A Football Game, A Pizza And A Funeral

Yesterday, I was at the Flatbread Pizza Company in downtown Portsmouth NH.  Congress Street. Lots of winding roads in Portsmouth. Easy to get lost. But we didn't. What we did was eat some really good pizza..

Flatbread Ambiance

We walked into the place and there was a crowd. Of course, there was a crowd at every resteruant in town. But, even though we were told by a very nice young woman there would be a 25 to 30 minute wait we decided to stay. It beat standing outside in the cold. I asked for directions to the mens room and the nice young woman said "Like, totally dude." and directed me.  I was flattered. I'm over 60 and haven't been called "dude" for a long time. 

I don't even resemble Jeff Bridges.

Well. Maybe a tiny bit.

The place was a vast, dark, open chasm of noise, music, people, swirling discs of dough, great smells, smoke, clay ovens and wooden paddles. They serve organic stuff. Mostly pizzas, of course. Reasonable prices and great ambiance. 

Great Big Eyes

As we waited for our food, which was served within a reasonable time period (Under 30 minutes.)  I heard the song that was playing in the background. Whitney Houston moaned "I'll Always Love You."  A song written by a secret obsession of mine, Dolly Parton. Great voice. Great big eyes. And a decent guitar player. Really.

There's this part that comes somewhere in the middle; where Whitney sings,".....and I'll....always love you...ou..ou..ou ou. Always  love you.............oooooooooou!"

You know the part I'm talking about. And apparently so did half the crowd in the place; for right on cue, everybody ululated at the "love you" part. Right in tune and at the right tempo. For a few moments, the folks at "The Flatbread Pizza Co." were in sync. 

And then things went back to a happy, busy hum.

There are gatherings of people where a certain song weave's itself into the very fabric of the ether and the crowd suddenly becomes the audio fabric of that moment. 

I'll give you another example, and this one blind-sided me.

Liverpudlian Fans Imitating Gerry and the Pacemakers

The Liverpool (England) Football Club started a tradition of singing Gerry and the Pacemakers 1963 version of Rodgers and Hammersteins "You'll Never Walk Alone", before every match.

You know the song. 

Carousel.  Jerry' s Kids. Yeah, thats the one.

It's a little more jaunty then the Broadway version. But so is Gerry Marsden.

I'm a middle age guy with a pot-belly from the northeastern part of the US. 

Football to me means Tom Brady marching the New England Patriots down the field with short, and middle distance passes and thumping the Pittsburgh Steelers. Or...who ever gets in his way. I know little to nothing about soccer. Especially the part when Liverpool (or in some cases Celtic, depending on who you talk to.) sings this song.

The first time I heard this on a YouTube clip, I was floored. It blew me away. The fans were standing and holding their scarves and singing and it is truly a beauteous thing to behold.

There are songs that hold us together, somehow. Many times they are unconscious in their interpretation; we sing them in particles and pieces, and somehow they come out all right.

This morning I attended the funeral of a friend. A lovely woman who brought much joy to those around her and who lived her faith with courage and wit while suffering through a debilitating sickness. And at the end of the mass, the congregation sang "Amazing Grace" as her coffin was slowly wheeled up the center aisle.

People groped for their hymnals, but most didn't really need them; as we all have an idea of how that song is sung. The tune has skirrled from pipes when those in law-enforcement or the military are honored and has floated gently in the air through the honey voice of Judy Collins. It is a song for the ages.

Listen closely the next time you are in a crowded place with music. If it's a well known tune, chances are some one or, possibly most, will sing a word or two.

Speaking of public singing, check out Youtube for "Flashmob singing".  It may be a commercial, but it gets your attention.

Copyright © 2010 George Locke

  

He Made Me Want To Diddle My Deedle

"If I were a rich man. diddle diddle deedle diddle die." A comment made by Tevya to The Lord.

I lust for this part.  It has become my deepest desire.  But, I am scared to death to play it; for so many good men have donned the personae of  the Russian milk-man and I am fearful of botching it.

Wait.

Let me back up a bit.

Jerry Bock died Wednesday of complications from a stroke.

He was 81.

It was he and Sheldon Harnick that prompted me to attempt the diddling of the aforementioned.

Not only myself, but countless men have wished to don work boots, make-up stained tunic( with a vest), trousers,  artfully crumpled hat and prayer shawl and prance about the stage, arguing with God and expressing a very logical desire to be a rich man. Not only men such as myself but, according to Jason Robert Brown, creator of the Broadway hit "The Last Five Years" even a gay midget named Karl.

In Ohio.

Bock and Harnick more or less owned Broadway from 1958 to 1970, writing such hits as the Pulitzer Prize winning "Fiorello" (which we talked about a few weeks ago at the passing of Tom Bosley) "She Loves Me' and "Fiddler On The Roof" which debuted in 1964 and has become the staple of  high school (even elementary school) music teachers and directors.

The premise seems, at first, far from the flamboyancy of  musical gems such as "My Fair Lady", or "West Side Story" and yet this tale, based on the works of Yiddish writer Scholom Aleichem and a book by Joseph Stein (incidentally, Stein died just a week before Bock!); plunks us down in the fictional little Russian town of Anatevka at the turn of the last century and holds our attention from the first note the shaky fiddler strokes to the final scene as the town, now suffering, once again, a dysprosium and scattering of His chosen people, straggles off stage, following the now grounded fiddler..

I have often wished for a family background filled with some sort of diverse ethnicity then the white-bread, Anglo-Saxon ancestry I bear.  I'm not belittling the Locke or Heath clans. It's only` genealogy envy..

We always think the family on the other side of the fence sounds spicier.

"Fiddler" (as it is often called) is crammed with color and foot stomping exhilaration. The tunes arrange themselves in your mind in such a way that you will never forget them. If you come from the place I grew up, it opens vast windows of cultural panoramas and tableau's of places you have never imagined..

The show spawned an Oscar award winning movie and Grammy for best soundtrack. It has become a cultural phenomena, appearing in the strangest of places. (ie: the endi

ng of "The Bob Newhart Show" when the entire Vermont town Bob dreamed of left our tv screen with the strains of "Avatevka" playing in the back-ground.)

Jerry Bock used his knowledge of the Yiddish theater and clarinet led klezmer bands as a launching pad for "Fiddler" and we were blessed with music for the ages.

Thank you, Jerry. May you stand beside the heavenly fiddler and
                                                                direct His notes.

Me And My Arrow

Straight-up and narrow.

I still hum that tune and juggle those lyrics around, every now and then. I liked the 1971 animated ABC Movie of the Week (and the first full length cartoon granted prime-time status, excluding a Disney flic or two.). My kids, now fully grown with babes of their own, also enjoyed a nodding acquaintance. As a dj in a small market town, I got some of the cast-off promo albums that the music director (md) didn't want. The soundtrack to "The Point" was one of them.

What can I say about Harry Nilsson? He was born in 1941, a full year before me, and died in 1994. He wrote music with lyrics that invaded the melody and filled all the empty spots perfectly. His work was hand-crafted and is timeless
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He was also uncanny in his interpretation of other composers, such as Fred Neils' "Everybody's Talkin' At Me." from the Academy Award winning movie, "Midnight Cowboy" and from which he received a Grammy.


My last blog cradled a self-destructive life. And Harry certainly had, some think; especially toward the end; the same destination in mind. There is a documentary out there; "Who Is Harry Nilsson And Why Is Everybody Talking About Him?" written and directed by John Schienfeld and released in 2007.  It's available on Netflix. If you want to learn more of Harry's' life, check it out.

Paul Williams, he of  "Rainy Days and Mondays", "We've Only Just Begun" and other hits of the 70's and 80's and a friend of Harrys once called him a "big bunny.......with sharp teeth."  Paul was closely connected with The Muppets and I think of his song, "The Rainbow Connection" with fondness.

I think Harry was more of a living muppet then a bunny. Sort of like John Denver and Mother Angelica. In real life they were caricatures of Jim Hensons creations. He was likable but distant in many ways. He never did any live touring concerts. When asked, he would usually reply..."That's for other people."

Mickey Dolenz (Monkee fans take a bow) once described Harry as living life in a car going at full speed at all times and rather then slowing down when approaching a stone wall would hurtle right at it. Incidentally, Mickey and fellow band member Davy Jones did voice overs for the movie; Davy speaking Oblio's (the main character) lines and Mickey assorted other voices.

It is the RCA album, "A Touch of Schmilsson in the Night" that still floors me every time I hear it. It was released in 1973 and featured a 39 piece ochestra and the voice of Harry flawlessly interpreting some great american songbook songs. His voice can break your heart and heal it again, all in one song.

I think it was Irving Berlins 1923 ballad, "What'll I Do?" that dove head-first into my heart. It was during a turbulent time in my life and the song struck a very large chord. Other masterpieces include, "This Is All I Ask", "As Time Goes By" and "I Wonder Who's Kissing Her Now?"

Johnathan Schwartz still plays tunes from that magnificent album every now and then as he explores "Seriously Sinatra and High Standards" for Sirius radio.

Harry was friends to many, including John Lennon and Ringo Star. I thought of him as a contemporary and noted his passing with sadness. Only one of the three talents I mentioned are with us. And each year the list gets smaller and smaller.

I think the change of seasons is getting to me. I promise to be a bit more upbeat the next time we get together.If you like good music interpreted in a stunning fashion, look into "A Touch of Schmillson in the Night." You wont be sorry

© 2010 George Locke

No Regrets

Hey, I know you're busy, but....can you spare a minute? Do you see those two women over there?  The African American lady with a touch of swagger? Yes, that one. And the white lady beside her?  The one that looks as though a slight breath of air would knock her over? The one with the eyes that stare into your head and bore holes in your soul?

That one is Edith Piaf.  The other is Billy Holiday. And I've been thinking about them, lately.

You see, there's this cabaret review I'm involved with.

Small. Intimate. A tiny theater in central New Hampshre called the Music Clinic; and a member, Laurie McDaniel, a slight, sweet woman with a powerful voice, has chosen to sing Piaf's signature "La Vie en rose". I've listened every night for the past few weeks to this song and Laurie's interpretation of one of Frances' greatest gifts And I became intrigued with Edith.

While growing up, I heard my Quebecois grandfather and my own mother speak in hushed tones of this chanteuse. They quickly changed the subject when I asked. Only saying that she was a wonderful singer. And I heard her scratchy recordings on a wind-up Victrola. A voice of deep poignancy with a vibrato to give you chills. I didn't speak French. But after listening to her sing "Je ne regrette rien", I felt..... somehow... different.  

While casting about on the internet, I noticed that Netflix offered the Oscar-award winning movie of the same name. So, early one afternoon this week, I started watching the actress Marion Cottilard  consumed by the role of "The Little Sparrow" in Olivier Dahans stunning  2007 French/Canadian production of, "La Vie en rose." It was like being present when a train crashed, or an airliner drops from the sky. You don't  want to watch; but you have to.
Towards the beginning of the film, Edith is seen talking to someone in a record studio and behind her on the walls are large photo's of Billy Holiday. She loved Lady Day.

They were both born in the same year and shared a bruised bond of self-inflicted abuse and epic personal tragedy.

Billie Holliday was loved by many things. Men, women, microphones, the needle; but seldom herself  She was born in 1915. Both women were pulled from the people they loved, Both grew up in brothels. Both seldom saw their parents. They each sang and people stopped in their tracks to listen. They both embraced addiction with alcohol and drugs  They spent money. They lived a life of  reckless abandonment, and were connected with those beyond the law. They shared smears from the press and adoration by their fans.  They died within a few years of each other; wrapped in fragile bodies that had become withered, like dry leaves.

But it is Edith and this movie I want to speak of. If you see only one picture in the next month, it must be "La Vie en rose".  I recommend it for the acting. For the non-lineal way the film unfolds. For the brilliant editing by Richard Marizy and the cinematography by Tatsuo Nagata. And the direction.

Cottilard has said her life was changed by working with Olivier Dahans and donning the persona of Piaf. You believe she is "La Mome Piaf" as her life unfolds in flashbacks and then played forward.(Spoiler alert) There is a scene in which she learns of the death of her lover that cannot be described. It must be seen to be felt with all it's intensity. I was drawn to this movie and, though there were times I wanted to go and do other things, I could not. It was that mesmerizing, and it is easy to see why Cottilard won the Oscar as best Actress. My God. That face. Those eyes. Those hands. Her body as it grotesquely ages (another Oscar for makeup). She has channeled Edith, and it is almost too much to look at.

But look you will, in this brilliant bio-pic.

There is a moving scene in the film, "Saving Private Ryan" in which a group of GI's are sitting around in this bombed out shell of a French town in Normandy. The American/French translator, Specialist Timothy B. Upham (played by Jeremy Davies) attached to the unit has found a wind-up record player with a long sound-horn and some records by Piaf. As they are playing, to while away the time, he translates the words to his comrades  And as he speaks, these rough young men of war are visibly softened by her voice and what she is singing about.

I can't tell you more, other then you must see this picture. Much of the singing is from Piafs own recordings. But the acting is Colliards' alone. And it is breathtaking.

You can hear the ghost-like wisps of  "The Little Sparrow" when Laurie sings. If you need directions to the theater, give me a call.  The show runs through tomorrow, October 31st.

© 2010 George Locke 

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Of Soul Searching And Found Gems

Wow! I picked up the paper today and saw that a long overlooked composition by Kris Kristofferson, "Why Me Lord", arranged as a duet between Johnny Cash AND Ray Charles from 1981 has been located and will be released to the general public soon. I got the warm-fuzzies as I read the article. I don't often get the warm-fuzzies, because I'm usually too busy talking to allow anything to interrupt.

I talk far too much for my own good, and, if not for a gentle word now and again from my wife, would blather on forever in gatherings; not allowing anyone else to join in the conversation.

I say things that are a bit "off color" and reveal what I have been asked not to repeat in public.

I am "on" from the moment I get up till my head hits the pillow. And sometimes even while asleep I can disrupt Rose.

This is not a George bash. Just fact.

The one person I can count on to forgive my transgressions, even ahead of my loving wife and family, is Jesus.

I don't talk about my spiritual life very often; except with the people I consider friends, and if you have read this far, then you must share some friendship with me.

I have been kept from harming myself and others for almost 68 years on this earth by Jesus' grace and protection. There were times when, in a younger body and thinking (or not) with a younger mind, I could have left this mortal coil, as the Bard would say, in a spectacular ball of flame and explosive roar of twisted metal.

Or, more likely, with a pathetic whimper.

But he kept me around for a reason, one of them being to write songs for His glory.

There are many good gospel singers, musicians and songwriters out there too numerous to list, including Michael W. Smith, Marty Hagen, among others.

Occasionally, artists from the popular music world will cross over, as is the case with Kristofferson and his perfect song of love and repentance.

He poignantly sings/talks in that gruff voice and asks the question; "....... what have a ever done to deserve even one of the pleasures I've know?" Its a powerful plea to heaven asking for help to do then things that need to be done to repay our Savior for His death on the cross for all of us.

Youtube has a great clip of "The Man In Black" himself doing the song (in this case just his acoustic guitar and humble voice) and another of Kristofferson, which I think is just as powerful. But the idea of Cash singing with Brother Ray soulfully backing him is something I will look forward to hearing.

Amen.

Politics and Poker

The passing of Tom Bosley last week brought into focus the life of a sweet gentle man who's presence was always reassuring.

Bosley was the "Dad" we sometimes wish we had. He was grounded with a marvelous ability to be himself with perfect timing and a professional sense of responsibility that led others (including Henry Winkler and the cast of "Happy Days") to ask him for advice when faced with difficult decisions.

He started in radio, and movies, but his big breakthrough was as Mayor Fiorello H. La Guardia in the Tony award winning musical "Fiorello" in 1960. His interpretation of the rotund, Tammany Hall fighting moderate Republican, who is best remembered for reading the comics to the children over the radio when the newspapers went on strike in the early 1930's, won him the Best Actor in a musical, as well as the musical itself topping the "best of the year" list. "Fiorello" also won a Pulitzer prize, one of only eight Broadway shows to do so.

Such songs from the the show as "Politics and Poker" (one of my favorite tunes from the Great White Way) and "A Little Tin Box", a song sung by a flock of crooked politicians before a judge investigating corruption in New Yorks city hall, are musical gems long overlooked.

Politics and music don't always go hand in hand, but there have been times when the song writers were right on target, Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick ("Fiorello") included.

The Gershwins collaborated with George S. Kaufman and Morrie Ryskin in 1931 with a satiric musical entitled "Of Thee I Sing" which gave us a few memorable tunes, such as the title and "Love Is Sweeping the Country" (Like the Birdies Above) sung by George Murphy and June O'Dea. I'm not sure but I think this song is the theme song for a 1950's sit-com starring either Peter Lawford or Robert Cummings. Or none of the above.

By the way, the show was successful with it's satiric slant even though Kaufman once remarked that ,"Satire is what closes on Saturday night."

There have, of course, always been political theme songs, such as "I Like Ike" from the 1950 presidential race. Dwight Eisenhower (the aforementioned Ike) easily won as he promised to go to Washington to "clean up the house". There was no cleaning. Just a new interior decorator.

Did you ever noticed that about politicians, both coming and going? They always say "we" meaning you and I, are sick of things and they will go to Washington to straighten them out and clean house.

You know what? Frank Capra and Jimmy Stewart are dead. Mr. Smith does not go to Washington anymore, and, frankly, nothing changes. Four years from now, another group will be howling for change. Probably the same ones who are whining now about mud-slinging and wringing their hands as the clock towards mid term election day ticks perilously closer to H hour.

"Politics and poker. Politics and poker. Open up the pack and find the joker."

Yep. Fiorello got it right.

Late Again

Well, I did it again. Missed another birthday. My children (and, unfortunately grandchildren), flung far and wide across this land have become painfully aware of the lack of memory I have when it comes to that day we all celebrate once a year.

Two of my boys have birthdays this month that I managed to miss and several musical legends have slipped under my radar. The musical legends are dead and can't complain. My progeny can and have every right to.

What is it that allows a person approaching 68 years on this earth to wander somewhat aimlessly through life and miss the high-lights? Like birthdays? I hope it's not ego, which sometimes staggers me with it's weight. And I can't blame age, because I have always dealt with this issue.

It's probably short term moronic hiccups. Brain farts that stink up the place.

I'm sorry guys (and girls). Dad and Grampa George has never missed things purposefully. He just needs to try a little harder.

By the way yesterday was John Burks Gillespie (Dizzy) birthday. He of bent horn and soul patch (before it was called that) and bull-frog swelling of the neck, throat and cheeks. Google's logo for him was less then good. It was stupid.

Diz spit balled his way out of Cab (Hi-Dee-Ho) Calloways (later of the movie "The Blues Brothers") band and became the hip-ster daddy of bop along with Charlie Parker, Miles and a handful of others; mostly on 52nd Street. He side-stepped narcotics and gave us "Salt Peanuts", "Night in Tunisia" and "Cubano Be, Cubano Bop". He influenced Chico O'Farrell and Pancho Sanza and a legion of afro/latin based bands.

And the first time I saw his body swell so that his face disappeared leaving only a sepia toned melon for a head with horn rimmed glasses and a piece of bent brass protruding from his mouth, I almost lost my lunch.

But my. What beautiful sounds.

Diz is gone.

My children are still here. I love you madly, and though I might have not said it enough, not a day goes by in which I do not think of you. You are always on my mind.

Love
Dad