You Can't Just Sit There, Women And Children!

This Day In History

December 14, 2019 -Looking back one year sheds light upon the fact that, in some ways, it has been a bad year.

One year ago today, I was lamenting not having a laminated list of all the songs I have played at one time or other; to use as a reference. The drinking took its toll, and stuff that used to be in my regular set list when I was playing for the first can of Hurricane Malt Liquor, and then the second and third, and then stashing whatever money for cigarettes and a morning energy drink, is stuff that never seems to cross my mind when I am sitting at the Lilly Pad.

I remember that, back in 2008, I would use "The Ballad of Richard Corey," by Simon and Garfunkel, as a warm up song; because of its vocal range starting off in the baritone, and then stretching for a high note on the "I wish that I could be (Richard Corey)" part. I had about 12 songs in heavy rotation; but they are just about all different from the 12 that comprise the rut that I have been stuck in the past 3 or 4 years. It is just laziness. You can't smoke weed every night and be able to memorize new songs; so the solution was to quit memorizing new songs, type of thing...

So, it seems that at least a year has gone by with myself still not having made that list of songs. Not to mention compiling a list of "must know busking songs" which are findable online and comprise things like "Wonderwall," by Oasis, and "Wagon Wheel," by Bob Dylan (which I've heard is the least favorite Dylan song of all of diehard Bob fans).

The problem is systemic, in that, I need a higher purpose in going out to busk than procuring whatever money I wind up making, and receiving complements from drunken tourists, to whom everything might sound awesome and overwhelming. Someone who is struggling to remain upright might be blown away by anyone's ability to hold onto a pick and actually strike the strings of a guitar with a modicum of accuracy.

The higher purpose has to come by means of writing lyrics that convey my "message" to the world; whatever that might be, and therein lies the rub.

It's almost unfortunate that I am so fortunate as to have never been oppressed, like some other classes of people. One time a young brown skinned guy tipped me a couple bucks in order to play my guitar and then did so; raising his voice in angst and unleashing a torrent of complaints about being kept down, with all the accompanying pain which could be heard in his voice. He sang in a reggae style and within minutes a group of other young brown people had stopped and applauded the young man, throwing a few bucks in my hat, with one of them making the pronouncement of: "That's real shit, man. That's REAL!"

The kid didn't care about the tip money that had gone into my basket. It (the song) was something that had been cathartic for him; and a burden had been lifted off of his chest; and he was then ready to go and enjoy the rest of his evening.

"It sounds like he's in pain!"

Why was his song about an enslaved population in a strange land being oppressed by The Man more "real" than my song about (pick a topic)? I guess a lot has to do with the delivery.

"It sounds like he's in pain!" my father once complained when he walked into my room in the middle of a Led Zeppelin song emanating from my turntable, adding that "that" wasn't singing, but rather sounded like Robert Plant had gas, is I think how he described it.

It is a classic problem. Neil Young summarized it well with the line: "When you're out of the blue, and into the black," from his song: "Hey, Hey, My My" (or maybe the title is "Into the Black." It is about the dilemma that a blues artist might have after he has a hit song about his hardship and his poverty; a song that is "real" because he is feeling it, and the listener can feel it too. But then, he signs a multi-million dollar deal with a record company, with a contractual obligation to produce another such album of songs about hardship and poverty, and suddenly finds himself confronted with writer's block. He is out of the "blue" mood and into the "black" in a financial sense. That probably doesn't need explaining, but I have encountered a few people who don't seem to get a lot of such songs.

One young guy I met about ten years ago, when the song "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen was having a resurgence in popularity, due to it being in some blockbuster movie; who explained that that song was about A.I.D.S.

The line about Freddy Mercury's body "aching all the time," combined with the "I don't want to die." one sealed the deal for the guy.

He might possibly think that "Hey, Hey" is about an astronaut. He's going out into space; out of the blue (sky) into the black of space. Sure. An astronaut named Johnny Rotten...

And that is the dilemma I think I find myself in. When I would come out from under the dock, where I slept on a heavy piece of cardboard, in a sleeping bag that the rats would crawl into if I didn't roll it up before leaving; there might have been an authenticity to my whole "act." Some things are hard to fake, and perhaps the tourists could smell the Mississippi River on me.

But, apartment living has taken me out of the blue, to a degree.

I don't have to keep one eye open when I sleep any more, wary of intruders. I'm no longer in tune with the circadian cycles of the sun an the moon. I used to be able to read at night by the light of a full moon, whereas I would need to light a candle to do so during anything less than a gibbous moon.

I was cognizant of things like humidity and had to monitor the level of the river which, after heavy rainfall up in Missouri might rise to within 12 feet of where I slept, but would recede to about 40 feet away during the dry season. That would indicate where the 5 foot alligator that patrolled the water in the area would be submerged, with only its eyeballs and the top of its head breaking the surface, looking like a rock that a bird might consider making its last ever perch upon.

How would the gator get its mouth on the bird, without spooking it into flight by moving its head? Simple. By pulling its head downward very quickly, in order to create a strong downward current which would envelope the bird and drag it under the water, where it's wings would become useless. Kind of like how the sinking Titanic was able to pull all the lifeboats within about a quarter mile of where it sank, and then drag them hundreds of feet down right behind it. Out of the blue, and into the black...

That's why, once you have abandoned a ship like that in a lifeboat, you aren't "out of the woods" yet. You have as long as it is going to take for the ship to go down to paddle at least a quarter mile away from the spot; you can't just sit there, women and children! Like certain Republicans away from Donald Trump right now, you must go...

December 14, 2018 -Wow, 2 years ago this day, I was going out to busk in the cold, I was wrapped up in several layers and going out because I was down to like 50 cents to my name. I had just recorded one of my first songs with Jacob Scardino. In going to the Soundcloud to play it because it didn't play through the blog, for some reason, which is also the reason I am studying computer science in my spare time; I was kind of surprised by how the music that I had posted, sounded. 

I have 24 tracks on there and I really was going through a "set it and forget it" period of musical creativity, working pretty hard, evidently on certain pieces and then just going on to the next one and forgetting about the last one. The digital audio tricks have something to do with that, because they aren't really songs that I could play live; unless I was able to distort time and shift pitches at will.

I am surprised at how broke I was, although I did mention like, one 58 dollar night that I had (the next night). I wasn't drinking; but was having a daily shot of kratom.

I'm tempted to say that I was a different person then, when I didn't drink, but did kratom; but it seemed like everyone else was a different person to, then.

I started drinking and everyone else in my life started becoming different people, so that, by the time the alcohol use was starting to become a problem for me, my friends were off down their own rabbit holes.

It is hummus spread and salsa mixed together for dinner right now. I bought some of the raw materials for doing a juice fast, namely apple juice and Alkaline 8.8 water at double the cost of garden variety spring water (as if the dubious quality of tap water drives all to consume bottled water; but the regular bottled water isn't good enough now, and so it is Alkaline PH 8.8 water at $3.49 a gallon).

I think a water fast on that stuff would oxygenate the whole body and cure anything that ails you. There is a radio segment that comes on Sonshine (sic) 800 AM radio here, right before Bob Caravajal's show where the guy, some doctor I think, extols some kind of "alkaline" water as being the panacea for mankind. I am sure that his water is very similar to the stuff at Rouses Market that is double the cost of spring water, and I wouldn't be surprised if his is not 4 times that; but I would bet that his is being marketed under the "all alkaline waters aren't the same" umbrella, and it is well worth the money to know that you are getting alkaline water from a trusted source, etc. This is my first bottle of it, and I would already be on a juice fast and cleanse had not the hummus dip and salsa been to irresistible to resist..