet know they exist, a book called "Cook Food" which describes clearly informal healthy cooking techniques, as well as a very interesting-looking old out-of-print book from 1965, called "The Joyous Cosmology" and written by Alan Watts, with a long forward by Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert. What more can you ask for?
Home Music
The ukulele, my main instrument, is everywhere these days. When I was first playing it, I told everyone - in the midst of much ridicule and skepticism - that the uke was making a comeback. "You just keep telling yourself that," more than one person told me. But it's officially true now: Eddie Vedder is releasing a new solo album of UKULELE songs, both originals and covers. Seriously. And once that happens, you can pretty much assume the uke is reaching a peak.
But I keep playing, myself, to whomever will listen, and since I have very kind friends who like live music, I play for them too. Every so often - as happened this weekend, when a few friends were over - I get a request to play, which I do. I also know what people really like - just like the Dan Bern sing-a-longs - is to be drawn in. So we get out the little box of hand shakers and rattles and other rhythm-makers we have tucked away just for this purpose, and I get the crowd (of seven or eight) going. Things that people either know and can sing to or can instinctively have fun playing egg shakers to: Under the Sea (Squirrel Nut Zippers does a great rendition), Home on the Range, Can't Always Get What You Want, certain Beatles (Oh Bla Di) or certain Dylan songs (Rolling Stone is good, but long), etc. I recently added Werewolves of London to my repertoire, and what's cool is that one of my roommates is a really good guitar player, and can do great fills and solos in songs he knows. It really makes the song sound about 300% better. It's a classic example of the whole being more than the sum of its parts.
In this particular case, our version was a bit sloppy (a bit drunken, you know) but it made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in precision, and naturally, everyone had fun with the howls (Ah-ooo, Werewolves of London). I had a blast, and I could feel the energy in the room heating up. We were all a bit aglow when it was over.
It brings up something I have been thinking about recently, which is the ability for musicians to know where they are in a piece of music, even when it seems like they shouldn't. They seem to be able to jump in - even when they don't necessarily know the song or piece. And they always seem to know when to end, no matter how wild or crazy the music has gotten. You've witnessed it - a whole band of instruments and.or voices, and everyone is soloing left and right and jamming and rocking etc etc, and then they all just stop on a dime in the middle of the chaos. How?
Because it wasn't chaos. There's a form there, and even when someone who isn't a very good player - meaning, I've only played for a few years, have little to no theory, practice only sporadically and don't play very often with others - even *I* seem to be able to do it, and I don't know what I am doing. How do I know when it's time to return from the instrumental / solo section and head into the chorus? How do I know where to stop? How do the people I am playing with know? I don't know. It seems like magic, even when I am doing it. We all have an ear, I guess, and are exposed to music from childhood on, so we share a certain level of musical expectations, but it's still seems amazing, and is very satisfying.
How Does the Garden Grow?
Well, we're hoping this year. Yes, we planted our vegetable garden today - second weekend in April being actually kind of late, but clearing the ground is hard work. Nothing is more thoroughly and reliably exhausting than yard work. You shovel a little, weed a little, level some dirt and scatter some seeds and you are ready for a hearty meal and a nap. I feel for farmers, for old-timey homesteaders and pioneer women. It really was nothing but a life of work, it seems.
We planted beans, celery, lettuce and kale (foggy area = good lettuce growing), squash and carrots. The radishes and green onions are yet to come, plus sunflowers when I can clear a space for them in the back.
Last year, I planted borage, an herb I'd heard of but never used, and it was the HIT of the season. Borage, at least in my mirco-climate, grew like mad. I had no idea. It shot up, and was enormous, practically as tall as me, in the space of what seemed like a few weeks. It needs to be in the back this time. It blocked our view of the rest of the garden!
Well, no theme tonight, but the hour grows late, and so off I go. Until next time.
The Bookfair
Today I went, as I have almost every year for about a decade, to the Annual Anarchist Bookfair in Golden Gate Park. I saw my friend D, who was working one of the tables; he, too, has been going every year, for longer than a decade. Just a few weeks ago we discovered that odd fact about our relationship - we'd both been attending the same (rather small) event for over ten years together but never met, nor remember seeing each other there. However, that aside, it's one of my favorite communal events in SF because you DO see the same people, either in actual fact or the next wave or generation of them: people who share like ideas, people who are providing books you actually WANT to read, and you all enjoy just being in each other's company. I feel comfortable there - much more comfortable than I was when I found myself at, say, the giant Harley Davidson gathering that happens in Austin annually - I really stuck out THERE.
What cool books did I get? A tiny zine about Atlantis - but with a MAP or diagram, "as described by Plato," the caption said, and so I couldn't pass THAT up. I also grabbed a Lonely Planet book which describes all the places you basically want to go in your life but don't yet know they exist, a book called "Cook Food" which describes clearly informal healthy cooking techniques, as well as a very interesting-looking old out-of-print book from 1965, called "The Joyous Cosmology" and written by Alan Watts, with a long forward by Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert. What more can you ask for?
Home Music
The ukulele, my main instrument, is everywhere these days. When I was first playing it, I told everyone - in the midst of much ridicule and skepticism - that the uke was making a comeback. "You just keep telling yourself that," more than one person told me. But it's officially true now: Eddie Vedder is releasing a new solo album of UKULELE songs, both originals and covers. Seriously. And once that happens, you can pretty much assume the uke is reaching a peak.
But I keep playing, myself, to whomever will listen, and since I have very kind friends who like live music, I play for them too. Every so often - as happened this weekend, when a few friends were over - I get a request to play, which I do. I also know what people really like - just like the Dan Bern sing-a-longs - is to be drawn in. So we get out the little box of hand shakers and rattles and other rhythm-makers we have tucked away just for this purpose, and I get the crowd (of seven or eight) going. Things that people either know and can sing to or can instinctively have fun playing egg shakers to: Under the Sea (Squirrel Nut Zippers does a great rendition), Home on the Range, Can't Always Get What You Want, certain Beatles (Oh Bla Di) or certain Dylan songs (Rolling Stone is good, but long), etc. I recently added Werewolves of London to my repertoire, and what's cool is that one of my roommates is a really good guitar player, and can do great fills and solos in songs he knows. It really makes the song sound about 300% better. It's a classic example of the whole being more than the sum of its parts.
In this particular case, our version was a bit sloppy (a bit drunken, you know) but it made up in enthusiasm what it lacked in precision, and naturally, everyone had fun with the howls (Ah-ooo, Werewolves of London). I had a blast, and I could feel the energy in the room heating up. We were all a bit aglow when it was over.
It brings up something I have been thinking about recently, which is the ability for musicians to know where they are in a piece of music, even when it seems like they shouldn't. They seem to be able to jump in - even when they don't necessarily know the song or piece. And they always seem to know when to end, no matter how wild or crazy the music has gotten. You've witnessed it - a whole band of instruments and.or voices, and everyone is soloing left and right and jamming and rocking etc etc, and then they all just stop on a dime in the middle of the chaos. How?
Because it wasn't chaos. There's a form there, and even when someone who isn't a very good player - meaning, I've only played for a few years, have little to no theory, practice only sporadically and don't play very often with others - even *I* seem to be able to do it, and I don't know what I am doing. How do I know when it's time to return from the instrumental / solo section and head into the chorus? How do I know where to stop? How do the people I am playing with know? I don't know. It seems like magic, even when I am doing it. We all have an ear, I guess, and are exposed to music from childhood on, so we share a certain level of musical expectations, but it's still seems amazing, and is very satisfying.
How Does the Garden Grow?
Well, we're hoping this year. Yes, we planted our vegetable garden today - second weekend in April being actually kind of late, but clearing the ground is hard work. Nothing is more thoroughly and reliably exhausting than yard work. You shovel a little, weed a little, level some dirt and scatter some seeds and you are ready for a hearty meal and a nap. I feel for farmers, for old-timey homesteaders and pioneer women. It really was nothing but a life of work, it seems.
We planted beans, celery, lettuce and kale (foggy area = good lettuce growing), squash and carrots. The radishes and green onions are yet to come, plus sunflowers when I can clear a space for them in the back.
Last year, I planted borage, an herb I'd heard of but never used, and it was the HIT of the season. Borage, at least in my mirco-climate, grew like mad. I had no idea. It shot up, and was enormous, practically as tall as me, in the space of what seemed like a few weeks. It needs to be in the back this time. It blocked our view of the rest of the garden!
Well, no theme tonight, but the hour grows late, and so off I go. Until next time.
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