I like jazz. A lot. But in that way most ignoramuses like things. In that “I know what I like” kinda way.
It’s left me with a sketchy, eclectic knowledge of jazz. Then I stumbled across an amazing book: “Hear Me Talkin’ to Ya: The Story of Jazz as Told by the Men Who Made It.”
Nat Hentoff and Nat Shapiro managed to collect dozens of first-person accounts of the birth and growth of jazz. The book was published in 1955, so it doesn’t address what’s happened during the past half-century. But it does offer incredible insight into the musicians who created this American art form. Hentoff and Shapiro stay out of the way, letting the musicians do all the talking.
I particularly liked the early sections that offer detailed accounts of New Orleans in the early 20th century. If you’re interested in jazz and haven’t already found this book, go out and do it. It’s a great read, as witnessed by these excerpts:
People used to ask Bix Beiderbecke why he didn’t play his music the way he recorded it. He’s quoted as explaining: “It’s impossible. I don’t feel the same way twice. That’s one of the things I like about jazz, kid. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. Do you?”
Billie Holiday describes the first time she sang at a club. She and her mother were in dire straits, practically starving, and she went to the Log Cabin Club in search of employment. “I asked Preston for a job, told him I was a dancer. He said to dance. I tried it. He said I stunk. I told him I could sing. He said sing. Over in the corner was an old guy playing the piano. He struck ‘Travelin’ and I sang. The customers stopped drinking. They turned around and watched. The pianist, Dick Wilson, swung into ‘Body and Soul.’ Jeez, you should have seen those people — all of them started crying. Preston came over, shook his head and said, ‘Kid, you win.’ That’s how I got my start.”
The book focuses on a lot of musicians, not just the Holiday/Beiderbecke/Armstrongs of the genre. I’m still an ignoramus where jazz is concerned, but “Hear Me Talkin’ to Ya” has given me a lot of new ideas and sounds to explore.
“The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.” — David Foster Wallace
I finally finished David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest a few weeks ago. I’m still not sure what to make of it.
The book’s themes and characters continue to rise up in unsettled dreams, an unresolved, anxious feeling that has lasted long after I turned the last page. I still can’t tell if it’s a work of genius or some kind of shame, but it definitely affected me. It’s gnawing at me, and as much as I dread it, I might go back and read the son of a bitch again, even though my first read was a six-month slog.
I guess I’ll leave Infinite Jest in a prominent place, where its unresolved meditations on entertainment, freedom, pleasure, addiction, advertising and tennis will taunt me every time I walk past. Eventually, I’ll make another run at it. In the meantime, I’m whiling away my time rereading J.D. Salinger, finding echoes of Wallace’s joke every time I turn the page. Maybe this is some freaky Zen koan that I’m trying too hard to unravel?
“How in the hell are you going to recognize a legitimate holy man when you see one if you don’t even know a cup of consecrated chicken soup when it’s right in front of your nose?” –Zooey Glass in Salinger’s Franny and Zooey
Rev. Jimmy Morrow, right, debates a critic while my buddy Mike looks on in amusement during the opening of the Vanishing America exhibit at the Museum of East Tennessee History.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
The Rev. Jimmy Morrow was approachable. Kind. Sincere. A small group gathered around him at the opening of the Vanishing Appalachia exhibit today while Morrow talked about everything from local history to, well, snake handling. Or more correctly, serpent handling.
I guess what I really was expecting was someone borderline crazy. Frothing at the mouth a bit. Shouting Bible verses at me the way the morons on Market Square yell at everyone who passes by in a lame attempt to herd the crowds toward a twisted, hollering version of a fire and damnation god.
Rev. Morrow was none of that. He could quote the Bible. Sure enough. And he told several stories about rattlesnakes, noting that he’s been bitten twice. His voice had a musical, twangy Appalachian cadence. And I liked the guy almost immediately. So much so that when a self-righteous woman came up and started aggressively challenging him, I wanted to protect him.
“Why aren’t you in Haiti helping people instead of messing around with snakes?” she asked.
She pressed the attack. He handled it quietly, trying to explain something that few people possibly could understand. I know I don’t. But after having met him, I have a certain respect for the strength — and sincerity — of his convictions.
Vanishing Appalachia features the amazing photography of Don Dudenbostel and the field recordings of Tom Jester. Tom’s a good friend, a mentor of sorts who is a walking encyclopedia on topics ranging from boating to moon phases to Appalachian culture. He and Don have spent decades traveling the back roads of Appalachia, talking to people and recording a way of life that’s fast disappearing.
I’ve posted several samples of their work here, including an interview with a mule skinner and a conversation with the late, great moonshiner, Popcorn Sutton. Their exhibit features these photos and many more. At the opening, I even had a chance to meet Popcorn’s widow, Pam. She was delightful, describing her courtship with Popcorn and fondly telling stories about him.
The one thing that stopped me dead in my tracks was a KKK robe and several photos of the hateful bastards. Talk about a buzz kill. It made my skin crawl looking at it, and I’m glad Tom and Don were there to record it. Cockroaches need to be dragged out into the light of day, where we can see them squirming and scheming. While Vanishing Appalachia is a celebration of Appalachia, it’s not afraid to look at things many people would prefer to ignore.
The exhibit runs at the Museum of East Tennessee History in downtown Knoxville through June 20. If you’re in the area, definitely make sure you stop by to check it out. It’s amazing. And after it closes here, it’s going to travel to other museums, so keep an eye out for it. Tom has given me permission to post a few more samples of the field recordings, which I hope to do over the next few weeks. Stay tuned.
As I paddled up Crystal Spring, I was trying to convince myself that even if I didn’t see any manatees, it still was worth the trip. The weather was perfect. The water was calm and clear. My kayak already was starting to feel like a part of me.
That’s when a massive, gray form came downstream toward me, flowed beneath my boat and continued out toward King’s Bay. Wow. I was instantly amazed by how large and graceful the manatee was. Several others followed, and before all was said and done, I’d seen dozens of them.
I paddled up to Crystal Spring, where manatees were huddled together enjoying the warm water rushing up through limestone fissures. As I returned back down toward the bay, I managed to paddle parallel to a cow and a calf for about a half-mile. It was an amazing experience watching them glide through the water, surfacing occasionally to take wet, slobbery breaths of air before descending again. There was an uncommitted tone to those breaths, caught somewhere between gills and lungs, water and air.
I spent a while paddling around King’s Bay, enjoying several more close encounters with manatees, before I headed down the Crystal River for a few miles. It ran through my mind to try to make it to the power plant, which I could see in the distance, but I had no idea how far that was and the wind was starting to pick up.
Instead, I ducked into an inlet where I found a small stream winding into the dense vegetation. The channel kept getting narrower and narrower, and I realized I was pretty much at eye level with the bank. I started thinking dark thoughts, scanning for reptile prints in the muck. If a gator came blowing through those reeds, we’d basically be eyeball to eyeball.
I decided it might not be a bad idea to back out of there, which I did. I spent a bit more time paddling around in King’s Bay before returning to Hunter Springs, loading my kayak and heading back to Ocala.
Great resource: I found a comment by JackL on Paddling.net that I used to help me find a good place to put my boat in the water and see manatees. It’s the sixth comment in this thread and it’s very useful if you want to do the same trip. Kudos to JackL for providing clear, concise instructions. Also, kudos to the other folks I saw on the river while I was out. Everyone I saw was very respectful of the manatees, giving them space and not harassing them. The boaters and swimmers also obeyed signs that restricted access to certain waters so the manatees could have some peace.
I fled to Florida with the idea of spending a lot of time on the water, but winds and cold temperatures combined to limit my paddling opportunities.
So I decided to try hiking the Ocala National Forest.
I drove to Salt Springs, where I walked around and checked out the natural spring at the park. But I couldn’t find the trailhead I was looking for at the campground. After realizing it was on the road to the marina, I headed over there and hit the trail.
There’s a 2.5 mile spur trail marked with blue blazes that leads to the orange-blazed Florida National Scenic Trail. I followed the spur and headed south when I came to the national trail, hiking another few miles before doubling back.
It was a great hike through marshes and scrub oak. I didn’t see a lot of wildlife, perhaps because I was out around midday. But the trail is flat and well marked. I didn’t see other hikers, with the exception of a Popcorn Sutton lookalike on the spur trail and a guy who was sitting beside the national trail smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer. I said boy howdy and kept hiking.
One of the highlights of the hike was sitting quietly beside one of the marshes, watching a flock of sandhill cranes fish the shallows. Overall, it was a great day. Even if it wasn’t spent on the water.
After scanning the shoreline for a few moments, I saw furtive movements. About 20 rhesus monkeys were along the shoreline. Their shrieking stopped when they saw me, but after they realized I was no threat and no food was forthcoming, the continued playing, squabbling and eating. I let my bow nestle into the vegetation, grew quite and played the voyeur, watching their monkey business and listening to their shenanigans reverberate through the surrounding forest, answered by strange bird languages that struck my ear as something that might come from a mutated cockatoo.
After watching the monkeys for a while, I made my way up to the springhead, giving the gators along the way a wide berth. The springhead is astounding, as much for the Florida tourist kitsch that has erupted around it as for the sweet, transparent water rising up out of limestone fissures. Fortunately, the park is only a small portion of the paddle, and most of it feels more like navigating a Tarzan movie than watching fat Midwesterners gawk at alligators.
This was my second time paddling Silver Springs, and clearly it didn’t disappoint. The weather was perfect — cool and sunny — and I had long stretches of water entirely to myself. The 9.5 mile paddle was sublime, the perfect antidote to the winter gloom I’d fled in Knoxville. Below is a detail of my GPS route at the springhead, and here’s a link to a few more photos from the paddle.
Got to catch Scent of Remains while I was in Florida recently. Awesome show, and the bar recorded it. Herbie serves up some tasty solos here. My head still is ringing. Now I know how Jaromir Jagr felt after he got clocked by Ovechkin the other day …
I’ve never been on a cruise, but this one in October is seriously tempting. Bryan Lee is amazing. Never been to Honduras or Belize. And it’s an excuse to go to New Orleans to hop on the boat.
Howard Zinn’s recent death got me thinking. The fundamentalists have been insisting that we should “teach the controversy” and offer creationism as a viable alternative to evolution when instructing our impressionable youth.
OK. I’ll go for that … if they’re willing to require that Zinn’s “A People’s History of the United States” also be taught in our schools. What? That’s too controversial? I thought so …
