My heart still beating
Feels like Im cheating
Death another day
Heading this way
Anyway
We can do better than this
We can do better than this
We can do better we can do better
Better than this.
People dying in the streets
Who can tell me why
Guns in all these hands
Who can tell me why
It’s just another walk in the park
Coming to each day
Waking from the dark
Of night
When we fight the stark
Reality of fear
Why am I hear
What to cheer
As 139000 tears
Of families
Why do we freeze in place
About a mask in place on our face
In these times that we live in
We cannot start to give in
Only to find that we are giving
Freedoms up that we fought for
Freedoms bought and paid for
In blood and tears in these times
That seem like times before.
+++++
Take a walk in the park
It’s not dark
Anymore
There’s a break in the clouds
Sun’s shining through
And I’m still in love with you
The storm is still raging
But it’s passing too
Cus I’m still in love with you
These days are passing slowly
Feeling low
Feeling low down and dirty
Just feeling dirty
Like our country losing its heart and its soul
Wishing hoping praying
We find a way to come together
And be whole
Again
instead of laying down these blues.
They sailed from European lands
Seeking better lives.
They came with children all these
Husbands all these wives
Forgetting what they left behind
All thinking all the same
We can do better than this
We can do better than this
We can do better
We can do better
Better than this
+++++
Her name was Carol Rose
Carol Rose was her name
And all the girls I’ve known since then
They all seem just the same
But Carol Rose was the first
The one I thought I loved
But it was as they say
A passing fancy
From those old high school days.
I think there was a Patty
But the others I don’t even remember their names now
But yeah I think there was a Patty
Why I remember that and nothing else about her or how
We even met
But Carol Rose
Sat there all alone at a high school dance
I asked for the slow one and she said yes
Just lucky that one time I guess.
+++++
When the last warrior dies
But the battle still ain’t won
It’s time for others to reach down and
Pick up the sword and his ancient gun
And know that the time has come
A new fight has begun
+++++
Virus attack
Hurts my back
Still want to shack
Up with you
Glad that I did
It’s not a bid
Can’t put a lid
On my love for you
House mouse louse souse
Arouse browse
Croud loud browed cloud endowed
Rhyme time lime grime dime slime
Why am i trying to rhyme have I so little time to waste
Or should that be so much time to waste?
+++++
These times these times
How hard they may be
For old and young and frail
Those more so than me
+++++
When the last warrior is gone
But the battle still ain’t won
Will someone come along
To take up the sword and gun
There’s got to be another way.
Will they find the words to say
We can do better than this
We can do better than this
We can do better
We can do better
Better than this.
+++++
My heart still beating
Feels like Im cheating
Death another day
Heading this way
Anyway
We can do better than this
We can do better than this
We can do better we can do better
Better than this.
People dying in the streets
Who can tell me why
Guns in all these hands
Who can tell me why
It’s just another walk in the park
Coming to each day
Waking from the dark
Of night
When we fight the stark
Reality of fear
Why am I hear
What to cheer
As 139000 tears
Of families
Why do we freeze in place
About a mask in place on our face
In these times that we live in
We cannot start to give in
Only to find that we are giving
Freedoms up that we fought for
Freedoms bought and paid for
In blood and tears in these times
That seem like times before.
+++++
Take a walk in the park
It’s not dark
Anymore
There’s a break in the clouds
Sun’s shining through
And I’m still in love with you
The storm is still raging
But it’s passing too
Cus I’m still in love with you
These days are passing slowly
Feeling low
Feeling low down and dirty
Just feeling dirty
Like our country losing its heart and its soul
Wishing hoping praying
We find a way to come together
And be whole
Again
instead of laying down these blues.
They sailed from European lands
Seeking better lives.
They came with children all these
Husbands all these wives
Forgetting what they left behind
All thinking all the same
We can do better than this
We can do better than this
We can do better
We can do better
Better than this
+++++
Her name was Carol Rose
Carol Rose was her name
And all the girls I’ve known since then
They all seem just the same
But Carol Rose was the first
The one I thought I loved
But it was as they say
A passing fancy
From those old high school days.
I think there was a Patty
But the others I don’t even remember their names now
But yeah I think there was a Patty
Why I remember that and nothing else about her or how
We even met
But Carol Rose
Sat there all alone at a high school dance
I asked for the slow one and she said yes
Just lucky that one time I guess.
+++++
When the last warrior dies
But the battle still ain’t won
It’s time for others to reach down and
Pick up the sword and his ancient gun
And know that the time has come
A new fight has begun
+++++
Virus attack
Hurts my back
Still want to shack
Up with you
Glad that I did
It’s not a bid
Can’t put a lid
On my love for you
House mouse louse souse
Arouse browse
Croud loud browed cloud endowed
Rhyme time lime grime dime slime
Why am i trying to rhyme have I so little time to waste
Or should that be so much time to waste?
+++++
These times these times
How hard they may be
For old and young and frail
Those more so than me
+++++
When the last warrior is gone
But the battle still ain’t won
Will someone come along
To take up the sword and gun
There’s got to be another way.
Will they find the words to say
We can do better than this
We can do better than this
We can do better
We can do better
Better than this.
Saturday, July 25, 2020
Thursday, July 23, 2020
Newport 2014
They say you always remember your first time. I do.
Newport Folk and Jazz Festivals had been on my bucket list since the 1960s, but I never had the wherewithal to go for a variety of reasons. By the time I was adult enough, the folk festival went on hiatus. When it returned in 1985, I was headlong into life, marriage, kids. As they grew, my first wife became disabled. I worked and tried to care for her.
She passed in 2013.
2014 came and it was time for another bucket list item. When I was younger, my parents took a lot of road trip vacations, and in those travels, we stayed in or at least travelled through a lot of states. Up to that point in my life, I had been in almost all of the contiguous U.S. I was missing most of New England and the Pacific Northwest. I needed seven more to say I’ve been in all 48.
The Newport Folk and Jazz Festivals gave me the opportunity. The plan was simple. Three days in Rhode Island for some folk. Then three days in New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine for some golf. Then back to the Fort for three days of jazz
Sadly Pete Seeger passed early in 2014.
On my way to Rhode Island, I drove over the Hudson River on the Tappan Zee Bridge. I thought of the work that Seeger had done to restore the Hudson and I cried a little. I cried again on the first day of the Folk Festival and I saw they had the flag over Fort Adams flying at half mast. Seemed fitting.
I took a lot of pictures that first year.
I walked around from stage to stage trying to see as many sets as possible. Spent time in the Museum where I saw Christopher Paul Stelling for the first time. This was a year before he performed on the Harbor Stage and proposed to his now wife, Julia. I saw him at the Tall Tale Festival in Burlington, WI and recognized the guitar. Showed him and Julia the picture. We had a good laugh about it and chatted a while after his set.
Chris Funk has always done great things with the “For Pete’s Sake portion of the festival and carrying on the traditions. That first year I saw a hurdy gurdy man and Jeff Tweedy do a exceptional solo set. Funk also runs the Open Stage portion of the festival. I have to admit I felt kinda cool being on the same list with Bob and two famous Johns.
I heard many great performances that first year. Some by people I've never heard of some that I have. That's one of my favorite parts of Newport, discovering new people to listen to. 2014 helped me appreciate Willie Watson, Norah Jones, Shovels and Rope, Hurray for the Riff Raff, Lucius and others even more. And who knew John C. Riley could do folk that way?
I kept running into Dan Blakeslee throughout the three days of the festival. Regulars at the festival know Dan from the sets he does at the family tent, and from how he sets up busking on the last night of the festival. Dan is there every year. The picture here is of Glen Hansard, a fomer busker himself watching Blakeslee on the dock. It was taken in 2018 by Joe Purdy.
The closer that year was Mavis Staples. She was introduced by George Wein. I don’t think Mavis could ever put on a bad show. She closed her set with “We Shall Overcome.” I thought of Pete. I cried again.
I stayed on the harbor for a while, taking in the sunset, watching the crews taking down equipment and vendors packing up. I was the last straggler as it was getting dark. I walked toward the Fort Adams gift store. Dan Blakeslee was still on the steps. I sat down next to him, wishing I had brought my harmonica. We chatted a bit, laughing about how we kept running into each other for the last three days.
Dan said, “One of the organizers said I should go to the after party. Want to come with?” Being the old fuck that I am and not knowing at the time if I would ever get back to the fort, of course I said yes. I didn’t stay long, but I did get to briefly shake Mavis’s hand as she drove by in a golf cart. Somewhere I have really bad out of focus pictures of Lucius and one of Jay Sweet valiantly trying and failing to light the flame to send off a small hot air balloon to celebrate the end of the festival.
I remember seeing George Wein driving around in the Wein Machine during the festival. I walked up to him, shook his hand, and said something about it being my first time and that I was having a great time. I know I said, “Thank you Mr. Wein.” He said, “Please come back.”
After the failed hot air balloon launch, I walked up to Jay Sweet, to thank him for the three days. Pretty much the same conversation I had with Wein. Sweet said, “Please come back.”
In 2015, I didn’t return. I went to the Picathon Festival in Portland, Oregon and finished off that bucket list of having been in the 48 contiguous states.
I didn’t meet my second wife at the Festival, but we came together in 2016, and every year since then. We tend to hang out mostly in the Museum Stage because that’s part of our family now. Nick Noble, Bill Scorzari, Bryan Minto, Chris Funk, Liana Gabel are there every year, too. We saw Kris Kristofferson do his surprise solo set one year. We saw two old friends, John Cohen and Rambling Jack Elliot meet up again.
We’ll miss this year but hope the first note of next year returns. We’ll be there to hear it. Who knows, maybe we'll make more ourselves.
Newport Folk and Jazz Festivals had been on my bucket list since the 1960s, but I never had the wherewithal to go for a variety of reasons. By the time I was adult enough, the folk festival went on hiatus. When it returned in 1985, I was headlong into life, marriage, kids. As they grew, my first wife became disabled. I worked and tried to care for her.
She passed in 2013.
2014 came and it was time for another bucket list item. When I was younger, my parents took a lot of road trip vacations, and in those travels, we stayed in or at least travelled through a lot of states. Up to that point in my life, I had been in almost all of the contiguous U.S. I was missing most of New England and the Pacific Northwest. I needed seven more to say I’ve been in all 48.
The Newport Folk and Jazz Festivals gave me the opportunity. The plan was simple. Three days in Rhode Island for some folk. Then three days in New Hampshire, Vermont, and Maine for some golf. Then back to the Fort for three days of jazz
Sadly Pete Seeger passed early in 2014.On my way to Rhode Island, I drove over the Hudson River on the Tappan Zee Bridge. I thought of the work that Seeger had done to restore the Hudson and I cried a little. I cried again on the first day of the Folk Festival and I saw they had the flag over Fort Adams flying at half mast. Seemed fitting.
I took a lot of pictures that first year.
I walked around from stage to stage trying to see as many sets as possible. Spent time in the Museum where I saw Christopher Paul Stelling for the first time. This was a year before he performed on the Harbor Stage and proposed to his now wife, Julia. I saw him at the Tall Tale Festival in Burlington, WI and recognized the guitar. Showed him and Julia the picture. We had a good laugh about it and chatted a while after his set.
Chris Funk has always done great things with the “For Pete’s Sake portion of the festival and carrying on the traditions. That first year I saw a hurdy gurdy man and Jeff Tweedy do a exceptional solo set. Funk also runs the Open Stage portion of the festival. I have to admit I felt kinda cool being on the same list with Bob and two famous Johns.
I heard many great performances that first year. Some by people I've never heard of some that I have. That's one of my favorite parts of Newport, discovering new people to listen to. 2014 helped me appreciate Willie Watson, Norah Jones, Shovels and Rope, Hurray for the Riff Raff, Lucius and others even more. And who knew John C. Riley could do folk that way?
The closer that year was Mavis Staples. She was introduced by George Wein. I don’t think Mavis could ever put on a bad show. She closed her set with “We Shall Overcome.” I thought of Pete. I cried again.
I stayed on the harbor for a while, taking in the sunset, watching the crews taking down equipment and vendors packing up. I was the last straggler as it was getting dark. I walked toward the Fort Adams gift store. Dan Blakeslee was still on the steps. I sat down next to him, wishing I had brought my harmonica. We chatted a bit, laughing about how we kept running into each other for the last three days.
Dan said, “One of the organizers said I should go to the after party. Want to come with?” Being the old fuck that I am and not knowing at the time if I would ever get back to the fort, of course I said yes. I didn’t stay long, but I did get to briefly shake Mavis’s hand as she drove by in a golf cart. Somewhere I have really bad out of focus pictures of Lucius and one of Jay Sweet valiantly trying and failing to light the flame to send off a small hot air balloon to celebrate the end of the festival.
I remember seeing George Wein driving around in the Wein Machine during the festival. I walked up to him, shook his hand, and said something about it being my first time and that I was having a great time. I know I said, “Thank you Mr. Wein.” He said, “Please come back.”
After the failed hot air balloon launch, I walked up to Jay Sweet, to thank him for the three days. Pretty much the same conversation I had with Wein. Sweet said, “Please come back.”
In 2015, I didn’t return. I went to the Picathon Festival in Portland, Oregon and finished off that bucket list of having been in the 48 contiguous states.
I didn’t meet my second wife at the Festival, but we came together in 2016, and every year since then. We tend to hang out mostly in the Museum Stage because that’s part of our family now. Nick Noble, Bill Scorzari, Bryan Minto, Chris Funk, Liana Gabel are there every year, too. We saw Kris Kristofferson do his surprise solo set one year. We saw two old friends, John Cohen and Rambling Jack Elliot meet up again.
We’ll miss this year but hope the first note of next year returns. We’ll be there to hear it. Who knows, maybe we'll make more ourselves.
Friday, July 17, 2020
music thoughts.
Musicians need to work. They need to get paid and tipped generously. People need to buy albums, download files, buy merchandise and otherwise put money into the hands of the musicians they love. They need to go to live shows. And venues, large and small need to pay for the entertainment.
Streaming services need to pay more too. Amazon, for example, pays $0.009 for a stream of one song. That means an artist has to have one song stream 111 times to make one dollar. Other streaming services like Spotify, Youtube, Google, Apple, and others pay even less.
It’s not just an American problem. It's endemic throughout the music industry. It's also endemic throughout the book publishing world. My wife has sold hundred, if not thousands, of her book on teaching music. Once or twice a year she gets a royalties check from the publisher. It is the publisher that gets the lion's share of that sale by far. That business model is more profitable for the purveyor of the art, not the creators of it.
That's why it's essential for music lovers to buy more directly from the artists. Buy from websites, from merch tables. Sure use Amazon to stream, Itunes, but actually buy the songs to put on your phone and players.
Look at the UK pay scale. Imagine the artist having to sing that one song that many times to make minimum wage. In the U.S. it's $7.25. That's over 800 streams to make one hour's worth of pay from Amazon. If fans would be one copy of the entire album on which the song appears, the artist would get more.
This is not the fault of fans. This is the greed of the system that has made this happen.
In these days of venues being closed, online performances are what most musicians have been reduced to doing to try to make ends meet. For the most part those performances are offered free, with maybe an online tip jar. I'm not sure that that is a good business model for artists either.
Streaming services need to pay more too. Amazon, for example, pays $0.009 for a stream of one song. That means an artist has to have one song stream 111 times to make one dollar. Other streaming services like Spotify, Youtube, Google, Apple, and others pay even less.
That's why it's essential for music lovers to buy more directly from the artists. Buy from websites, from merch tables. Sure use Amazon to stream, Itunes, but actually buy the songs to put on your phone and players.
Look at the UK pay scale. Imagine the artist having to sing that one song that many times to make minimum wage. In the U.S. it's $7.25. That's over 800 streams to make one hour's worth of pay from Amazon. If fans would be one copy of the entire album on which the song appears, the artist would get more.
This is not the fault of fans. This is the greed of the system that has made this happen.
In these days of venues being closed, online performances are what most musicians have been reduced to doing to try to make ends meet. For the most part those performances are offered free, with maybe an online tip jar. I'm not sure that that is a good business model for artists either.
Thursday, July 02, 2020
When We Meet
A friend of mine in Milwaukee sends occasional short emails that briefly and succinctly get a point across. Today she sent this:
When passing another Black person, I make eye contact, give a slight nod and, often, say "good morning." I adopted the habit back in college when we were grains of pepper in a salt mill. I still get annoyed when the silent solidarity is ignored. I once asked a friend why she didn't greet black people on the street. She asked me why I would expend energy on strangers. I'm in Botswana again. Brown faces everywhere: cafes, head offices, billboards, everywhere. Strange how the logistics and legacy of "minority" have etched into my bones. I'm still nodding and greeting passing strangers, "Dumela." Less for solidarity and much more like celebration. - Dasha Kelly Hamilton
It struck a chord with me.
I must admit that I had to look up the word "dumela." It is a common word among the numerous and various languages on the African continent. From a variety of sources, I found that among the Bantu, it means "good morning" or "hello." In other parts of the continent it means "believe." In still other parts it means "complain" or "attack." I would prefer the first two meanings, mainly because I think we have too much attacking and complaining going on.
In Polish we say "Dzień dobry." When I started subbing this past school year, one of my first encounters in Round Lake High School involved twin freshman girls in an English class. They were immigrants from Poland and they appreciated that I asked them how they were doing in Polish. I'll admit that the native language of my dad and grandmother did not transfer down to me other than in a few perfunctory phrases. Still, in subsequent duties at the school, whenever I saw either of the girls in the hall or a class, we exchanged the greeting, and smiled.
The purpose of such greetings, be it in Poland, or Africa, or the United States is to acknowledge the existence of another person, even a stranger. That's what struck a chord with me in the short email from my friend.
In these pandemic times, we don't see other people that often. If we're out of work or working at home we certainly don't see the usual cadre of coworkers. Our encounters with others involve people with whom our experience is fleeting at best. A glance and nod at the delivery person. A brief conversation with the clerk in a store.
I take a walk every day if I can. On the way to the train station I occasionally see people, mostly strangers, some regularly, like the young woman playing fetch with her dog. Odd that I know the name of the dog, Gladys, and not the name of the woman. Another young woman I see regularly is named Janelli. She usually is jogging past me, but one time she slowed and we talked briefly. Now we smile and wave to each other.
And a lot of strangers. People I see regularly. People for the first time. People that I never see again. People I see over and over.
I see someone, I say “Good morning.” It’s an acknowledgement of their presence, on the same path, in this same moment of time. You’re human. I’m human. You have a dog.
Sometimes, though, the other person is involved in a phone conversation, or jogging furiously, engrossed in whatever is blaring in their earbuds. I still say, “Good morning,” but they go merrily on their way seemingly unaware of their surroundings or other beings on the planet.
What my friend refers to as a silent solidarity. I think that is the real purpose of “dumela” or "dzień dobry” or “bonjour” or “Góðan daginn” or “Madainn mhath” or “aloha kakahiaka”
Or
“صباح الخير”
or
“早上好”
Or any of the other thousands of languages of this world we humans share. When we meet, whether as friends or strangers, we share a common humanity, a common air, a common Earth, the ground on which we walk. Yes, it’s a good morning. We’re in this world together. Let’s acknowledge that and celebrate indeed.
When passing another Black person, I make eye contact, give a slight nod and, often, say "good morning." I adopted the habit back in college when we were grains of pepper in a salt mill. I still get annoyed when the silent solidarity is ignored. I once asked a friend why she didn't greet black people on the street. She asked me why I would expend energy on strangers. I'm in Botswana again. Brown faces everywhere: cafes, head offices, billboards, everywhere. Strange how the logistics and legacy of "minority" have etched into my bones. I'm still nodding and greeting passing strangers, "Dumela." Less for solidarity and much more like celebration. - Dasha Kelly Hamilton
It struck a chord with me.
I must admit that I had to look up the word "dumela." It is a common word among the numerous and various languages on the African continent. From a variety of sources, I found that among the Bantu, it means "good morning" or "hello." In other parts of the continent it means "believe." In still other parts it means "complain" or "attack." I would prefer the first two meanings, mainly because I think we have too much attacking and complaining going on.
In Polish we say "Dzień dobry." When I started subbing this past school year, one of my first encounters in Round Lake High School involved twin freshman girls in an English class. They were immigrants from Poland and they appreciated that I asked them how they were doing in Polish. I'll admit that the native language of my dad and grandmother did not transfer down to me other than in a few perfunctory phrases. Still, in subsequent duties at the school, whenever I saw either of the girls in the hall or a class, we exchanged the greeting, and smiled.
The purpose of such greetings, be it in Poland, or Africa, or the United States is to acknowledge the existence of another person, even a stranger. That's what struck a chord with me in the short email from my friend.
In these pandemic times, we don't see other people that often. If we're out of work or working at home we certainly don't see the usual cadre of coworkers. Our encounters with others involve people with whom our experience is fleeting at best. A glance and nod at the delivery person. A brief conversation with the clerk in a store.
I take a walk every day if I can. On the way to the train station I occasionally see people, mostly strangers, some regularly, like the young woman playing fetch with her dog. Odd that I know the name of the dog, Gladys, and not the name of the woman. Another young woman I see regularly is named Janelli. She usually is jogging past me, but one time she slowed and we talked briefly. Now we smile and wave to each other.
And a lot of strangers. People I see regularly. People for the first time. People that I never see again. People I see over and over.
I see someone, I say “Good morning.” It’s an acknowledgement of their presence, on the same path, in this same moment of time. You’re human. I’m human. You have a dog.
Sometimes, though, the other person is involved in a phone conversation, or jogging furiously, engrossed in whatever is blaring in their earbuds. I still say, “Good morning,” but they go merrily on their way seemingly unaware of their surroundings or other beings on the planet.
What my friend refers to as a silent solidarity. I think that is the real purpose of “dumela” or "dzień dobry” or “bonjour” or “Góðan daginn” or “Madainn mhath” or “aloha kakahiaka”
Or
“صباح الخير”
or
“早上好”
Or any of the other thousands of languages of this world we humans share. When we meet, whether as friends or strangers, we share a common humanity, a common air, a common Earth, the ground on which we walk. Yes, it’s a good morning. We’re in this world together. Let’s acknowledge that and celebrate indeed.
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