The Bullshit That is Television

What kind of superficial, bubble gum, poppy cock nation are we? While you can’t use TV to represent the mainstream anymore, the rest of the world is still programmed to think so. What must they think? We know they don’t like our politics. If television were next in line for evaluation they wouldn’t like it either, because it doesn’t represent anything. How have we become so far removed from the human condition? It seems we need some lessons from Bill Shakespeare. What happened to literature? What happened to drama? What happened to music? The most grievous mistake has been made to think art or good entertainment will come from what is now a tepid, selfish, and shallow existence. Mr. Sandler and company are not really helping much pumping out adolescent farce comedies one after the other. In the not so far distant past children in America were forced to grow up by being exposed to adult content, and I don’t mean pornography. TV, movies, and music dealt with real life adult issues. That was before adults stopped buying media. When the youth of America became the greatest buying force quality in entertainment stopped. The education of our youth through media stopped. It seems the essential need to educate our youth in the public schools also has stopped. The family unit has all but dissolved. What does that leave? The abyss. The void. Rock bottom. A black hole. There will be a Renaissance, because there is so much in existence to be happy about. It’s just that it may not be all about making cheap money. The Beatnik or Hippy movement in the l960’s may not have been off base. Discard your material needs for the greater love. We are probably taking the same amount of prescription drugs as all of Woodstock, but we are doing it in denial and hypocrisy. The Republican right has P.C.ed us into thinking human desire and emotion is taboo. How could that be when a major school of colleges and universities is call The Humanities? Who decided that the human condition is something of which to be ashamed? The purpose of religion and the Bible especially is to document the real history of mankind. When this ridiculous far right faction successfully and covertly has indoctrinated America with bullshit, where are we to turn? Media has made a CONSCIOUS decision as Big Brother in George Orwell’s novel l984 to create Newspeak. While they may not be rewriting the news, they systematically have made a decision to disguise recent history. How have they done this? Time/Life music for one has bought the rights to the majority of radio music for the last seven decades. The drama of the struggle of the American people as represented in our radio music is no longer being reinforced. You have to buy it, and it is expensive. Why have MTV, VH-1 and BET stopped playing music and turned to trite reality programming? Someone has to provide the example of enlightened existence.

Pop

Why can’t I stop talking about the “pop?” I guess it is because it took me over a year to analyze this musical style and put into some kind of historical perspective. “Pop” music is not just a general term to describe easily digestible, commercial, radio-oriented music. Pop music is a rhythmic concept. It is a style of music just like Rock, Reggae, or Afro-Cuban. It comes from the strum of the acoustic guitar. When the first android picked up a guitar and started strumming, Pop music was born. The only problem with the strum of the guitar is you can’t reproduce it on a keyboard instrument. Believe me, I have tried. After playing on a myriad of cruise ships were the band only knows how to play in Pop style, I have had the eternal challenge of trying to salvage my keyboard position while accommodating this musical ignorance. Maybe that is why today you only here Pop music. It is far easier to know only ONE musical style than all of them. I am lucky, because I dedicated two years of my life to the study of musical styles. I mean all styles, not just one. In the second half of the l980’s Pop was not big. Disco had been big in the 70’s. Hair Metal was big. Never was I ever faced with having to try to play a music that was based on a rhythmic concept not playable on the piano. Well, you can do it, but it looks ridiculous. (To play Pop on the piano, you must play alternating 8th notes between your right and left hand) The notes are so close together with the given rebound time of the piano key, you can’t duplicate it without using two separate hands. It looks moronic, and I quit a cruise line because the band insisted on playing in only this style. Why was I there? Can you believe there is an army of so-called professional musicians (cruise ship musicians) that think this is the ONLY way to play. It took me a long time for some reason to understand the Pop concept. It is most easily explained by the placement of the 8th note in relationship to the quarter note. Pop concept replaces the traditional “feel” of quarter notes by displacing the 8th notes above the quarter notes. Let me see if I can find characters to draw what I mean.


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Here are four quarter notes. (They are called quarter notes because there are four of them to a bar) The asterisks are the 8th notes. Weird huh? It is like every downbeat is really an arpeggiated strum, which it is. There is not a downbeat defined by one solid note. You have to roll the chords, and the downbeat is not as important as the little grace note that comes before it. As you can see real time can not be expressed in this way. As a result it GETS RID OFF the personification of time as we know it. There is time happening in good Pop music, but it is not being defined by what the band is playing. Essentially they are all playing a complex game by where they are placing the beat. That is why it took me a long time to figure it out. It is not that complex once you understand it. You can’t feel the time and play normally where you would in classical or jazz music. You have to know the feel ahead of time which determines where IN RELATION to the real time you are going to place your beat. You have to choose cognitively whether you are going to play on the top side or the back side of the beat, because no one is playing in the middle where the time is defined. Often on cruise ships the piano player is the one left to this task. Imagine playing jazz music where your job is to play 1 of each bar. It is insane. As a result it is a JIVE concept, because it is relying upon smoke and mirrors to produce an effect. Why spend your time thinking about this concept, rather then just playing the music the way it would be normally? Music was given to us by God, and all God’s “chillin” got rhythm. Any style of music that disguises this process is not right. To me Pop is akin to the Solfege system of sight-singing. I never committed to learn Solfege, because why would you learn a system that makes it more difficult to learn to sing? If you know your intervals, how they sound, and are able to recognize them in written music you can sight-sing. Trying to remember a syllable name for a pitch is secondary and more difficult. Hence this process also is jive. It is attempting to exclude humans from the process of music making. Modern day America is being represented on a massive scale by this kind of music. As a result no one gives a shit. It doesn’t move you to listen to it. It doesn’t engage you. It instead promotes its own self-serving message, that of being a pop star. Most pop singers are not capable of singing in any other style, because they have not taken the time to learn them. You have to be able to FEEL. Different styles of music are defined by different feelings. Now because of the payola scandal radio has become plagued with only ONE feeling, that of pop. Both radio and television are huge influencers of our people. Because of this notorious short fall Americans are being turned into non-thinking, soulless, autonomotons. (As Craig Ferguson so aptly put it) We as the human race need and deserve to feel different things. Brainless ear candy is a huge disservice to the American people. It’s times to Rock out.

Infected Hemorrhoids

The media circus that is the televised American presidential campaign is a mockery. As Barack Obama told Jon Stewart on the Daily Show on Comedy Central, “We all know it is a game.” When did life in the United States become a game? For millions of Americans without health care, homes, and security for their future how could we let media turn our presidential election into a game? It is so far fetched almost to be unfathomable. It now appropriately is dubbed the “Game Show” campaign, where contestants line up to win the prize of the presidency of the United States. What juvenile, adolescent, irresponsible minds could subvert out political process so greatly? I can barely stomach the process. Life in the United States has never been a game. After the cataclysmic event of September 11, 2001 you would expect a greater appreciation for the sacrifice of human life. Likewise as soldiers continue to die in Iraq President Bush merrily continues to stump for his War on Terror. There was nothing more horrendous than a president visiting his troops at Ft. Bragg, North Carolina. With the perfect opportunity to say thank you to the brothers and sisters of hundreds of men and women who have sacrificed their lives, Bush instead chose to promote the welfare of the people of Iraq. It was sheer blasphemy. Staring into the eyes of our Army being sent into war to have their arms and legs shot off, Bush spoke only of the welfare of the Iraqi people. This man’s responsibility is to be the new president of Iraq. He should resign his post as the President of the United States and volunteer to lead the nation of Iraq. That would be a fitting job. Let’s see if he can handle that job with or without Karl Rove. It may be a second generation of slackers who think the presidential election is a useless game, a front for the true power in the United States. Do they know something that we do not? Is one of those few families that controls the world with their money casually laughing at my writing? “You really think young man it is possible to live outside of our little black box?” Think again. That is why we had the mob. Although I have respect for Rudy Giuliani for cleaning up New York and prosecuting the Gambino crime family, I miss their presence. We as a country needed them. At least the Italian mafia was distant enough from the American bullshit they could see through the hypocrisy. We need organized crime as a system of checks and balances for our federal government. Without them you get what we have now. “Keep it real.” The mob was real enough. What could be more real than murder, money laundering, extortion, gambling, and drugs? In this Republican led right wing hospital of a country, every bit of soul has been extracted like carcinogens from a diseased body. Someone decided human beings are no longer allowed to feel. Who decided childlike optimism is the proper attitude of our mainstream? We must be crazy. Religion and the suffering of Jesus Christ on the cross is what gives us our soul. Without the realization and appreciation that God sacrificed his only son for us, there is no soul. Many people think a God that would do that is not worthy of representing them. They don’t get it. They don’t understand humility, and the sacrifice the human race must make to earn their keep on God’s planet. There is no free lunch. There is no welfare. There are no short cuts. If we must get taken back to the Dark Ages for the world to understand this concept, then surely it will happen. The process has all ready begun.

Condition This...

I am still stymied on a second to second basis by the pure fiction that is being lobbied as real life by what must be media in America. As hundreds of soldiers continue to die the extra-sensory message we are receiving through America’s airwaves is one of complete hypocrisy. Whether the message is being broadcast from Washington, DC, Afghanistan, or China, it is a false and disingenuous parade of useless propaganda. It seems the fate of the United States has been sealed with a wax of bacteria laden with evil. As new diseases continue to emerge, as our air continues to become tainted with carbon monoxide, and as our fresh water supply dwindles there seems to be no direction. A misguided and self indulgent administration working a plan mined from a foreign planet should be relieved of their power. There is no other solution. If a miracle could happen like a giant hand from heaven casually reaching down and zipping up Washington, DC placing them in a quarantine subject to the same sterility that is today’s everyday life, we might be saved. If that could only happen erasing the “pop” propaganda. Why is it television has become so mentally retarded that their interpretation of American life is that of a Dick and Jane picture book from primary school? Pop music is but nursery rhymes, yet the American people are adults. Why are they pitching this fodder? Is it really the severe underestimation of the intelligence of the American people? Whence came this ridiculous model of Barbie dolls and “Paper moons under a cardboard sky?” Why is it necessary to “Give us the old Razzle Dazzle?” It is because the American government is incapable of giving us the real thing. George Bush doesn’t know what it is. When your entire life has been a spoiled child coming from a family with money, when would you have ever had the opportunity to “become real?” The American people made a grievous mistake electing this man, a false prophet and a future figurehead so out-of-touch with the human condition, our country has stumbled down a jack-legged, red-clayed, gravel pitted country road bordered with barbed wire. We are lost in our own briar patch being burned by the dangerous ultra-violent rays produced by multitudes of modulating electromagnetic waves searing our skin, infecting our minds, and desensitizing our senses. Like lost lambs the American people are sick, over-weight, and running out of time. Unless we begin to understand the grave state of our country, like the Fifth Element, that newly discovered neutron star with all its mass may at God’s hands shatter the earth into oblivion. With disgust God should cleanse his hands of the hypocrisy our American government and media has created. How long can it go on? Deceit, deception, and delusion administered by everyone in power. We have become so brain-washed that no one seems to know the difference. We are being poisoned on a daily basis by medicines hawked by self-empowered drug agencies no more capable than your local corner drug dealer. We are better trusted to buy from them, because at least they are in the same condition as ourselves. The majority of Americans are not financially stable and secure. We are your tired, your poor, and your huddled masses yearning to breathe free the reality of America. Stop pitching us the “pop,” because it nothing. The black hole that could be the destruction of our planet is in Washington, DC.

Girls Gone Wild

While some may find the “Girls Gone Wild” series of subscription video tapes a turn on, this production company like others in TV have pumped out a product with little forethought of its long term effects on America. There may be a visceral titillation over a group of drunk, attractive, collegiate women partying and exposing themselves. Alcohol and sex make for bad experiences. If you want to be sexually active alcohol is not your solution. While it sometimes favorably does lower inhibitions and was used to this effect in the jazz world, irresponsibly having sex today can result in death. It wasn’t until a few decades ago this scenario existed. First there was Herpes. A disease you can never get rid of and one that you can give to others in the act of sex is a menace. Whence did this come? Then there was AIDS. In an evolution of the severity of the seeming penalty for irresponsible sexual activity, HIV appeared. Who knew a disease could emerge that had the power to kill you for having sex in the wrong conditions? You cannot overlook the other ramifications of HIV. Intravenous drug use and homosexuality were major transmitters of the disease. Was this a wake up call from God? While the homosexual community might not like that idea, it is still factual that HIV was spread largely by homosexuals. Sodomy is a word and it still applies. While “Girls Gone Wild” may seem harmless, tempting young women to pose nude while drunk is a bad idea. Sexuality is complex enough. Our youth do not need to be Respondently Conditioned by horny and greedy videographers. It is simple exploitation. While the producers may tout their actresses (if that is what they are) are over the age of eighteen, suggesting women perform this way is problematic. The traditional porn industry has a clear line between amateur and professional production. While certain lower class production companies may be housed in seedy hotel rooms or apartments, the larger more successful companies are mainstream and proud of their product. There are no hidden, subversive, or evil messages in their product. They are providing adult images and video of erotic content purveyed by seasoned performers. There is no exploitation, except that years ago Traci Lords was clever enough to make some scratch doing a few movies underage. Even the courts decided to let her off, because she was smart. Internet porn on the other hand has crossed that boundary in a major way, because the internet mainly is a tool of our youth. Its origins are in academia and the Department of Defense, but since its mainstream accommodation into American society the internet has been a playground for our kids. Adolescent sexual activity is a byproduct. Has this been a good idea? In the case of “Girls Gone Wild” the producers are providing an example of taboo behavior. As an adult you can make the distinction. To vulnerable children with little moral or ethical guidance at home, this can be detrimental. Children may not be able to see the difference between reality and fiction. Certainly getting drunk and flaunting your naked body with female homosexual overtones is not exemplary, and the internet has become littered with similar lesbian content in erotica. Most of it is being portrayed by teenagers. One notable example of this is in the “Random Pic’s” category of one particular teen-oriented pornographic website. The majority of these images are “Girls Gone Wild” type photos of beautiful young women exposing themselves and engaging in lesbian type behavior. Rarely in these photos are there men involved. It is becoming a marked trend that our teenaged girls are being exploited by their sexuality, and that is bad. When the line between reality and fiction becomes blurred or the line between social and recreational gets confused with business, you are in for trouble. It is easy to exploit people when their desire to have fun is at play. Business is business, and it should remain so even in the porn industry. Stirring puberty and adolescence into internet porn is a sensitive issue. Porn of this nature shouldn’t exist, because the age of consent has not been reached. It is wrong for a handful of internet production companies to be schooling our children in the craft of sex. Even if parents are incapable of providing this guidance, it should be left to real life experiences rather than video games. Someone is behind the curtain pulling the strings of the evil Oz, and chances are it is just a horny Cuban man. This should be taught by adults just like the traditional educations of our children are taught by teachers in the public schools. The internet erroneously has slid through this loophole in the law. Too many American teenagers have websites and are performing sex acts publicly for money. While prostitution may be the world’s oldest profession, marketing teenaged sex on the internet is a mistake. Kids should be encouraged to find it in real life like we did! Maybe our quaint bars and clubs will become important to American society again. Everyone has the need to be around their peers, and after graduation from school these opportunities dwindle. Let’s not allow the internet to become the social mechanism of our future in America.

The Curse of Artistry

The curse of being an artist is inescapable. You may be able to ride incognito for a while. You may be able to disguise your own true feelings for a short time. Even in that situation you are asking for trouble, because the suppression of one’s own feelings is a major cause of depression. You have to probe your own soul to find out what is ticking. Sometimes that is hard. Sometimes it is harder. Probably it never is easy, that is if there is anything really there. Even if you understand yourself we live in a plural world, and it doesn’t make it easy for one to become actualized. Just the opposite the human race is filled with greed, jealousy, contempt, and hatred. Why would anyone want to revel in the actualization of another, except that in the process they might receive similar benefits? That is what an artist does. In the attempt of seeking self-actualization, they help others who have experienced similar things. It used to be movies provided that service to the American people. Cinema was a platform held in high esteem which attempted to be artistic. Movies were reserved for a higher function than just providing light diversion. That is what makes them sustain over time. Art transcends and stands the test of time, because it deals with real, live, substantial, and timeless human problems that will always be. Wisdom about recognizing and solving these problems is useful, and that is what makes the connection with the human race. Art really is not about casual physical pleasure. It is not about mindless escapism. Art faces the real issues of existence as human beings, and the more we recognize the difficulties facing us as the human race the more successful we will be at creating a world that will serve us. As a whole we have lost sight of those challenges. Only recently in the news are the real issues of survival becoming known again. Flood. Fire. Famine. Disease. Infrastructure. Health Care. No matter how great the threat of an invisible and menacing sect is, it will never surmount the needs of the human race. We now are failing at balancing the two. Spend our time chasing Al Qaeda or spend our time nurturing and taking care of ourselves? After we have spent all our time and resources capturing or destroying our enemy, what will be left? Let’s not create a black hole of which we will not be able to climb out.

Selma and Animal Chemistry

Selma and I had heat. She was one of the few, if not the only one, that had vibes and hormones raging so violently that we connected at an animal level. We would practice together, but she was always shy about playing trombone in front of me. I’m not sure why that was. Back then she was a flailing graduate student unhappy with her choice of Ohio State. She wanted to play, not study. I liked the way she looked and her body. To begin with we had chemistry, and both of us gave romance a try. The funny thing was, at that particular time she just wanted it. I was still in my semi-despondent, emotionally needy period, so I was looking for a commitment. This as many know is a grievous mistake. The “C” word! When I was a freshman in high school I had the affections of a beautiful young flutist that became interested in me at All State Band auditions. She went to Alexander Graham Junior High, so we were at different schools. For some uncanny reason she took a hankering to me. She would come over to a mutual friends house and ask me to meet her there, which I did. We would lazily stroll up and down the street holding hands, all the while she was wearing the pants. I didn’t know what was going on, but I went along with it. I did finally ask her to go steady, but she replied, “How would we see each other?” Our next year in school settled that, because we both ended up in my father’s band at Terry Sanford High School. Rachel continued to write me notes, until I made that grievous mistake. Who knew those three little words would instantly kill a woman’s interest? I had no idea, so I wrote those words, “I Love You” in really small letters on the bottom of a note I sent to her. She completely freaked out and that was that. No more interest. It was a good thing, because shortly thereafter I met and hooked up with my first true love. That is a story in itself, and I am saving it for later. This story was similar to Selma, because she didn’t want love obviously. I guess at that age girls are afraid of that word. I have always had love in my life with women, and it never was a deterrent of any kind. In the primordial stages of pre-sex I learned to stay away from those three words. Women want sex, not love, or at least to qualify that in a humorous way they want to see if the sex is good first. It is a hypocrisy, but it is better to call a spade a spade. They will tell you they want you to love them first, but it’s not true. Scamps! The common definition is, “Men love women because they have sex with us. Women love men for agreeing to give them the romance they desire.” Simple. No matter how involved you think you may get, don’t stop asking for sex. Just be nice about it. It flatters women to know they are desirable in a sexual manner. Selma was new to the dating world and she wanted to learn. How could I have been so emotionally needy to let a comment like, “I want to learn how to give a blowjob” slip by? Today I would jump at that opportunity. Back then I wanted to be loved. She wanted me to be sexually aggressive, and I wanted love back from her which she was unable to give. Of course, because it was too early to expect that. After having been through so many long term relationships, I just wanted to jump to the middle having forgotten about the courtship period. Our animal chemistry was strong, so strong in fact that we had to postpone practice sessions to walk back to my apartment to be alone. Here we kissed, and I fumbled the ball in a major way. She wanted to have sex, and I was being polite. To this day I regret having passed up that chance. “Sometimes Joel you just have to jump their bones!"

What Exactly is a ManEater?... a Purple People Eater?

Do you know what a "Maneater" is? I beg to differ with the illustrious Hall and Oates, but a "Maneater".... Well, if you don't know by now. "If you don't know me by now...," as the song goes. A "Maneater" is not a woman that likes to destroy men. It's a woman that likes to eat men.

Confucius Say...

Today's Top Ten List of Desirable Hollywood Actresses

1. Rebecca Pidgeon

2. Leelee Sobieski

3. Scarlett Johanson

4. Charilze Theron

5. Patricia Clarkson

6. Adrian Barbeau

7. Andie McDowell

8. Tahnee Welch

9. Jane Seymour

10. Jeanne Tripplehorn

Ellen Rabbit

Throughout my senior year of college at UNC-Chapel Hill, I dated the first flute player in the orchestra. I have written about her before but never in the context of a “ménage a trios.” We never really had a threesome, but as it ends up I was working three discrete women at the same time. One wanted me, but I didn’t want her because she also was a blond haired flutist. What do you need with two of these? The first one all ready was great in bed, so why risk going down the evolutionary ladder? The second was a trombone player we affectionately called the “L.D.” or “Li’l Darlin’” after Count Basie’s tune. (In jazz band all we played were Count Basie arrangements. Glory was the day we played a Woody Herman tune for the first time!) L.D. was short, plump, cute, and had a “Hamill.” I hit on her because she was available. How it transpired that both women were on the hook at the same time I don’t recall, and I put a stop to it as soon as Senior complained about Junior. I did the best acting job of my career when Lydia confronted me about the L.D. I completely turned the tables around and made her feel guilty for implying I could be such a low life pig. (although it was partially true) The oddest but funniest thing happened, because I used to park my ’69 Volkswagon bug in front of Lydia’s campus house. (the one with four women living in it) I conveniently left it there while I went to class the next day. (which was a no no in terms of city parking, but I didn’t get a ticket) Later in the evening the L.D. and I had chips and dip and a cold beer at our local watering hole. We were cautiously flirtatious. Evidently one of the brood of Lydia’s housemates was at the same place and saw us. She made it home first and alerted the troops. When I got there I received a peculiar reception, albeit one of deserved respect for being able to work two fillies at the same time. (It was a little exciting to them) Upon her complaint, I terminated the somewhat adolescent romp with the L.D. We went our separate ways over Christmas break, and I was met with disapproval upon arriving back at college the next semester. I hadn’t thought twice about calling her in New York. (I’m not sure why) I guess it was because I had my cake and was eating it too. As a sidebar I must include this little tale. One of the few nights the L.D. stayed over night at my apartment, we slept together in my small single bed. (I think it was my dad’s old army cot) I had checked the sliding glass door before we left to go out that night, but before we returned my roommate had unlocked and opened the door. He forgot to lock it. At three in the morning the L.D. began poking me in the ribs with her elbow. As I awoke she said to me, “Paul, there’s someone in the room with us.” I looked down and sure enough there was a figure on all fours crawling toward us on the bed. It abruptly rose and ran out the door leaving a trail of rainwater on the carpet. They had gone through L.D.’s purse but had taken nothing. One pair of stereo headphones was missing from my stereo in the living room. The sliding glass door was ajar and it was raining outside. The funny thing was I had a little Medieval club hanging on my desk next to the bed that had nails sticking out of it. What gruesome torture could have ensued. We never figured out who could and would have the audacity to perform this stunt, except for Ellen Rabbitt. Ellen was the “other” blond haired flute player that had been chasing me for much of our last semester. She hinted later it could have been her on all fours on my bedroom floor unhappy with L.D.’s presence in my bed. After Lydia and I graduated, I drove her back to Rochester in a rental car and spent some time at her mother and stepfather’s home. Unlike Geraldine, who would have nothing to do with public displays of affection, Lydia would perform her ritual nightly fellatio on me under the roof of her own parents. It didn’t seem to phase her one bit, but it did me. She got a little peeved at me because I couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. As soon as I made it back to Chapel Hill, Ellen was waiting. School was over and the little college town of Chapel Hill was quaintly abandoned. These were the times you cherished in life. Robert Redford candidly says in the movie Havana, “Life is what happens in between conversation.” That is exactly what happened with Ellen and me. I wasn’t really ready to rebound out of something that was not yet over, but availability and proximity make a difference. The sexual overtones of an isolated college town, no school in session, with warm, peaceful, joyous nights was enough foreplay for the both of us. We went out for ice cream and ended up back in bed in the same bedroom. Who could say if she had been the one on the floor? As was appropriate back in l985, I asked her if she was safe. “Are you safe,” I asked sounding like the ex-Nazi in the movie Marathon Man. It had more do to with STD’s than diamonds. She said yes, but stopped me from performing cunnilingus. I have had two women do that and ask me what I was doing. Isn’t it obvious when you go down between their legs? Evidently that is not for all women. I didn’t know at the time the reason she had stopped me. (as a bit of foreshadowing, they seem to think disease is safer for your dick than your mouth!) That wasn’t the case with Ellen, but with one waitress later. We had a suitably good time and resumed the next morning. She couldn’t stop asking me what I was thinking. How could I say to her I loved her when we didn’t even really know each other, not to mention she had a boyfriend? This was my first hint that Ellen was a few cards shy of a full deck. I left for the summer to return to Fayetteville. A month or so later as I was riding my Honda XL-200r behind my parent’s home, my dad approached me on the playground. He yelled I had a phone call. Why in the devil had he walked all the way up there and chased me down to tell me this? Why not just take a message? I responded and took her call, Ellen’s call. She informed me she was pregnant with my baby. I asked her what she wanted to do. She said she was going to tell her boyfriend it was his and he was going to pay for it. She said she simply wanted to see me again. What!? We made the mistake of getting her pregnant, and she wants to see me again? The least I could do was do what she asked, although I thought it was crazy. I drove up to Cary to see her at her apartment. She was horny, but told me she was on her period and couldn’t do much. In complete shock and dismay I fled in my Beetle never to see her ever again, the only one ever to carry my child to this day.

Aretha and Nigel

I only remember having sex with Aretha three times. She was a recipient of the Presidential Fellowship at Ohio State, she spoke fluent German (so she said), and she was almost a D.M.A. candidate. I was a newly emergent doctoral student from the American South. Aretha recently had been dating our advisor, and he was not seeing his patients. (I mean students) That first quarter Ted put Alice out on the street. Seems the “Party Was Over” for some reason. I remember she said to me, “He just put me out on the street just like a dog.” Out with the old and in with the new, and the new was a blond graduate student from Belgrade, Yogoslavia. Aretha was pissed, but she got over it. I think it was more the loss of prestige of dating your professor than lack of sex that was more the issue. Ted had a Nazi blond comb-over. You couldn’t really tell, because his youthful energy and vitality made him appear more appealing. Aretha had said, “I would really look at him and ask myself why I was with such an unattractive older man.” There are a multitude of reasons why women prefer older men, but we won’t get into that. Aretha became fair game, but she was not a pushover. I was losing my eyesight while I knew her, so she was dismayed with my demeanor. I was no longer confident, cocky, and optimistic about life and music, because I was dealing with an unforeseen malady that was causing me to lose my eyesight. I didn’t know at the time this was the only thing causing unrest between us. All women are high maintenance, and Aretha was no different. There was no room for self-pity or even thoughtful reflection on one’s situation. It was “Seek and Conquer!” You better make up your mind 100% what you want and go after it. Sometimes that is what it takes to get a woman. Cruise ship women are similar, and the familiar joke about Italian officers is this. You must tell them over and over you want them. Then they decide when you’ve had enough and submit to having sex with you. It’s their game. The ball is in their court, and that is why I never have chased women on cruise ships. How can a man 44 years old with a successful past record of lengthy monogamous relationships submit to being manipulated by uneducated Eastern European women? The answer is only if your libido allows you. Aretha came before I made that decision, so I was still at the beckon call of intimacy. EEEuuuuoooowwww! Intimacy. Yuck! What’s that!? Oh, the bearing of your soul, all of your weaknesses, your desires, and your innermost secrets. Fuck that. In America the nice guy loses. You have to grow a tough skin to make it in America. I’ll never forget having played a few gigs at the Hyatt Hotel in downtown Columbus, Ohio. Rob Ricin, the singer/guitarist that had the house lounge gig told me a D.J. was trying to work his way in. Damn! Just like the dreaded karaoke, Rob had to stand his ground and try to keep what was the last of only a few good steady paying music jobs. When the D.J. left his speakers in the back closet of the lounge, Rob unmercifully poked holes in his “woofers” with a pencil. “Sorry,” he said. All is fair in love and music. I didn’t have a tough skin back then, and I still wanted intimacy after reeling from my break up with Geraldine. I hadn’t made the necessary changes in my emotional and sexual psyche to heal myself from the four or so odd years of clinical depression that manifested themselves upon me with Geraldine’s help. Although it became a nasty break up, and I partly was to blame, she made the conscious decision to hurt me. I had not intended to hurt her. It just turned out that way. She on the other hand, like satan incarnate became a “Maneater.” She tempted me, then she consumed me like a black widow spider eating her mate after he had serviced her. Then she formulated some theory that I had been given everything on a silver platter. My good grades, my acquisition of a Graduate Teaching Associatship, and my diligent study in the field of music were no reasons I deserved success. Her new fiancé on the other hand, “Hit the streets everyday looking for work.” Good luck, Johnny. Have fun driving your shoes and pouring beer all over yourself while the band cooked red beans and rice at their Charleston gigs. It took me along time to figure out why she went with him, and I finally gave up. Who cared? Time to move on. I didn’t have bad feelings about Geraldine, except that I have to. She tried and succeeded in hurting me. I guess it was repayment for what I had done to her. Little did she realize it and a few other factors would contribute to four years of clinical depression and a nervous break-down. I didn’t know it was happening at the time, but I knew the world just ended after thirteen or so years of happiness and success. I had to re-invent myself and my life. Aretha unfortunately was the first woman I had after Geraldine, and it took a few years. Three years exactly without sex. Ouch. (There was one one night stand with a fat, African-American groupie, but that didn’t count) I was still vulnerable, artistic, and introverted as a result of this harmful process that occurred. I was living in a cerebral world of doctoral studies, and although I retained my ability to play jazz on the trumpet in somewhat of a happy fashion, inside I was wanting. I was unfulfilled, as my now next-door-neighbor uttered to me one night after a show we had done together. (She was married, so how was I to interpret that remark?) I should have fucked her, but my mind has always been in control of the little head. “Sometimes Joel you just have to say, ‘What the fuck.’” Although our relationship developed into something more substantial, Aretha and I never were meant for each another. She did not fulfill my sexual desires. In this relationship Aretha wore the pants. She decided when we had sex, and it wasn’t often enough. Of all the times we did fool around, I was never allowed to orgasm. This became like a Seinfeld episode where you were being tested to remain “Master of Your Own Domain.” After we drifted apart Aretha called me a few years later and informed me she was having a procedure performed at the Mayo Clinic where they were going to burn ten dimes worth of “material” off her cervix. She recommended I get tested. I informed her I had been clean for a while before coming to OSU, and her new found beau Nigel must be responsible for her ailment. That was the last time I ever talked to Aretha, but she still does send me a Christmas card every December.

Looks Like a Fish, Smells LIke a Fish, Must be a Fish!

I much prefer the archaic and antiquate “sniffer test” to The DMV’s OBDll emissions test. Ever since I bought my ’97 Nissan Pick Up, the “Check Engine Soon” light has been illuminated. This daunting yellow iris in the eye of my control panel will never let me forget “Big Brother” has his hands in my pocket. Each year when my state inspection expires, the hoop la begins. First the state said you must spend a mandatory $500.00 to the dealership or private mechanic to try to get the light to go out. Why do automobile dealers and repair shops deserve a “Farm Subsidy?” Is it because they are not growing enough cars? Has there been a drought this year? Are larger foreign car makers putting them of business? $500.00 is not chump change, and many an American can not afford the five C note price tag to have their vehicle pass the OBDll test. I’m sure that is the reason why the previous owner sold this truck. It is an “Inconvenient Truth” that you will have to shell out your hard-earned dough for nada. The dealership is the only place capable of interpreting the codes spit out by the car’s onboard computer. Even with the latest upgrade in diagnostic software, they often cannot figure out how to get the light to go out. Days pass and hours are spent, and yet that pesky light stays on. Over time the state dropped the amount to $250.00, but the mechanics at the dealership want nothing to do with “paying off” Uncle Sam. That is a mark on their reputation as a qualified, dealer-certified, Nissan mechanic. Hence day three passes and no success. I would opt to ride my bicycle, but the powers at be in Fayetteville, North Carolina consider that as a crime. Hellfire and Brimstone would ensue, if I happen to traverse the asphalt of Westwood Shopping Center’s or Eutaw’s black parking lots. I spent the majority of my recreational time as a kid there learning how to skateboard. The 7/11 on the corner was an oasis for neighborhood kids in the heat of the summer. How did I become a criminal thirty years later?

Why Must We Move to Dubai for Our Slice of American Apple Pie?

An Out for Generation Jihad

What it is that creates a “Man Eater?” We should ask Darryl Hall and John Oats, since the music of the l980’s was almost exclusively romance oriented. That seems like a long time ago, and that particular social norm seems long extinct. During the l990's the "Grunge" movement in American music empowered itself and scoffed at what they considered a politically active, self-expressive, American-dream oriented generation. "Baby Boomers" are the generation of Americans born after World War ll roughly between l946 and l964. At the end of World War ll the United States had an unprecedented surge in economic growth. We became the mass producer of goods for export to war torn countries to rebuild their shattered infrastructures. (Sound familiar, Haliburton?) At that time the U.S. probably wasn’t politically savvy or demonic enough to mastermind a world war to boost the economy. Although the war did arise shortly after the Great Depression of the l930’s, there are few conspiracy theories linked to World War ll. The result of dropping the nuclear bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki created a bubble of economic growth that did not wane until l968. Likewise the G.I. Bill allowed an unprecedented number of Americans to attend college and earn a degree probably for the first time in their family history. This created higher incomes and thus the possibility of rearing more children. The Baby Boomer generation was the first generation to be highly influenced by television. For the first time in the nation’s history children from disparate parts of the country were watching the same television programs. In essence this created a “mainstream,” and shows like “Leave it to Beaver,” and “Father Knows Best” idolized the family unit a central in American cultural life. The Boomer generation best represented the “American Dream” and later evolved into “The Preppy” generation of the l980’s and the “Soccer Mom” generation of the l990’s. Government and academia failed to draw a line of demarcation for the end of the prospect of the American Dream. The Grunge movement in American cultural history adopted that responsibility and in one fell swoop created their own “Generation X.” Passionately (and probably with the help of drugs like the Jazz Movement) they created a bubble of existence in the Pacific Midwest that represented their own perspective of American life. It had nothing to do with the post World War ll optimism of the Baby Boomer generation. Instead bands like Nirvana, the Smashing Pumpkins, Pearl Jam, and Hole vented their anger and frustration at not having the same seeming opportunities as their Boomer parents. Hip/Hop on the East and West Coasts in urban America similarly painted their grim violent picture of American life. Ironically after the extreme violent nature of 9/11, a newly emerging and extreme “Generation Jihad” became represented by a “bubble gum and sugar-coated pop” movement in American music. How could this event and a series of extreme television shows based on stark reality be represented in the “mainstream” by glamorous, adolescent, happy music? This could be considered the first real fracturing of the mainstream in America, because music for the first time failed to represent what was happening in real life America. While the happy optimism of Glenn Miller’s swing-oriented Big Band music may not have epitomized Normandy, it represented a patriotic and purely American sentiment that helped America through the war. “Pop” possesses none of these qualities offering only a shallow, sheltered, and adolescent escapism. Because of the current state of the federal government, it is time Generation Jihad be overthrown by mainstream America and this evil, foreign, empirical power be extradited and replaced with a more worthy and honest cultural American picture. Domestically like the end of World War ll shouldn't our current generation be reaping rewards from the grievous sacrifice of 9/11 and the war in Iraq? Why should Dubai, China, and India be reaping the manufacturing rewards of our retooled "Arsenal of Democracy" in the name of Haliburton? America deserves better. Our life has become defined by President Bush's ill fated "War on Terror." The American people are waiting for the Renaissance resting in the hands of the new President, and "Glam Pop" is not it.

The Passive Aggressive Chance Armstrong

My roommate on the Beagle Chincess was Chance Armstrong. Chance was a passive aggressive. That meant as a quiet guy he was working a huge premeditated self-serving plan all the time. The only catch was you didn’t know what it was. He didn’t talk much, and when he did he uttered self-proclaiming phrases that insinuated he all ready knew what you were going to say. As time passed I found out he was working on musical arrangements for the band. Lance had gland problems. That so he thought enabled him to demand certain things in the cabin. One was it was almost always quiet except for when Chance wanted it otherwise. “You wanna listen to some Dean?” he would ask. Dean Martin he meant, and there we would sit checking out the precursor to Elvis. Dean really was the model for Elvis, and it surprised me whenever I heard it for the first time. My choice of music would have been Miles Davis or something of that vintage. Dean is great, but his choice automatically sealed our fate as different kinds of musicians. Chance was a pure A-hole when it came to sleep. You couldn’t utter so much as a sigh without him having to say something to you in the middle of the night. Forget watching a movie on your miniature DVD player or listening to some music through you headphones. The bunks on Chincess were just that, chincy. There was no sound isolation from top bunk to bottom bunk. I resorted to stealing a piece of masonite from the carpentry shop, cutting it to fit, and inserting it in between the beds stuffed with towels. That helped isolate Mommy Dearest from my personal space. Chance’s largest flaw was also that of Franz Mueller. You see they were our two saxophonists. Both of them, under the leadership of Franz, tended to play in a rhythmic concept that doesn’t exist in the professional music world. I have never heard it ever until I began playing cruise ships. They, instead of playing swing 8th notes in jazz-oriented music, would play swing 16th notes in Ricky-Tick style. The rhythmic resolution was so tight as a piano player with a reciprocating key, I could not match their timing. Their notes were way too close together, and therefore didn’t define time as we know it. The cruise director did not like Franz’s playing, but that didn’t stop her from badgering me off the ship. I quit with only two weeks to go in my contract. That meant I couldn’t work on the Beagle Chiness for at least a year. As it turns out I have had no desire to ever work for their company again. The work load was unrealistic. Most seven day cruises have two production shows, an Intro Show, a Farewell Show, a Fly-On Entertainer, a Juggler and a few comedians. Chincess had four production shows, and the cruise director thought it funny that you couldn’t just sight-read the poorly written music. As was the case on my first cruise line, I ended up having to re-copy a majority of the charts. The copy work was that bad. I knew all four shows on the Beagle as well as having to play the singer’s shows on the last night of the cruise. It was labor intensive with a noon rehearsal almost everyday. Franz also manipulated the “In Port Manning” schedule so he could get off the ship in San Diego, drive his new VW, and collect the dough from his rolling coffee shack. Who would ever get married so your girlfriend could sail for free? That is a pretty high cost of a cruise. I think I would just pay the dough. Things hit a head when I had had enough of Chance. He had pushed me just a little too hard. One night when I was listening to a recording of our show with headphones, I accidentally said something outloud to myself as I was lying in the bunk. He was supersensitive, and interpreted my outburst as a personal attack on his character. (In fact it was about him, but you have to be aware of these things to play in a band and make it work) He curtly asked me if I had something to say to him. It was at least two in the morning. I was a little drunk, but I had no desire to say anything to him. I just wanted to finish listening to the recording. He provoked me again. “Do you want to say something to me?” I called him a fuck mother-fucker,, threatened to kick his ass, and went outside where he followed me. He asked me again, upon which Franz appeared at his door. A little friendly brawl in the wee hours of the morning on a cruise ship is not always a bad idea. In the end Chance and Franz’s poor playing, the cruise director’s antagonism, and the petty childish rhythm section that never learned the shows caused me to quit. Sometimes you just have to draw the line at Chance.

Today’s Top Three List of Staid, Self-Serving, Nazi, Merchant Groups (who with the City Counsel) Have Outlawed Bicycle Riding, Rollerblading, Skateboarding, and Scooter Riding To and From Their Businesses in Fayetteville, North Carolina.


1. Historic Downtown Fayetteville and 300 Block Investors (Menno Pennink, Tommy Bradford, Ralph Hugg, Mark Stout)

2. Stout Properties/Eutaw Shopping Center

3. Tri-Player Investments, L.L.C./Westwood Shopping Center

P.S. The County of Cumberland states it is illegal to do any of the above on their public property. Better stay out of their schools and parks, lest you be cited for trespassing.

Since when did it become a crime to ride your bike to the 7/11 to buy an ICEE in the smoldering summer heat? Glory Days are over… Nazi's. The city of Fayetteville is not a "gated community" or Highland Country Club, even if you would like it to be.

Railroad Nostalgia

AC traction is invisible as is a majority of America’s rail network. While our government relies upon the “Strategic Rail Corridor Network” for our nation’s defense, and the “Iron Horse” forged the brazen path from the Atlantic to the Pacific for pioneering settlers in a newly burgeoning America, AC Traction will hold no such place in the hearts of a nostalgic America. Conversely over time it will be discovered this technological “advancement” has been a plague to the world reaping benefits for rail companies only. It always has been understood the rail industry has been “in the pocket” of the federal government, or is it the other way around? With this current administration it is difficult to know. Is Haliburton “in the pocket” of the federal government, or is it the other way around? It is understandable that in times of crisis our national defense must rely upon rail. Looking at the choice of logistics available in the United States, a well-hidden and substantial means of transportation of heavy artillery is a plus. Otherwise the government would have to employ thousands of individual, self-employed, sleep-deprived, No-Doz addicted, interstate-employed “Rebels without a Cause.” We wouldn’t want our military’s finest and most technologically advanced weapons put in the hands of truck drivers like the rest of the nation’s products. Rail has always competed with trucking, but it wasn’t until CSX-T became determined to become a Fortune 500 company that AC traction became a problem on the East Coast of the United States. Their competitor Norfolk/Southern decided for personal reasons not to buy AC traction locomotives. They still use an army of C40-9W’s, the most powerful DC freight locomotive in existence. You will know if one of these is sitting in your back yard, just like you will know if a pair of AC-6000’s is anywhere near. Ft. Bragg, North Carolina employs a pair of these, and upon seeing a picture of them you can understand why they keep them hidden in a bunker. My question has always been, “Why use such powerful freight locomotives for switching applications?” Secondly, “Why did Amtrak, a small bankrupt passenger railroad with trains the average length of three to four coaches, begin using AC traction?” If one has ever embarked a cruise ship in San Diego, California at their downtown port, you will see their choice of motive power. They us the EMD F59 PHI. Unlike its East Coast counterpart the F40PH, the F59 has a separate diesel engine/generator combination at the rear of the locomotive to produce HED or “head end power” for the passengers of the train. The F40 has none, so even when it is standing still at the station the diesel prime mover has to run at a high RPM level (900 revolutions per minute) to provide electrical power for the rest of the train. Appropriately these locomotives were nicknamed “The Screamer.” At various times in the day when one of these Amtrak locomotives is sitting at the station in downtown Fayetteville, you will know it by the vibration created by that diesel engine. Likewise you know when a similarly equipped AC Traction freight locomotive is near. Whether the thrysistor/IGBT is producing the vibrating low frequency waves, or if the infrasound wave produced by the diesel prime mover is being modulated by the frequency of the inverter the sensation one feels on both the body and in the mind is negative. Studies have been done that documented the results of invading radio waves on brain activity. The brain, after a period of trying to resist, eventually “locks onto” the frequency bombarding it. That means any of this activity effects the brain and the emotions with the capacity to change your mood and thought process. People have been complaining about panic, anxiety, attention deficiency, depression, irritability, fatigue, and feelings of violence ever since the implementation of AC Traction in the mainstream of American infrastructure. Neither the EPA, the FDA, nor the Federal Office of Noise Abatement have taken one look at its effect to the American population. Maybe we wouldn’t need so many drugs if we brought back soda fountains, drive in theaters, and sock hops and got rid of AC Traction. Only history will tell.

Tesla and the Mine Collapse

On an episode of Orange County Choppers which aired a year ago, a phenomenon occurred that had the shop in disarray. An expensive and unfinished custom chopper that was designed and being built by the Teutul Clan inexplicably fell off the rack. The Paul’s were mystified, confused, and concerned. The bike, representing their livelihood, was in jeopardy at the whim of some unseen and misunderstood force. How could such a thing (Murphy’s Law) enter their shop and like an aeronautic gremlin wreak havoc on their highly coveted creation? What force had the characteristics necessary to make a bike weighing hundreds of pounds move and then fall off of its perch? What force could make a bridge collapse in Minneapolis, Minnesota? What force could cause the earth to move creating a cave in in a mine in Huntington, Utah? While other forces in nature could be responsible as well as the neglected necessary maintenance by man, it is more plausible the combination of a natural force irresponsibly misunderstood by man and his failure to manage it could have caused these things. The government has always known magnetic fields are not healthy for human beings. An electro-magnetic wave is a duality, a combination of an electrical charge and a magnetic field being propagated in the air. To look at a diagram of one of these waves should raise doubts, because like the windings in an AC induction motor, they just look demonic. It has taken man a long time to harness the power of the Tesla-derived AC induction motor. It was not until the early l990’s that General Electric, in cooperation with Siemens, began to mass produce low frequency drives for use in rail, marine, and industrial applications. The first example of their mainstream use could be represented by the “Taos Hum.” General Electric, undercontract by Molycorp, Inc., designed and built an underground conveyor system to haul molybdenum ore from the mine to the refinery. This replaced an existing DC rail system with a slow moving conveyor belt powered by these new AC drives. Unlike traditional DC motors with mechanical “brushes” whose speed is controlled by amperage, AC drives emply a rotating electro-magnetic field to turn the rotor with no contact between the stator and the rotor. The stator requires a complex series of “windings” to produce that magnetic field. The speed of these motors has always been the problem. It was not until the advent of the (P)ersonal (C)omputer a suitable method was found. A software program processes the electricity after it is rectified into DC. Then it is “inverted” back to AC with a new and complex circuit called an IGBT (Insulated Gate Bipolar Transistor) or Thrysistor. The frequency of the processed AC current becomes the speed of the motor. In essence when the drives are turning slow, which is their main use and strong point, the AC power feeding them is the same frequency. Because there is a tremendous amount of residual electricity being “resisted” in the circuits, it creates a hum. I am not sure if these rotating electro-magnetic fields could be the corresponding source of low frequency electro-magnetic waves, or only if a radio transmitter oscillator can produce these. It would be worth researching. What is known is “The Hum” is being heard because its source is underground. Sound not only travels more quickly through solids than air, it also is a manifestation of radio waves. Otoacoustic is a term used to describe sound produced in the ear by a means other than external sound. It is most commonly thought of as radio-produced. There have been documented instances where people have been able to “hear” radio waves by the resulting otoacoustic sounds they produce in the human ear. Tinnitus may be the best examples of this. Phosphenes similarly are visual effects “seen” by people from increased electrical activity in the retina of the eye. It stands to reason radio waves at any given frequency are not going to produce positive effects in the human being. It is all ready common knowledge certain frequencies of electromagnetic waves are dangerous to humans. Ultra-Violet, Infra-Red, X-Rays, and Gamma radiation are examples of these. How could low frequency electro-magnetic radiation be any different? If infrasonic frequencies of sound are the most destructive could it not be extrapolated these parallel frequencies of electricity could produce similar effects? Magnetic waves pulsate. The brain uses electrical waves for thought and emotion. The human heart beats. Any extraneous waves effecting these systems could be detrimental to human functions. How could electro-magnetic energy effect a bridge and the earth like the human body? The universe is made up of space filled with rapidly oscillating atoms. If they are disrupted by another force that is also oscillating, then their all ready existing documented characteristics could be weakened. Just like the appearance of visible light could be being effected by modulation of its frequencies in the electromagnetic spectrum, the properties of elements in the periodic table could be being adversely effected by electro-magnetic waves. Humans crave “stability.” Bombarding our elements, our bodies, and therefore our minds with extraneous electrical energy is unmerited. The powers of the mind (creativity) can not be unleashed when “the power” is “empowered” by artificial, irresponsible, man-made means.

Today's Top Ten Most Desirable Hollywood Divorcees

1. Christina Applegate

2. Kim Basinger

3. Halle Berry

4. Lisa Hartman (just kidding)

5. Jennifer Connelly (just kidding)

6. Meredith Baxter

7. Linda Hamilton

8. Christy McNichol

9. Gretchen Mol (?)

10. Jennie Garth

Musical Shakespearean Tragedy

The “Eutaw Gang” in junior high school consisted of Joey, Peanut, Forrest, Pat, Tye, and me. Each of us down to earth guys had a motorcycle. My abused l971 CT-70H trail bike had seen better days. The front forks had been replaced, so the traditional folding handle bars that allow the machine to be tossed in a trunk were gone. The wiring didn’t work either. It did start and run most of the time. After mentoring sessions where my parents had to be present for the riding session, I finally graduated to freedom riding! They were strict that I obey the local laws, while the rest of our gang freely rode in the streets. You had to be aggressive, elusive, and quick to avoid getting caaught by a cop. I did not have these skills, and I did not have the majority of other skills necessary to be cool. I began to learn. Although I was “Junior” in this particular gang, I had been “gang leader” in our neighborhood before junior high school. Steve and Dwayne were in my gang, but they were younger than me making me “Senior.” I was “Paul Sr.” back then, but now I am “Paul lll”. My father, “Paul Jr.” is “Paul Sr.” My grandfather, the real “Paul Sr.” is dead, thank God! Don’t get me wrong. I miss him, but enough is enough. Although my father no longer works in music his reputation proceeds him. That has made it difficult for me to make my mark in the field of music. He still is clinging to the last remnants of his past musical existence, and that means there will be no “passing of the torch” until he has kicked the bucket. How I ended up back in my hometown being perceived as his child is beyond me. How can social strata in a particular town be so staid? I didn’t ask to be thought of as a child and therefore treated as such. It is just your existence as a child also was a major part of their existence as adults. You must not be able to ask aging people to learn how to relate to you as a grown adult. Until you staunchly proclaim yourself an adult and conquer their previous roles with force, they never will concede. This is the definition of “Old Money,” of which I hate so fervently. Welcome to the American South. Because it is far easier to fit in and, “Do as the Romans do,” it is unlikely to happen. “Until death do us part,” is more applicable. I lament and sob at my inability to become actualized as an adult in the eyes of my parents. How can you when the kingdom is so well guarded by their posts as guards? They consider me a failure, yet they keep me at bay by not allowing me to become who I am by exposing my love of music. My love of music does not coincide with my fathers, and that has always been his secret weapon in life. This is not how it was and should be in their eyes. Children are supposed to love their parents above everything, even if that means they become a failure in life. Your effort in music was always a gift for them, and this is what they expect it to be now. There is no room for personal indulgence. That is not allowed, because your areas of probable happiness are in direct opposition to theirs. They have no real happiness, but their eyes are upon you for using your life to provide that happiness by living their past lives through you. What a tragedy it is that your nurturing parents will never be able to understand, appreciate, and enjoy who you are through your own music. The ego is so big, that it won’t allow any other purveyors of the craft of music. What a tragedy a man thinks his son is the enemy, because it is a fight to the death to retain your own happiness.

William Shakespeare.

(not really)

Time to Move on...

What is oppressive about the American South is they live a sheltered existence. Evolution seems to have stopped below the Mason Dixon line. It is emotionally stifling to live in a place that offers no upward mobility in spirituality. Tradition must play a large role in this stance of the Bible Belt, and I’m sure wealthy conservatives want to keep things just the way they are. Unfortunately as an artist nothing could be worse than the prospect of “no growth.” Reliving the same experiences over and over in an outdated traditions may provide stability and happiness for some, but for the rest of us that have yet to begin our lives this feels like death. Nostalgically harking back to the days of yore is a waste of time. I learned this lesson the hard way. It is better to pick yourself up and move on. That is why I feel no specific loss at not owning a house or a wife. Those things are a lot of responsibility, and in today’s housing market the value of a wife may drop just like the Dow Jones Industrial Average. “Feed me!” The only thing I find loss in is the seeming unavailability of a future. When everyone is so set in their ways, you must leave to find your own destiny. (By the way, I am so tired of listening to the Goddamn droning of 82nd Airborne planes. Can we get the fuck out of this war? Why is it they must do their runs at night?) Emotional stagnation is a curse, and if your whole life exists around trying to resurrect the past you are doomed to misery. Intimacy is nice. Having someone to talk to could be nice. You can learn to live without them with the aid of music and a blog. It’s time to move on….

Kateland

My relationship with Kateland was exemplary. Having experienced two years of destitute, violent, and unpleasant existence, like the Jews who escaped the gas chambers of Hitler’s Nazi German I envisioned and created my own future. Their vision became Hollywood, and my vision was my future relationship with Kateland. I fed and nutured this entity, and I summoned her to follow me. I taught us how to succeed in love. I also taught us about sex. The interesting thing about this was I turned the tables on my junior high school years. For two years I was manipulated by the system and its women, until I developed the skills and personality traits necessary to create my own reality. This was the bubble in which I lived for the next eleven years. I have one person to thank for my awareness of sexuality. It was “the girl next door.” Although I was experiencing pain and frustration at school, I was honing my skills looking and being cool. This neighbor was the first one to notice and respond to me. It was peculiar, because she was my sister’s best friend and was four years older. This was socially unacceptable, so she covertly managed her campaign of seduction and manipulation. I was receiving sexual favors from her, so I did not mind her mental abuse. This process is what taught me how to become the manipulator, and I extrapolated that in my future relationship with Kateland. In the process of seducing her and with a great feeling of revenge, I punished Stephanie for her past cool disinterest and abuse during our junior high school years. As my body and mind evolved into a more sexual package, Stephanie was finally effected. This is what she had wanted all along, but it was too late for us. I had moved on and taken over her role as the desired one. Somehow I knew what it took to fuel romance. There was a formula. It meant having to have a good time. It meant providing positive feelings. It meant spending your money. Whence you invest comes your reward. You get what you pay for, whether it in the short or long term. We went to the movies every weekend. I filled her jewelry box with tasteful bling. I bought designer pajamas and monogrammed sweaters. I taught her on how to be a sophisticated women. This I had learned from being the member of an affluent Episcopal church. While this bubble lasted a long time, it was destined to pop. Twenty-two years later although positive reminiscence comes and goes, I no longer think of Kateland. She is married children. The many trinkets I have saved that remind me of her are all neatly packed away. The problem is my mother can not forget this bubble. She still thinks it is a possible reality. Those years were a sizeable part of my growing up, and they became a part of her. I have moved on spiritually and emotionally but she, living in that same house and realizing her relationship with my aging father is dying, she is not capable of moving on. As a result I am forced to live in this past chapter that she longs for and sees as desirable. Unfairly but without knowing she projects her loss upon me, subconsciously blaming me, because I do not have that now. Upon feeling outdated and chronologically out-of-date feelings it is confusing and stressful. Who wants to re-live the negative aspects of your past? It appears my parents have lived vicariously through the experiences of their children. This cannot be appropriate, is it? I have sympathy, because I have had the experiences necessary to understand what is happening. In a time of your own emotional weakness their feelings can become superimposed over your own creating depression and neurosis. Who knew being in a family was this difficult?

Peanut Snarper and Desegregation in the Public Schools

Kateland was my first love. While I was in first grade America implemented de-segregation in the public schools. While attending Belvedere Elementary School in Fayetteville, North Carolina token African-Americana students were brought to our school. It must have been difficult for them, having been plucked from their own neighborhoods, bussed across town, and transplanted to a predominantly caucasion school. Who could imagine that feeling except the student who experienced it? African-Americans have been experiencing similar things throughout the history of the United States, because the appearance of the black man in America was a product of slavery. What a burden to have to carry your whole life. After three years of being the majority at Belvedere the tables got turned. I became the transplanted student being bussed across town to Ramsey Street Elementary School. (Back in those days we used the words "black" and "white" before Political Correctness had even been invented. Black and white were straightforward words we all understood.) I didn’t have strife at Ramsey Street Elementary, because the students were not old enough to understand racism. Kids were just kids, and they were not concerned with trivial seeming issues such as race. Being a kid was hard enough. Why stir the color of your skin into the stew of pubescent problems such as pimples, greasy hair, being fat, and having crooked teeth? Luckily I had all of these, and they appeared appropriately and ironically during junior high school. Junior high in addition to fostering these complications, it turns out offered the same social injustice provided by de-segregation. Unlike my experience at Ramsey Street School, Washington Drive was a tough black school in the middle of an urban downtown. (In retrospect it could have been considered "inner-city.") I learned immediately what it felt like to get dropped off in a place facing a daunting, indifferent, but offensive schoolyard of strange black faces that seemed to have no interest in accommodating what appeared to be a weak white student. I became "vic" for continued attempts of extortion of my lunch money accompanied by threats of violence if I didn’t comply. As a twelve year old I was at a loss for not having been schooled in how to handle it. This was my first introduction to the art of politics, and little did I know it meant being an effective talker. This was a street education, and it was thrust upon me without my choice. With surprise and no desire to experience it, I resisted hoping for a better enlightened situation. (This came only after becoming involved in the music program playing in the band) Over time and with continued strain my thick head finally realized I had better use my street friends as role models for accommodating these urban African-Americans. ("When in Rome you do as the Romans do...," as the song says.) My best friend Peanut Snarper was the most successful. Like James Dean he all ready was interesting as a person. He possessed all the necessary characteristics to be be popular. He was aware of these things and worked on the aspects of appearance and personality. A cool haircut was necessary. Long hair finally was reaching us in suburban/urban America in l977, so your haircut went a long way to keep away bullies. This is when I had to let my hair grow out for the first time. Who new hair had such magical powers that its study merited becoming a Broadway musical? Sampson rules. Peanut had a flair for dressing cool. You couldn’t just wake up and pull something out of the bureau. You needed a theme in your clothing. My first girlfriend although resistant and abusive used the "athletic" or "warm up" suit as her tool of survival. When you are not that attractive or well spoken, something must become your tool of survival. This item represented that you had your life together. Something was providing happiness, so the utter despair of being in a tough, poor, urban, ghetto school the majority of your day didn’t depress you. Although the principal announced "sweats" were not appropriate school attire, she pushed the envelope and wore these colorful striped cotton and polyester warm up suits anyway. Peanut cut the sleeves off of his sweatshirts and wore a flannel shirt on top of them. He even had a motorcycle in junior high school! (Incidentally this is when my own personal quest began for acquiring a motorcycle.) When I became aware of these cool habits, I was summoned to follow for the sheer sake of survival. I was tired of being bullied. I taught myself how to draw using Peanut's drawing as my model. He drew the Peterbuilt and International trucks. His father was a truck driver that was gone most of the time, so he was exposed to these things. His mother was German. I learned how to draw these things along with the Panzer tank. We branched out and began using our own creativity as a guide for subjects to draw. I started an underwater empire with interesting submarines and artillery pieces. We learned how to draw warfare with explosions and flames coming from muzzles of the guns. We also had a game we invented where with the flick of a pencil you could destroy an enemy by drawing straight line from your man to theirs. These were survival techniques that allowed you to rise above the ignorance that surrounded you. I tried to get the girl, but my body was not muscular enough. Skateboarding fixed this, because I was able to shed unwanted pounds of accumulated baby fat around my middle. This is why I hold skateboarding in such high exteem. It allowed me finally to “get the girl.” After two years of living in fear, I was poised to devour the rewards for such a destitute existence. Enter Kateland. Upon attending a mostly white, affluent, highly respected high school where both my parents taught, an attractive and sexually confident girl bumped me with her hip at the pencil sharpener in Mrs. Shaw’s American history class. I’ll repeat that. She bumped my hip with hers. There was no precursory talk. There were no fond glances. There were no love notes. She made the first move, a calculated strike for what she wanted. I didn’t respond immediately, because with my new-found popularity attributed to Peanut and weight loss due to skateboarding, I had multiple choices. My long hair, newly thin body, and agility on a skateboard were appealing to middle-classed girls. I didn’t have to do much but be cool. They approached me. There was Laura Lambert, a charming down home beauty with a voluptuous body to match. There was Candice White, an avid talker with braces and an ample and well defined breasts. There was Janet Beard, the girl I had chased the majority of elementary school. Back then I did not have the “talk” necessary to gain the affections a woman. Still we flirted. She sat in the back of that history class. As the years evolve the posse that was in vogue at Washington Drive was not the posse in vogue at Terry Sanford High School. My old clique quietly faded into oblivion, smoking pot, drinking Tuborg Gold beer, and making below average grades. They were replaced by a budding, adolescent, heterosexual love. Is there any better kind?

Today’s Top Ten MIL(TSITN) List (Mother I’d Like to See in the News)

1. Julia-Louis Dreyfus

2. Elizabeth Perkins

3. Katherine Zeta Jones

4. Anne Archer

5. Elizabeth Hurley

6. Jacqueline Bisset

7. Kelly LeBrock

8. Elizabeth McGovern

9. Natasha Henstridge

10. Halle Berry


P.S. Jennifer Connelly (Be-yatch!)

A Netanyahu...

What do you call a Likud-active Isreali living in the Australian outback who crochets for peace of mind?

The Evolution of Musical Creativity

Moving away from Columbus the first time was one of the most difficult decisions I have had to make other than deciding where to go for college when I was 18. I had picked myself up by the bootstraps and up and moved 500 miles away to a strange and distant city full of the prospect of doctoral studies and music making. It was not an easy transition, because I found the music composition department at Ohio State in a state of chaotic disrepair upon arriving there. Things were awry and amiss, but because I was paying ten large in out-of-state tuition I stuck it out. More than ten years later I ended up moving back to the South, and I regret it. I did not finish the degree, but that chapter is not over yet. Why did I move? After having cornea transplant surgery and dropping out of school, I had to make a living. I began playing music full-time, and for the period of one year I was able to make a living as a performing musician. It took a lot of “driving your shoes” around, but with various venues in which to play I made it work. We worked at the Hyatt Regency in their lounge. I played jazz gigs at Barrister Hall. I played with Yumbambe at the Columbus Music Hall. It was a good year, but suddenly and without warming it came to a halt. Two prodigious piano players moved back to their home town of Columbus rendering me gig-less. They took back all their old gigs, so my skills were no longer needed. “Columbus helps its own.” I still believe this statement. It didn’t matter how good you were. What mattered was there was a finite amount of paying gigs, and only the “in crowd” got to play those gigs. I used to play at Lindy’s in German Village. I used to play at Hyde Park Bar and Grill. I use to play at the Statehouse. When this happened I began playing in the ghetto. A change was imminent, so I joined a predominantly African-American, “Old School R&B,” Hip/Hop band. For two years I usually was the only white person in the club, and I got used to it. No one really cared about your skin color. They just cared whether or not you could play good-feeling music. That requirement I met and did well. I worked hard on that gig, and it was a challenge. We played in a variety of keys. People sat in. You had to know various styles of music. Foremost I had to have the right “rig.” Piano it turned out did not satisfy the requirements in this kind of musical environment. The keys were too heavy, and the sound of the instrument didn’t sustain long enough to have a strong enough sonic impact. Organ was the proper choice with synth patches. I designed and put together a small, portable, 2 keyboard system based on the architecture of the Hammond B-3. It consisted of two 5 octave non-weighted keyed synthesizers controlling a 6 space rack of outboard gear. I had the best sounds possible in a small visually unappealing package. It yielded stereo mixed keyboard sounds with digital reverberation and chorus. I would put one amplifier on either side of the stage and position myself in the sweet spot. I used an organ module with 7 drawbars that had a Leslie on/off switch controlled with your foot. I also used a volume pedal. With that particular set-up I could effectively play this music. Since working on ships for five years, I have been back at the mercy of weighted-action digital pianos. I always have to program these instruments. They are capable of creating great sounds, but they do not come with them from the factory. When technology permits I carry a little memory card with my presets on it. MOTU’s editor/librarian Unisyn doesn’t provide the necessary “profiles” needed for the instruments I play. Being able to carry programming data from ship to ship on a laptop would speed up the process of performing well, since you will never sound good on a bad patch. The second generation Yamaha DX-7llFD with a Gray Matter expansion board is still my axe of choice for quality of sound and versatility. There are adequate sounds for a variety of different musical styles, and the sounds have a wide expressive band width. That means they are ‘fat!’ Keyboard playing has become a lost art, and the majority of my rigs are in storage. From time to time I like to reminisce and remember what it was like to play keyboard-based music with a group that truly knows styles of music and “how to swing.” It is unfortunate pop-based, sequenced, guitar-oriented music has forced many good keyboard players to quit cruise ship gigs.

A Declaration of Electoral Revolution

It is interesting and timely the “credit bubble” has finally popped. This irresponsible campaign by credit card companies all but ruined the stability of the United States economy. What a bad habit into which to get, spending money that you don’t have. Eventually reality would be the mediator, the Moses of the U.S. economy. What has become the basis of the stock market, smoke and mirrors rather than the true performance of a company, just couldn’t last. Why has it become passé to value a commodity fairly? There can be no other answer than simple greed. Price gouging, which best could be represented by oil companies posted their highest returns in history when gasoline soared to three dollars a gallon, is unconscionable. It reflects anachronistic periods of European history where “court” or the ruling class just got too big for their pants and the common people revolted. In pre-Soviet Russia emancipated Serfs rebelled against Tsar Nicolas ll, because although they had been freed they were still reliant upon landowners for their survival. The idea that those who worked the land should own it became paramount, in stark contradiction to the buying up of land in the United States by Big Business with eyes to make large profits only for themselves. It seems our country slowly but surely will reach the same fate. Although our Constitution implies certain freedoms are being upheld, covertly under the Republican-led Bush Administration our individual freedoms are regressing. Nothing could better represent these miscarriages of legislation than “Eminent Domain,” the taking of land from common citizens for PRIVATE use. Think of the thousands of misplaced residents of New Orleans which by the fate of a naturally occurring disaster are being exploited and face their losing their property. Instead of the federal government protecting the rights of these average people, Big Business is attempting to coerce their property from them with the prospect of more corporate-produced, cold, calculated, industrialized resort communities. Most middle to lower class wage earning citizens can’t afford to stay at these places having been reserved for the elite wealthy. Should this trend of attempted rule by a private but government-backed totalitarian regime be allowed to continue? It certainly can’t, and we have the historical facts from two other countries experiencing similar circumstances to prove it. Wikipedia’s definition of the French Revolution best sums up this sentiment. “1789–1799 was a period of political and social upheaval in the political history of France and Europe as a whole, during which the French governmental structure, previously an absolute monarchy with feudal privileges for the aristocracy and Catholic clergy, underwent radical change to forms based on Enlightenment principles of democracy, citizenship, and inalienable rights.” Why is it that the United States engaged in a similar movement of revolution from the British Empire from l775-1783, but today our fundamental rights and freedoms penned in the Declaration of Independence and United States Constitution are being assaulted by lawmakers on a daily basis? This can only be a gross error in the election process of our ruling body. The American people thus are summoned by the survival of their own country to cleanse it of this grievous wrong-doing of loss of personal freedoms in the name of the wealthy.

Polacks Can't Play Jazz

Why is it that Polish men just don’t know how to play jazz? From now on I am going to call it “Polish Sausage,” because for a lot of post genocide men, there is NO excuse for not knowing the “feel” of jazz music. As evidenced by Roy Hargrove on his Japanese sessions, the Japanese know how to play jazz. So do the French… and some Scandinavians. But the Polacks. Holy Christ. They do not know how to play jazz. I have been plagued by fucking Polack hacks for going on five years. “Get a fucking clue!” People don’t call you Polacks for no reason!

Today’s Top Ten Prostitute Price List

1. Ridgefield, New Jersey: $270.00

2. Manhattan, New York: $200.00

3. Nassau, The Bahamas: $150.00

4. Acapulco, Mexico: $150.00

5. Bridgetown, Barbados: $70.00

6. Cozumel, Mexico: $62.00

7. St. Nicolas, Aruba: $60.00

8. Casa De Campo, Dominican Republic: $50.00

9. Puntarenas, Cost Rica: $40.00

10. Montego Bay, Jamaica: $40.00

"Old School" vs. "New School"

The aesthetic of skateboarding had changed from the Old School to the New School. I have a vintage board collection now of twenty, but none of them reflect the New School. I have spent a large amount of time studying skateboard design history beginning in the 1970’s. I still need to collect a few more boards from the 60’s, but the golden age of skateboarding didn’t occur until the late l970’s. New School boards so it appears are ambidextrous. They are popsicle sticks that are reversible, so whether riding switch or not it does not matter what end of the board is pointed forward. Likewise the traditional kicktail has grown from the nose of the board. These elements have drastically changed the surf-style of skating popular in the l970’s. It was based upon the move of carving, which is a stylized turn created by throwing your weight. It requires a different stance than New School skating, because the Ollie had yet to be invented. Incidentally Alan Gelfand created the Ollie vertically, not horizontally like most of today’s skaters use. It happened at the top of a vert. ramp when kickturning to rotate back down the ramp. On vertical Gelfand found you could propel the board into the air by pushing down the tail and using it as a catapult. This later was extrapolated to horizontal skating, but shows the true lineage of skateboarding. New School came from the original vert. skating created by Dogtown’s Z-Boys. Slalom was also a crucial part of “Old School” skating, but it unlike the New School requires different technique. It would be interesting to see if today’s New School skaters would be interested in a slalom or downhill run. I think they would, but Ollie tricks have become the norm at skateparks and for competition. Old School boards differ drastically in design than New School boards. The center of gravity has been lowered considerably on New School boards. They have eliminated riser pads in between the board and the trucks, and the wheels have shrunk both in width and length. This makes the board more stable, because it is lower to the ground. Because the board is symmetrical, it can almost be said New School skating is more akin to riding a balance board over a central roller. The feet tend to stay in one place over the front truck and back truck eliminating the carving aspect of technique created by Stacy Peralta et al. He controlled the turn of the board by shifting his weight on the ball of his back foot creating a pivot much like slalom water skiing. I never could do this as a kid, but learned how by studying the Z Boys style of skating. Likewise the knees are bent most of the time and you pivot your hips, so there is a specific form in use. Steve Caballero had good form, as did most of the members of the Bones Brigade. Old School skating relied heavily upon the kind of truck you were using and its bushings, because the bushings were what dictated your carve. There were two basic kinds of trucks. The original was Tracker Midtrack. It differs today from the original, because it took into consideration both the Venture Truck and the Indy. The original Tracker had a squat barrel joint upon which the bushing sat. It was mostly vertical. Indy came along and tilted that barrel or the angle of the kingpin and placed a large washer underneath to hold the bottom bushing. This smoothed out the carve creating a less “tippy” turn like the original design. Both are pleasing to ride. Stock trucks whether they are quality are not almost always come with substandard bushings. You have to know the different durometers of urethane and know which bushings to use for your style of skating. Tracker for some reason offers very different bushings in their trucks. Flex was important in a carving and slalom board, because it allowed your to pump into and out of a turn providing momentum. Flex it seems has all but been eliminated in New School boards, with 7 ply maple being the standard. I was lucky enough to stumble upon a 5 ply Santa Cruz board that looks more like plywood. Amazingly enough it rides well, because it has a rocker. A rocker is the opposite of camber which is an arched design upward. The rocker is all ready in the right shape for maneuvering through a turn. That board is set up with Indy 169’s and classic Bel Air Bolts wheels. Gordon and Smith is not offering the 3 ply laminate original Fibreflex anymore. What I ended up buying was a Teamrider re-issue which was five plies with Bowtuff fiberglass on the top and bottom. I like it and it is my primary board, but it doesn’t flex like the older Fibreflex. Recently I cut down a Mike McGill Jet fighter re-issue to the shape of the older Santa Cruz, and it is nimble, light, and springy. I am trying to make it into a combination New/Old School board. Right now it has Tracker Six Track imitations, which I just found out yesterday are actually Powell/Peralta trucks built as demos for their own boards. It came on a Lance Mountain Dough Boy deck with Powell wheels. It has taken a while to figure out how to use them, because with that original vertical barrel joint housing the kingpin, the axles just tip to the side instead of pivoting nicely. Tracker Ultra-Lites in the same size have PLASTIC baseplates. Although I have these on the Mountain board replete with the original copers and newer stiff bushings, they are useless for turning because the baseplates flex. A word of advice for good truck operation. The kingpin has to be solid and not move, because it is upon what the axles pivots. Without a stable pivot point, the truck will always seem out of control. I have had several pairs of cheap trucks including the Nash X-2 that have loose fitting kingpins. You can never get performance out of these trucks, unless you put some liquid weld on the bolt head to glue it to the baseplate. New School trucks seem to be “lows” and “highs.” We looked at a pair of these in the local skateshop and it appeared everything about both truck was the same except the height of the bushing. I received a new pair of Venture 5.0 lows in the mail, but I have yet to be able to ride them to see what is up. It will be interesting to see how they perform in a carve.

The Arts

In Columbus, Ohio nestled in the heart of the Midwest money was not the only reason you became well-respected. The severe boundaries between income brackets didn’t seem to exist. It was a more homogenous society, and as a result was more artistic. Success in life, enlightenment, wisdom and talent came from achievement, not necessarily money. I as a poor graduate student earned respect from the community with diligence, talent, and hard work in the field of music. The word “doctorate” is powerful. When I went to OSU I was not sure I was capable of getting a doctorate. I didn’t know what it took, and as a result I was uneasy. I knew there was a language requirement, and that would be a stumbling block. I took four years of Spanish in both high school and college, but you have no real need for Spanish in music composition. Italian, French, or German or more appropriate languages, seeing as these countries and Russia were the major areas of proliferation of musical creativity. The first Viennese school was in Austria, and Mozart, Beethoven, and Hayden all traveled and used a variety of languages in their musical composition. Spanish wasn’t one of them. When I first got to OSU I used the availability of its music students to get my music played. My first piece was a small orchestra work called “Toote Suite for Orchestra.” It had a concerto grosso-like quality with only two instruments in the Concertino group, piano and C trumpet. The Ripieno group was a pared-down orchestra. The work was based upon three preexistent songs written in a jazz-like style. They didn’t qualify as “jazz” works, because they didn’t include improvisation. I thought it appropriate to orchestrate them. That would be an appropriate introduction to composing serious music in orchestral style. The piece was very successful, although our Composer’s Workshop was always poorly attended. Like UNC nostalgia played a major role in musical tradition at OSU. The chorus and bands always had a good following, because there were using entertainment as an element in their music. They did not lose their following, because they were not pushing the boundaries of traditional music like “New Music” composers. Composers of new music should and do attempt to thwart the expectations of the listeners. As Dr. Robert Kehrberg so eloquently put it, “We don’t go for the bleep bloop music here at Western Carolina University.” What? Bleep bloop music? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After completing all the coursework for a D.M.A. in serious music composition at OSU, the Chairman of the Music Department was telling me they did not appreciate or understand modern music. Bleep bloop is slang for atonal or 12 tone serial music. It is often pointillistic, which means the use of extreme ranges or tessitura in music. Put those two definitions together and to an untrained ear it may sound like “bleeps” and “bloops.” What they were looking for at Western was nostalgia. When I heard the demo CD they gave me upon leaving my interview it was obvious for what they were looking. Western was a “feel good” school, and to them the Manhattan Transfer was jazz music. Happy entertainment was the requirement for music production rather than the exploring of serious issues in life with intellect. It was very appropriate I did not get hired, and Pavel Wlosek did. Although I was equally qualified as this Czech composer, the feeling in his music was similar to that of the record label EMI, when “New Age” was their staple. Keith Jarrett and Jan Gabarek really invented this form of semi-pastoral contemporary jazz. It has a loving feeling underneath. The emotional profile of the Midwest and Ohio specifically is different than most places, and it took me quite a few years to become accustomed to it. There are melancholic overtones to everything, because Ohioans are acutely aware of the “abyss.” The abyss is the big black cavern into which one can easily fall in life if you are not careful. Until you have “hit bottom” you may not know what the ‘abyss’ is. Ohioans demand you have understanding and respect for the abyss, so there is no room for a shallow “pop-like” existence. Although OSU let me bring my Southern roots to the Midwest, they would not allow to keep them. As my doctoral advisor said, “You all ready know jazz music.” (Dizzy Gillespie, John Coltrane, and Thelonious Monk were from the South) I had to put jazz music on a shelf in the closet and open myself up to the new experiences of European-based orchestra music. This I did with open arms, and it changed me. My voice became that of a budding young American composer influenced by the feelings of Aaron Copland, Claude Debussy, Maurice Ravel, Bela Bartok, and Charles Ives. While I can play good jazz on the piano, real jazz is mostly a lost art form as Wynton Marsalis explained last night on public television. He was saying the feeling of jazz music is difficult to find these days, and I agree. After working on ships for over four years, I have yet to find one group that plays real jazz. My last swinging piano trio was in Columbus, Ohio with bassist John Rivers and drummer Reggie Jackson. At least in Columbus they knew how to swing. The Vaughn Weister Big Band reinforces swing music on a weekly basis. When I play jazz piano I like to evoke the feeling of Antonio Carlos Jobim. While many students of jazz like to play his Bossa Novas, none of them really understands the root of his music because they have not heard it. The obvious reason this feeling is absent today is because we are at war. That may seem paradoxical, because during World War ll and the Great Depression music flourished. Glenn Miller became famous touring the country in a time war was smothering good times in America. One has to look to the decade of Viet Nam to understand what is happening now. It was a period of Civil Unrest. The country is every bit as poised to feel the same things, but the populace is being frightened and brain-washed into believing our state of affairs is okay. Do we even remember what a protest is? Another modern art form must be devised to represent what the country is feeling today. I feel the Grunge Movement from the l990’s is still the real message of the United States, and it is being stifled by the ridiculous shallow optimism of bubble gum pop music. Likewise the Expressionism of the l920’s still is viable. Because a small faction of spoiled children are allowed to digress on national television does not mean their indulgences represent the main stream in art. It has been well known for a few years the main stream has become so cloaked no one can understand what it is. Until something or someone comes along and sums up America’s feelings “as a whole” the country and the arts will remain weak.