Saturday, November 14, 2009

THE MUSIC HOUR

cosmic chagall #5

This morning's radio show was a fiddle and banjo fest of 4 of the great old-time fiddlers. Started with 6 tunes by Benton Flippen with Paul Brown playing banjo from the 1984 at WPAQ fairly recent release. Flippen has a beautiful lyrical style with his bow and on this album he cuts loose. The band, the Smokey Valley Boys, has been the name of the band Benton plays with no matter who is playing, like Ralph Stanley's Clinch Mountain Boys. It's a long list of bluegrass musicians who have been Clinch Mountain Boys. Like the number that have been Blue Grass Boys with Bill Monroe. Benton Flippen worked in a sock factory in MtAiry to retirement.



Four by Norman Edmonds of Hillsville, Virginia, area. Norman's grandson, Jimmy Edmonds is the outstanding fiddler of the region now.
Norman's boy, Jimmy's dad, was a fiddler too. Jimmy's sister, the late Barbara Poole played bass with Larry Sigmon such that they were inseparable until she died. Norman Edmonds had a style all his own that seems to me can be called sawing in the way he bears down on the bow for emphasis, or drags it a certain way to get that sound he wants. It's a raw kind of fiddling. One of my faithful listeners loves Norman Edmonds' playing of Train On An Island, so I started with that. First time I heard it I wondered why it had that name. By the end, I came to believe it's because it sounds like a train going in big circles. Steady wheels on the track rhythm and the same theme with slight variations all the way through, a circular repetition. It actually makes me think of Philip Glass.



Then the Farm Bureau commercial and the weather report today thru Wednesday. I put on a new Tommy Jarrell release with Field Recorders label. Tommy's fiddle is accompanied by Paul Brown of NPR on banjo and Mike Seeger on guitar. Another 1984 recording. More excellent music by master musicians. Started this set with Train On An Island to hear Jarrell's take on it. It wasn't much different from Edmonds but for Tommy's freer bow. You might say Edmonds' playing is tight and Jarrell's is loose by comparison. Next was Groundhog, Tommy singing it. At the start, it seemed like the 3 musicians were each playing something different. They sounded like they kept trying to get together and couldn't make it, so Tommy stepped in and started singing the song. Then they all came together behind his singing. I'm not certain this is what happened, but that's how it sounded in my ear.



To finish the hour I played 3 tunes by Pop (Joe) Birchfield with the Roan Mountain Hilltoppers. They're out of NE Tennessee close to the border with Ashe County. The Hilltoppers are a band with drive. As soon as they start, the drive is on. They played Brown's Dream and Cumberland Gap, the latter a different way from what's played around here. I closed the hour with Pop Birchfield playing solo Old Time Sally Ann. That one ended the hour perfectly. A good hour of fiddle playing as good as it gets.
Joe Birchfield has a good raw sound. Like the old feller said, they aint a note in that fiddle he aint found.



And then it's over. My most fun hour of the week has come to an end. You see, I crank the sound way up like it's Eric Clapton I'm listening to with Steve Winwood back in the day, as they say, hearing it all, not missing anything, feeling it, wanting every tune to be just right to give my listeners an hour of music this good from right here at home. I'd venture that most of my listeners grew up listening to this music; grandpa played a fiddle, another grandpa played a banjo. It's this way everywhere around here.



This music is these mountains in the same way Ralph Stanley is these mountains. The music carries in it the spirit of these mountains. In the music is where the spirit of these mountains lives now. The culture has gone away, but the spirit of it goes on living. Now the music has spread all over the country. It was a trend a few years ago for electric punk bands to go acoustic and start playing old time music mountain style in California, Boston, New York and all around the country.



Old-time drive is the same as punk drive. It's all out. In both old-time and punk no one instrument stands out from the others; they all play together. Rock came out of country and blues, both of which came out of old-time. When the guitar heroes of the 60s, Clapton, Jimmy Page, Keith Richard, were out there on their own good as it gets, how can the next generation of teenagers learning guitar in their suburban bedrooms with headphones get good enough to be noticed in the wake of their massive artistry? Punk happened in 1975, going back to basics of 50s r&r. No big, awesome solos. They didn't know it, but they went all the way back to old-time and started over at the beginning, electric.



Punk got the press of being angry youth, but it was art school students where punk started happening. Joe Strummer, Paul Simenon and Mick Jones of The Clash met in London art school. Patti Smith was an artist. Siouxsie Sioux was in art school. Lou Reed and John Cale of Velvet Underground were artists. That explains the wild outfits better than anger. Anger isn't that creative. Anger got expressed in a wing of punk called Hard Core, which amounts to the noise of rage testosterone style.



I tend to hear all the music the same. All of it came out of old-time. Until recording came along and variations began emerging into pop music, country, bluegrass, blues, jazz, r&b, r&r, rock, and whatever's next, it was called music. I hear bluegrass is jazz using old-time tunes for the standards like jazz uses Broadway tunes for the standards. Looking in a new biography of jazz pianist Thelonious Monk, I saw where somewhere somebody asked him in a public setting about the music issue of the day, what he made of the classical music / jazz divide. Monk's answer, "Two is one." That's how I tend to see the bluegrass / country / rock divide. Three is one. One is music.

Friday, November 13, 2009

TARBABY THE CAT

tarbaby in a box


The vet wants to keep TarBaby awhile longer. The white blood cell count is still way high after antibiotics. It's pointing to more complex issues, like possibly thyroid problem, so Tar will stay a few more days. He doesn't seem to be in a hurry to get home. He appears comfortable where he is. Evidently he knows he's not well and this is the get well place. If he wanted me to take him home, he knows how to get the message across. He'd be all claws climbing all over my arms and shoulders howling.




He's always calm. I hold him awhile, talk with him and he's happy with that. When I put him back in the cage, he makes no effort to try to get out before I close the door. In fact, I can stand there and talk to him with the door open and he is willing to stay. Possibly the cage is a protection for him where the other cats and the dogs in there can't reach him. He's been in there almost a week and still no anxiety to come home. Fairly clear he understands his situation.




When our dog friend Aster was living, TarBaby wanted to be Aster's friend all the time he was growing up. Aster and I were the big ones and TarBaby wanted to be one of the big ones with us. When I brought the kittens in the house at 2 weeks old, Aster, who had raised a kitten before, Peck, was done raising cats. Peck had slept on Aster, jumped on her, slid down her back, generally used her for a cat toy. One was enough. She let the 3 kittens know by growling when they hobbled anywhere near where she was stretched out on her bed. She let them know from the start she didn't care what they did, but you don't get on the dog. Stay off the dog. That was Aster's only requirement.




The day TarBaby wandered out of this room into the kitchen, out of sight of the other 2 the first time, he was a little anxious, but exploring and finding more interesting details. He turned around and saw Aster. I saw in his eyes the moment he conceived the mission. A flash in his eyes and he took off running toward Aster lying on her bed. This was the first time I saw any of them run. He made a flying squirrel leap through the air, the other 2 watching in terror, because it looked bad. He landed with all 4 feet on Aster's rump. Aster was up in one move, turned around and had her whole mouth over TarBaby, whose head was in her throat, growling like a bear.




She slowly raised her mouth and I saw TarBaby sitting paralyzed. Caterpillar and Tapo looked on in awe, themselves paralyzed by fright seeing Aster eat TarBaby for his first offence. Aster sat up and looked at TarBaby with eyes that said, You don't ever do that again. TarBaby was so far gone in his paralysis he could do nothing but sit there. After a short time he started creeping to the edge of Aster's bed, slow as he could go, and the others watched. He hopped to the floor and all three of them hobbled to the middle of the floor when the rug at the time was a Chinese design with a medallion in the middle. All three of them walked to that circle in the center of the room, nearly comatose from fear, piled up in a knot and fell asleep. They slept there quite awhile. TarBaby never jumped on Aster again. Neither did Tapo or Caterpillar.




Later, when they were able to go outside, Aster would lie down in one of her places and the 3 kittens crawled around. When any of them, say TarBaby was headed toward the road, Aster went and turned him around with her nose to head him away from the road. And it took. I wouldn't have had any idea how to teach a kitten to stay out of the road without histrionics. Aster did it with a nudge from her nose. She was available to help teach them things they needed to know to live here, but the rule stood, don't get on the dog.




TarBaby growing up wanted to be Aster's friend with all his might. Because he wanted to be her friend so bad, he made himself ridiculous in attempts to play. One time when TarBaby was a big kitten, he followed when Aster and I went walking up the road. TarBaby was one of the big ones. He was walking with us, keeping up, being there, a big one too. He started getting anxious when we left sight of the house, but he was ok, because he was with the big ones. He walked out ahead of us a ways, 50 feet or so, turned around and saw Aster and me. Again I saw the flash in his eyes.




He took off running up to full speed straight at Aster, who stood beside me and watched with her head down relaxed. TarBaby's eyes were wide open and he was full bore, bearing down on Aster. He was going to pounce on Aster now that they're friends. Aster never moved. At a certain distance of maybe 10 feet he saw Aster's eyes that were just looking at him saying, Don't do it. TarBaby hit the brakes with all 4 feet on gravel road, all claws extended the max trying to get a grip on the road, sprawled out and turned half sideways in the slide, his eyes on Aster's eyes the whole time. The moment his momentum stopped, he sprang through the air from the middle of the road to the tall grass at the ditch and up the bank to the other side of the fence. He walked all the way back to the house with us on the other side of the fence.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

GOOD TIMES

composition in gray #14

Good conversations today, all through the day. I slept into the morning in no hurry to get up. Up around 10, tea and emails. At 11:30 I met Jim Winfield for lunch at the Circle L. He's on his way out again for 3 winter months in Southeast Asia. Every year he goes someplace in the winter months. Last year he went to Southeast Asia, Cambodia, Laos, Thailand. This time it will be Thailand, Laos and southern VietNam and Malaysia. The winter before that he went to India. He doesn't go to tourist hotels. His adult life he was in the Peace Corps in Ecuador living among rural Indians, Haiti and then Zambia in Africa. He knows how to go solo on the back roads.

From the Circle L I went to Kermit's barber shop. Only man in there was in the chair. Good timing. Kermit is a bass player by night. Tuesday and at least one Saturday night a month he plays at the Jubilee with the Rise & Shine Band, a bluegrass dance band. He's been playing bluegrass bass for many years. He and Jr have been friends all the way along and they made a lot of music together, both respecting each other's musianship. We talked about Jr the whole time Kermit was cutting my hair. Mostly we talked about how much everyone who knew him loved him. It wasn't just liking an awful lot, but love the people who knew Jr felt for him, a love that is real for someone so unselfconsciously real.

I consider the woman who knew him all of both their lives said his was a life of compassion. Add that to what I'm finding that so many people love Jr with a wide open heart and it starts adding up to what I've been seeing for a few years now, that this is one remarkable human being, one to pay attention to. His cousin Richard, who made a lot of music with Jr and they worked bulldozers together for years, called Jr gifted. He had a brilliant mind that in a rural setting turns to learning a musical instrument, sawmilling and figuring things out. Sawmilling takes an unwavering focus of attention, same as bulldozer operating, welding and everything else he did. Every person he talked with he gave unwavering attention.

He told me once he thought himself the lowest of everybody. Everybody he held higher than himself. I saw over the next years what he meant. Just what he said. That is the measure of his humility. I don't know if I've known anyone as naturally humble a man as Jr. His humility was automatic, required no thought. He actually did look up to everyone. He never passed judgment on anyone during our conversations and taught me by example judgment's worthlessness. Other people's business was never of interest to Jr. He respected everyone's privacy the same as he expected his own privacy to be respected. He wouldn't rat on anybody for anything for any reason.

Some years ago Southwest Virginia lawyer Lorne Campbell told me the man he respects is a man who will not rat under any circumstances. He said that's a rare individual. Campbell himself was such a man and had he known Jr, he would have respected Jr as I do. Jr's lawyer Jimmy Reeves always wanted to sit and talk with him whenever Jr went to his office. Telling me about it, he asked me why an educated man like that who's been through college and lawschool wants to talk with somebody uneducated like him. I told him it's respect. I took it to mean he saw in Jr what I saw in Jr, a remarkably intelligent man. He didn't buy it.

A few weeks before his last breath he said out of the blue, 'I've never done anything I'm ashamed of.' It told me this is one of the subjects he studied while drifting in that place between awake and asleep. He said it with satisfaction like it was important to him, as we'd automatically assume, but it's not necessarily a guiding light for everyone. I thought it a good thing to find about oneself in a time in life when there's nothing to do but lie in bed and think.

From Kermit's I went on to Twin Oaks to see TarBaby. This time his cubicle was on the floor level. Before, he was on the second floor. I sat on the floor and opened the door inviting him to let me hold him. He stepped into my arms, walked up my right upper arm onto my shoulders where he walked back and forth a couple of times, sat down awhile, then walked down my left arm to be held. I held him with his forelegs draped over my left arm, held him and talked to him, assured him I'm not abandoning him. He knows that. I saw confidence yesterday too, that I'm still with him. I'm grateful to Jr for insight into the importance of visitation in confinement. TarBaby looked much improved today over yesterday. He was relaxed like he'd been expecting a visit.








Wednesday, November 11, 2009

TARBABY ON HOLD

tarbaby behind bars



Yesterday I went to see TarBaby at the cat and dog hospital in Twin Oaks. Glad I did. Tar was having an I V hose run to his leg. The needle was held in place by a cushioned sleeve made especially for such needs. The place on his leg that's shaved had the needle in it. He was overjoyed that I came to see him. He understood he was in place for awhile, wasn't anxious for me to liberate him. At first, he recognized me by sight and scent, but was a little hesitant to be touched until I took off the shirt I brought to put in the cage for him to use for a bed. I'd worn it 3 days, so it carried my scent. Before I left the house I'd put it over the shirt I was wearing to take it off when I saw TarBaby. Placing it in his cubicle he started purring loud. He'll prefer it to stainless steel to sleep on. Plus, it has the scent of home in it. I took the purring for gratitude.



I petted him and petted him, talked to him, called him ElGato, the name he especially likes, explained to him I can't take him home yet. He knew already. I felt like he knew this was a hospital stay, that it was making him feel better, that he was coming around. Didn't like what was being done to him, but seemed to understand. I'm suddenly seeing TarBaby an old cat. I expect he has some years left in him. I believe Nash Williams saved TarBaby's life. He was that close. He was too far gone to be able to turn around on his own. His spirit made the turn, but the body couldn't follow.



I went back today and took Tar another shirt I'd worn for 2 days. The other one had different hospital scents on it by then, so he had a fresh shirt to sleep on that smelled only of home. He was happy to see me. He was unplugged from the I V and looking good. He'd been eating well. Again, he felt no compulsion for me to take him home, appearing to understand his time there is not yet done. There are antibiotics yet. I'll go back tomorrow and visit him every day. I'm glad I had the insight from the experience with Jr to know how valuable a visit is. Each day I'm letting TarBaby know I've not abandoned him, that I will take him home when his health is ready.



The same as it doesn't feel right that Jr Maxwell has gone over yonder, it doesn't feel right that TarBaby is alarmingly unwell. He's been a mild mannered cat from when he was born. The personalities of the three cats are the same grown up as they were individually as kittens, except for the changes experience makes. When they were 2, 3 and 4 weeks old I was feeding them formula from the vet with a syringe. Tapo and Caterpillar were ravenous. Tapo the most. Tapo wanted to be ingesting every second she was awake. As a result, she's round as a black soccer ball grown up. Tapo and Caterpillar would climb my pants leg, sometimes one up each leg at the same time.



At first, I couldn't tell TarBaby and Tapo apart. For a few days I fed one of the black ones, then Caterpillar, then the other black one. The other black one turned out to be Tapo for a couple of days. TarBaby suddenly was weak one morning. He'd not had any food for a couple of days. Tapo was getting fed twice. I had to start feeding Caterpillar first so I could pick up one black one after putting the other black one down. TarBaby wasn't at all aggressive for food. Tapo and Caterpillar were ravenous, could not be ignored, while TarBaby stood back and waited his turn. He's that way grown up too. He's like totally Mr Cool, like Matt Dillon in his teen movies.



All my life I've lived among people that believed 4-legged animals were nothing to even notice. Targets. Something to torment. It was all right to sell them, leave them, kill them, whatever. They're just animals. Now that I've lived with 3 dogs and 4 cats, I've learned what The Garden is. It is innocence of duality that gets we with the forebrain in trouble not knowing how to handle it, groping in the dark. We believe we can control one thing and another, and that belief we're in control is as big an illusion as there is. Cats don't need to control anything. Neither do dogs or any other critter without the forebrain.



Strangely, we with the forebrains hold as the ideal transcending the forebrain and getting back to non-duality, The Garden. I live with the 3 cats as with 3 people who live in The Garden. They're in it and I'm not. That, as I see it in my own case, explains their charm and gives me insight into life in The Garden, or freedom from belief we have to control things. To live in the present moment as completely as they do, we'd have to shut down thoughts of future and past, self and other, motivations and let whatever is happening be what's happening. I found Jr one who let whatever was happening be it, no compulsion to change what is already over, no need to control anyone but himself.



TarBaby is free to let what happens be what is, unless it's in the form of a dog. Then it's martial arts alert; back and tail up, ears back, teeth showing, claws extended, fury in the eyes, a hiss that says welcome to the meat grinder. He has a good set of claws for face slashing, the last resort and a serious threat. Or they can shuffle him up a tree at running speed. I saw when they were kittens their fascination learning they have claws and what all they can do with the claws. We have similar fascination with our fingers when we're little, learning what they'll do, when we're still in The Garden, though looking for the EXIT as fast as we can go. I want to be free. I want my own mind. I want to use words. I want to believe things unbelievable. I want to worry day and night for life. Aarrrghh!!! Can't get back in the exit door. It's locked from the inside.