LEATHERNECKM31

“The blues ain't nothing but a good man feelin' bad”

Great evening in Dallas last night; first time I've seen bluesman Joe Bonamassa and it was well worth the drive.

For two and a half hours the 33-year-old New Yorker prowled the stage playing a dizzying array of what has to be called his own genre of blues.

Being relatively new to his music, I could be relatively objective about the marathon set in which he never left the stage, except for two minutes before returning for an encore.  

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From my 2006 piece… The blues ain't just colors

“The blues don’t speak to you until you’ve buried somebody, unless a woman has ripped your heart out, until after you’ve been hungry.

“That's because before all that... life has to happen, and if it hasn’t the whole point of the blues would be wasted on you. It's the main reason pop music exists... to mark time for slow learners.”

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Bonamassa’s blinding, fiery leads, sometimes jarring (and pleasing) changes of tempo and style, delicate, flamenco-like guitar interludes come unrelenting; his virtuosity soars… and for those of us who like our music turned up to 11… it’s also pure jackhammer and heavy percussion.

He’s unlike any other bluesman I’ve ever heard, though his influences are many. To my ear there is far more traditional Delta blues here than say, Stevie Ray, but there is a lot more rock and roll than Vaughn; yet Joe could never be assigned neo-old school status.

My friend, blues harpist Gunny Tibbetts summed it up well when I recently asked his opinion...

“Joe B is one of the most gifted, talented guitarists out there today, in my humble opinion. He's a combination of the great masters from our era - Clapton, Beck, Page - who takes us into the 21st Century.”

Even higher praise comes from the dean of living bluesmen, the legendary B. B. King for whom Joe opened at the ripe old age of at 12.

After hearing him play, King said, “This kid's potential is unbelievable. He hasn't even begun to scratch the surface. He's one of a kind.”

So… if you don’t like blues (which indicates a good physical is in order) you may not have heard of him… but for new and old fans alike Bonamassa’s 20-year-long “overnight” success is summed up by the wry license plate sold with his other merch last night:

He is commonly referred to as "The Best Guitarist You've Never Heard Of."

He is here to stay and he most decidedly will live up to the Gunny’s prediction.

But if you wanna see and hear some very rare lightening-caught–in-a-bottle musicianship, catch him and or get his new album. (Yeah, I still call ‘em albums.”)

’til then… here’s his website where you’ll get a free download from his latest album “Dust Bowl”.

And here are videos of two of my favorites from the ‘09 John Henry album:

set speakers to at least 8

Bonamassa also has a unique blessing… according to The Bushmaster he shares Robert Johnson’s birthday.

May 8, 1911 and May 8, 1977…. exactly 66 years apart and just one “6” off Lucifer’s own number.

This takes on more irony due to the legend that as a young man living on a plantation in rural Mississippi, Robert Johnson was branded with a burning desire to become a great blues musician. Walking to a crossroads at midnight he was met by a large black man who took young Robert’s guitar and tuned it.

The "Devil" then played a few songs and then returned the guitar to Johnson, giving him instant mastery of the instrument. This was in effect an updated Faustian transaction; in exchange for his soul, Robert Johnson was able to create the blues for which he became famous.

He died 1938, at the age of 27; some say it was a woman, jealousy and a poison-laced bottle of whiskey… an end which is itself the blues. 

The Real America in Real America

I’m dispensing with my usual meat and potatoes posts today… I figure that what with Obama thinking he’s the King of the World who has forfeited the rest of America’s season to our enemies… with Iran working on two nukes… not the zero nukes the dimocrats have insisted there are, and OBL is demanding that Europe withdraw its pitifully small number of troops from Afghanistan, and Kadafi claiming paternity of Barry (not a stretch considering Barry’s old lady)… terror squads being busted across the nation…. what could happen?

Today me and my homie, Chuck Chow attended the annual Gene Autry Oklahoma Film and Music Festival in where else but Gene Autry, Okla., (near Ardmore).

All my life I’ve used “Howdy” more than any other greeting and in this crowd… in the civic Center near the Gene Autry Church and the Gene Autry Volunteer Fire Department, so does everyone else.

Many in attendance dress the part, celebrating perhaps not the authentic West but the West portrayed in thousands of Western films… the exhibits are awash in boots, parasols, school marm dresses, marshal badges, cowhide vest and long sleeve shirts with pear snap buttons…. and enough six-guns to start a range war, I reckon.  

Autry (1907 – 1998) made a lot of mostly B Westerns which usually saw him meeting a nice girl and defending her honor in a fist-fight or with some fair gun slingin’ which usually involved The Singing Cowboy shooting the bad guy’s Colt from his hand.

Damned fine shootin’ from waist.

And yes, each two-reeler usually featured at least three or four songs, often on horseback.

Autry:

• acted in almost 100 films, and had soundtrack credit for 115 movies in a career that spanned more than a half century. 
• made 640 recordings, including 300+ songs he wrote or co-wrote.
• sold more than 100 million records and had more than a dozen gold and platinum records, including the first certified gold record.
• flew “the Hump”—over the treacherous Himalayas—in the China-Burma-India Theater after enlisting in 1942 at age 35.

Gene owned the Anaheim Angles for decades, died at 92, and made more money than God, appearing on the Forbes’ magazine list of the 400 richest Americans until he slipped to a "near miss" in 1995 with an estimated net worth of $320 million.

Not bad for the grandson of a Methodist preacher,

And of course Autry had his own radio and TV shows in the 1940s and 50s, and was concerned that his young radio listeners would emulate him, so he wrote the Cowboy Code:

He told his fans that to be a good cowboy one:

1. must never shoot first, hit a smaller man, or take unfair advantage.
2. must never go back on his word, or a trust confided in him.
3. must always tell the truth.
4. must be gentle with children, the elderly and animals.
5. must not advocate or possess racially or religiously intolerant ideas.
6. must help people in distress.
7. must be a good worker.
8. must keep himself clean in thought, speech, action and personal habits.
9. must respect women, parents and his nation's laws.
10. must be a patriot.

Perhaps these few, now remarkable guides for life were his greatest contribution.

Gene Autry, great American.

The real fun today was meeting some of my favorite movie and TV character actors from the 40s, 50, and 60s, including Donna Douglas—The Beverly Hillbilly’s “Elly Mae”; Ben Copper, left and above, mostly known for his work in Westerns, including Duel at Apache Wells, Johnny Guitar and numerous TV appearances through the 1980s; and James Hampton best known for his portrayal of bugler “Dobbs” in TV’s send up of U.S. Calvary movies… F Troop.    . 

Cooper is shown below in a scene from Gunfight at Comanche Creek starring Audie Murphy,WWII Medal of Honor Recipient and one of the most decorated American soldiers of all time.

Cooper remembered Murphy as a “quiet, great guy” who was easy to work with.

Most people don’t know that Murph was also a successful country music songwriter. His songs were cover4ed by such diverse artists as as Dean Martin, Eddy Arnold, Charley Pride, Porter Waggoner, Roy Clark, and interesting, Harry Nilsson.

His two biggest hits were "Shutters and Boards" and "When the Wind Blows in Chicago". 

Donna Douglas, below with my main man, Chuck, was a dear heart; easy and pleasant with the fans, chatting and signing and posing for photos.  

When I purchased one of her photos I asked her if she recalled making a public appearance in Taft California about 1964-65 where I first met her as a high school student. (Donna is shown right with my protégé the aforementioned Mr. Chow.) 

Assuming she’d look quizzical or just say, “no”, she surprised me by immediately saying, “Yes, it was at a car dealership.”

Right she was…. and to this day I can still recall my, shall we say impure thoughts as I clasped her tiny hands and said “pleased to meet you”, my mind filled with fantasies that will be recounted in my soon-to-be published autobiography…. “I’ve Done Some Interesting, and Dangerous Things.”    

For those keeping track, Miss Elly May will be 76 tomorrow.

Ahh, where did my life go? 

Had some nice conversation with Jim Hampton, who lives in Trophy Club, Texas, in the Dallas area—just and hour and a half from here.

“F Troop” was a great TV series which should forever be respect for the punch line about the “Ha’kowie Indians” who were so named after being lost for a very long time and then finally uttered… “Where the heck are we?”

The tribe’s name has been changed over the years to a more humorous and far more crude punch line.

So?…  call Russell Means. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a great day, walking back through my childhood, full of Red Ryder BB Guns, Roy Rogers lunch pails, and humming the lyrics of “Happy trails…. to you… until we meet again…..”

And once again I felt very grateful for the childhood I had… when children were loved and given the right role models and expected to respond to those lessons. For a time of wholesomeness and easily defined lines, a great education and wonderful friends… most of whom I still have.

Those who came after me have my sympathy

Well, gotta go, Pilgrim; It’s quiet….. too quiet, I think it’s Comanch’.

“….of people and things that went before….”

I always preferred John Lennon.

Like many, I thought his tunes were more substantial than his partner’s, though Lennon-McCartney was arguably the greatest musical collaboration since the first man taught a second to whistle.     

Nonetheless, I gladly ponied up the $250 for a first tier seat near the rear of the new Cowboy stadium last night.

Fortunately, the band was flanked by two 8-10 story video screens of amazing resolution.

I was treated along with Some 36,000 other fans, eight to 80 (I’m not kidding), to a sustained two-and-a-half-hour visit of my early years led by Paul McCartney.

Because I don’t like big crowds (and the human race for the most part, especially in mega numbers), I seldom attend concerts, but seeing McCartney was as much history and archeology as it was entertainment. Never having seen the Beatles in parts or in sum, it was probably my last chance. It it rumored that last night was McCartney’s last performance in the U.S.

The Beatles (and the Stones to a significant, but lesser extent) were responsible for the sound track of my youth, so with the memorized tunes in my ear and a flood of wonderful memory-movies playing in my head, I actually enjoyed the crowd.

Chatting a bit and on the move the entire night, McCartney favored the throng with dozens of songs and a 20-minute double encore; a consummate professional backed by talented, young band-mates not yet born when he wrote most of the evening’s tunes.  

Fall, 1963. One of my classmates’ brother was in the entertainment biz in L.A. and he sent her two pre-album, Beatles 45 demos with no “B” sides, boldly marked “Not For Sale.”

One was "I Want to Hold Your Hand", I forget the second. How I wished I’d have talked her out of them.

I’d heard them via minimal radio play just a few times… they were largely unknown, but I was knocked out. I knew instantly “Beatle music” was amazingly different and thank gawd, a galaxy removed from The Beach Boys.  

Around the holidays Capitol rush-released “I Want to Hold Your Hand” after a news broadcast about “Beatlemania” in the UK triggered a sudden and enormous demand, and the rest, as they say….

The Beatles (a nod to Buddy Holly’s Crickets) were the primary reason I purchased, at considerable cost, a black, Muntz Stereo-Pak car stereo for my ‘57 Ford… a 4-track car stereo.

Most today doubt they ever existed.

Used, it cost me $50 when minimum wage was $1.25. New, I think they were about $80.

Last night I was happy or content—I get those mixed up; each/either, are infrequent life emotions for me.

Now, McCartney is three years beyond his whimsical musical benchmark—“When I’m Sixty-four”—and I’m three years this side; where did 46 years go?

I recall a grousing conversation I had with my Dad about the Beatles.

I argued that The Boys couldn’t be lumped together with “that loud kids’ music” of 60s pop that exploded when I was in high school due in large part to the band originally known as “The Quarrymen.” 

“Everyone will be listening to these same songs for the rest of my life,” I insisted.

Bold prediction for a 16-year-old? I suppose, but I absolutely knew that I was right.

And judging by the fact that a good 50-60% of the 36,000 fans last night were under 35, I was far too conservative in my long ago prediction.

Imagine having a 60-year career… in the entertainment business… in the music business. By late 1972, the Beatles’ worldwide sales total stood at 545 million units.

To date The Beatles record sales are over 1 billion units worldwide.

And that’s just the nine years of the Lennon-McCartney/The Beatles career.

Just a few of their mind-bending music records:

• Longest span of Top Ten singles--"Cash Box" history ("I Want To Hold Your Hand" - January 25, 1964 to "Real Love" - March 30, 1996 - 32 years, 2 months, 5 days.)
• Group with most weeks--Cash Box albums chart (722 weeks up to 1974).
• Group with most weeks--Cash Box singles chart (601 weeks up to 1986).
• Group with most weeks---Record World albums chart (849 weeks to 1982).
• Group with most weeks---Record World singles chart (520 weeks to 1980).
• Most no. 1 singles--Record World Top 100 charts (23 no.1s).
• Most no. 1 albums--Record World albums charts (17 no.1 albums).
• Most weeks at no. 1--Record World albums chart (123 weeks at no. 1).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I watched and listened, I thought how amazing it must be to be McCartney; still near the top of his game, wearing his fame and age gracefully and with the same trademark, sly “cheekiness” of his early years. Yes, amazing, but amid all the fame and money, there are tragedies and ghosts, brought home last night as McCartney dedicated songs to wife Linda who passed away from cancer in 1998, John Lennon murdered in 1980, and George Harrison who succumbed to cancer in 2001.

McCartney and the Beatles were there from almost the very start…. for my first real kiss (shared with the lovely TSC on a brisk evening in late 1963), my first drivers’ license, first car, a 1965 high school football championship, in joyous good times and in the worst of times; my many ghosts stand nearby reading over my shoulder as I write.

And Don and I may be the only two people in the world who can honestly claim that the Beatles almost got us killed.

Summer—1969, Quang Nam, Republic of South Vietnam.

With the Beatles’ break-up only weeks away (not just ironic, but eerie as far as I’m concerned), Don and were laying out in the open in the middle of the Mike Company position on a warm, moonless night.

We decided to contest our respective Beatle song memories. I would later write:

 

BEATLES IN THE NIGHT

we sang

lennonmccartney songs

long after dusk,

savoring thoughts of home

heads together,

songs mouth to ear,

Don and I whispered softly

in Charlie's backyard

the mortars

whistled

crashed

during the second verse of

"In My Life"

…. third and fourth

in a two man foxhole,

harmonies lingered

in our heads

You can checkout any time you like, but you can never leave....

                             I'm going back to Cali, Cali, Cali
              I'm going back to Cali... hmmm, I don't think so -- LL Cool J, Esq.

Some of the best years in my life were spent in California.

Those 11 years, age 15-26, were life-changing. But after returning to Colorado in the mid-70s and visiting California often over the decades, I saw the decline, the congestion and the encroaching socialism; I struck forever California from my list of places to reside.        

There are a lot of songs about California (though not nearly as many as Texas songs--which by my last count totaled 8,347) and almost all of the well-known ones are upbeat, promising... even joyful, full of fun in the sun, and its promise to make you feel "safe and warm, if I was in L.A."

The Golden State.

But, nobody there is singing any more.

And with good reason. America, if you want to see your future--a dull gray future controlled by democrats' unfettered agenda politics, class warfare and fascist environmentalism--look West to the sea.

Writing in the current Newsweek, Joel Kotkin sees the "Death of a Dream: -- California has come back before, but 'hysterical greens' aren't helping."  I encourage you to read it.

The NYT's insufferable leftist Paul Krugman is even more direct: "... Now the Golden State is degenerating into a banana republic. Can the nation be far behind?"

Of course he sees the demise as George Bush's or Republicans' fault... or something, but at least he realizes that Rome is burning.

California snapshot:

• Unemployment--roughly 10 percent, ahead only of Rust Belt basket cases like Michigan and East Coast calamity Rhode Island."
• California ranks 4th in the national for mortgage fraud offenders in 2007. Florida is number 1, Nevada, 2, and Michiganistan 3.
• Net outmigration should reach well over 200,000 by 2011. This flight would be worse, were it not for residents who cannot sell their homes and are essentially held prisoner by their mortgages.
• California-based Intel Corporation will invest $7 billion over the next two years to upgrade U.S. factories for its computer chips, but none of it will be spent in California. All the money will go to expand existing facilities in Arizona, New Mexico, and Oregon, where it will be used to support more than 7,000 existing jobs. (You don't become Intel by allowing the fruits of your hard work to be stolen by socialists). 
• Barely 3 percent of the state budget goes to building roads or water systems; in the early 60s it was nearly 20 percent. These hundreds of billions instead now fund golden pensions and lifetime guaranteed health care to public employees.
• Near-unlimited migration of illegal aliens has swollen public entitlement programs which help stress the budgets of large and especially smaller communities to the breaking point.

My old stomping grounds--Kern County--ranked fourth nationally in foreclosures during 2008's third quarter.

In 1960 Neil Morgan described San Francisco as "the narcissus of the West," a place whose fundamental asset was first its own beauty, followed by its own culture of self-regard.

This is wonderfully illustrated by the fact that no other city in the world would insist on being call "The City."

It's remarkable that "The One"--Barack Obama--didn't grow up there, and even more surprising that he was able to build within himself such monumental narcissism without long-term exposure to the Bay Area.   

And what group is mostly responsible for all this across the board...? I'll wait.

It is The Worst Generation (mine) which created the politics of narcissism that  Kotkin agues, is at the core of the current politically-correct, green, Prius-owning, recycling, mindless self-indulgence that prevents them from understanding that milk comes from cows, and arugula from the San Joaquin Valley.  

Case in point: Kotkin writes that the entirely self-absorbed enviros who dominate in California's beautiful Central Coast, oppose "the expansion of wineries that might bring new jobs to a predominantly Latino area with persistent double-digit unemployment."

It strains credulity, but it seems they don't like the wineries (which produce some of the best--and therefore quite lucrative--wines in the world) because it interferes with their "viewshed"; yes, I know, it's a seldom-used, California word which means that which you see from a fixed point such as your living-room window.

See...? Narcissism on steroids.

And so what?

Well, my crystal ball is only that, but I firmly believe that if Real America does not prevail, and soon, there will be a wholesale march into the quick sand that stretches from San Diego to Eureka.