Washing of the Water

I've spoken about this song before.

Everything I said still holds true. But I came across this version of it this morning and am re-obsessed.

Note the fact that Peter Gabriel is not particularly wonderful as a singer or a keyboardist, but the complete raw emotion comes through.

Enjoy.

Bad Dates

I've been on a number of bad dates in my life. None of them I'm going to talk about here.

I am, however, going to say that they are all better than this date that Woody Allen spoke about in his bit "Vegas" from 1964. (If you want to hear it rather than just read it, email me and I'll gladly send you an .mp3.)


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Y'see I'm not a gambler, you should know that about me. I went to the racetrack once in my life and I bet on a horse called Battle Gun, and when all the horses come out, mine is the only horse in the race with training wheels. You have to believe me when I say, that there is something seductive about me, when I shoot crap. And I'm at the crap table, I'm...dicing. A very provocative woman comes up to me, and she begins to...size me up...and I take her upstairs to my hotel room. Shut the door. Remove my glasses. Show her no mercy. I unbutton my shirt, and she unbuttons her shirt. And I smile. She smiles. I remove my shirt and she removes her shirt. And I wink and she winks. And I remove my pants. She removes her pants. And I realize I'm looking into a mirror.

Faith

Back when I was collecting material for my podcast, a woman sat down and told me her story of overcoming illness and letting god into her life. (I shared this story with my class, but did not publish the final product anywhere since she made it quite clear that she did not want her voice in public.)

Her story moved me. Not because I, myself, am a person of faith -- in fact, I may be quite the opposite. My faith is something I am constantly struggling with. But that's not the point. Her story moved me because of her and how she framed preached faith to me -- understandingly.

She started by sitting down and asking me if I am a person of faith. even though the answer is a clear 'no' in my mind, I struggled answering this question, partially fearing that if I'd say 'no' she would start to preach, and partially because I feared that if I answered improperly, she would not share her story with me, and we all know that I'm a little bit of a story hoarder.

She could see me struggling, so she cut me off. "Do you have faith in anything?"

I quickly answered, "I have faith in the people around me."

She smiled, and lovingly said, "That's all you need."

I occasionally find myself jealous of those people who are, in fact, people of faith. I'd like to believe in some higher power. I'd like to feel like I'm part of something other-worldly. But when I find myself getting jealous, I only have to remember this woman, who truly believes she was taken out of the grasp of death and paralysis by god and brought back among the functioning.

If she is convinced that all you need is faith in the people around you, then I'm proud to say that I am a person of faith. I have faith in the world around me. And y'know what? That's all I need.

Napoleon's Battle Plan

Napoleon's battle plan was a simple two part plan.

Part one: Show up.
Part two: See what happens.

For the most part, this plan worked out quite well for him. That is, until he hit Russia. (But even then it didn't stop him. I mean, he escaped Elba, after all! Yes, only to be defeated at Waterloo and then die in exile, either from cancer or poison. But that's not the point here.)

The man single-handedly (or more accurately, with one hand firmly tucked between the sides of his jacket and with many, many hands, legs, arms, swords, shields, and force of soldiers) took over Europe. All that by just showing up and seeing what happened.

It didn't hurt that Napoleon's army was great in both skill and numbers, but they all showed up.

Showing up is a major part of life. You cannot do anything if you aren't there to act.

Which brings up step three of Napoleon's plan, which, even though it isn't actually part of the plan, per se, it was, without question, how Napoleon succeeded.
1) Show up;
2) See what happens;
3) Act and react.

(And of course:
4) Declare war on Russia;
5) Get banished;
6) Show up again.)

So maybe the lesson of Napoleon is less so about the first three steps and more about the last three. Quite simply:
*Never get involved in a land war in Asia.
*You can always show up again.

So on those days when I feel like I haven't actually shown up, when I'm on my own personal Elba, I just have to remember that sometimes all it takes is showing up again and I can rise to power again.

We'll stop the analogies there; I am in no mood for arsenic poisoning.

Soup is the perfect food

Yes. That's right. I said it. Perfect. There is absolutely nothing bad about soup.

It's easy to make, quick to reheat, it's tasty. And best of all, it goes well with crackers.

But soup has one other quality that is impossible to ignore: It requires time to eat.

Yes, you can eat soup faster than, say, a steak dinner, or even a large sub sandwich. But for what soup is, there is no fast way to eat it. You can't put a straw in and inhale, you can't pick up the bowl and drink it all, you can't take bites that are larger than, well, a spoonful -- and those soup spoons always seem too small when you're really hungry. But it forces you to enjoy it; to savor every slurp; to enjoy the smell of the soup before the taste as you put your head down closer so not to lose the liquid out of the spoon (we all look like buoys while eating soup...); to enjoy every spec of goodness as you pull the spoon to your lips.

I guess what I'm saying is that it's nice to be forced to focus on one thing, taking time with it -- voluntary or not -- and only it. You can't really eat soup while reading a book; that would get very messy very quickly.

Soup maybe is supposed to be seen and not heard, but no matter what, do it slowly.

Nostalgia

I woke up this morning with a particular emotion that can only be described as nostalgia.

I'm not nostalgic for a particular time, or a place, or a person, just...nostalgic.

I've been going through today with the sounds of scratchy vinyl and not-properly-mixed piano trios, playing songs with names of people in them -- Emily; Stella by Starlight; Laura...Have You Met Miss Jones.

Maybe this is what being a musician has done to me; it's imposed emotion of songs whose subjects I do not know onto my own psyche. Maybe it's given me such a vast library of old standards that I can't help but have them run through the jukebox of my mind bringing up memories of a time and place I never was. Or perhaps, it's just given me music to help explain an emotion I would feel otherwise.

Or maybe I'm just nostalgic for those times when I would embrace my inner (and outer) musician and sit at a piano for hours and just play. And play. And play.

And now, I invite you to join me, Bill Evans, his trio, and the nostalgia that Emily brings to us all.

Dick Johnson

My mother just called and shared with me the Boston Globe obituary of Dick Johnson, one of the unsung heroes of jazz. He was an incredible multi-reed player. If you want to know more about him, you can read the obituary, but suffice it to say, if he'd ever decided to leave the Boston area, he could have been a very big name in jazz.

I had the pleasure of meeting Dick a number of times, though he never remembered me. The very first time I played with a group of other musicians was with Dick Johnson. I was in 6th grade and my parents and I went to a local jazz concert. It was Dick Johnson and the band he was using that night, consisting of all local guys. My mother, being the pushy Jewish mother she is, said at intermission, "my son is a pianist and he would love to play with you guys!" Of course, I resisted, but a couple tunes into the set, Dick called me up. We played "Fly Me To The Moon," lamely enough, in C.

I would hardly say I played well. In fact, I was quite bad, I think. I mean, I was 12 and had never actually played with a bass player. I didn't know what I was doing, but I knew I wanted to learn.

I saw Dick play the last few summers around Cape Cod with various musicians, and he always sounded great. He always had a great joy for playing that came out through his music...or more often than not, came out through the conversation he would have quite loudly with the band or the patrons in the front few rows of whatever venue he was playing while someone else in the band was taking a solo.

Here my favorite recording, a duet of "Shaw 'Nuff" with Dave McKenna, another unsung jazz hero whom we lost in October of 2008. (I was lucky enough to see Dave McKenna's last performance in December of 2001, I think it was. I'm kind of surprised I didn't write about him on the blog then!) It was recorded live in 1980 and is on Dick's album Artie's Choice! and the Naturals.

(For those who subscribe, you may need to click to the original post to listen to the tune. Even if you are not a jazz fan, you can appreciate the energy, facility, and enjoyment of this music. I promise.)