Falling by the wayside

March? I haven't posted since March? Jeepers (mentally adds, singing, 'creepers, where'd ya get those peepers...'). Makes me wonder just what the hell I've been up to all this time. I'd write a bit of it out if I could remember any of it. Actually, I do, but much of it isn't that interesting, and a large part of the rest would be stressful ranting and raving about the political situation in my country. There have been a number of wonderful movies I've watched, or watched again. And there has been the garden, of course. As for the movies I've screened, there have been so many it would be a minor miracle if I could still name them all. The idea was to write them down here, making notes about each, but that project fell by the wayside.

A page from the Tyndale Bible.

Now there's a phrase I haven't used for awhile, "fell by the wayside". While it's meaning is readily apparent, the origin of the phrase may not be. It goes back to a 1526 translation of the Bible by William Tyndale. It was the first bible in English to be translated from Greek and Hebrew sources, and the first to hit the printing press. There had been an earlier version (the Wycliffe Bible) in Middle English in the late 1300's, but due to its use in a pre-Reformation movement, it was banned in 1409. By the late 1400's, owning one could bring the death penalty. But that's another story. The Tyndale translation, by the way, became a principal source for the King James version of the early 1600's. The "fell by the wayside" reference is from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 8, verses 5 thru 8. It occurs just after a mention of unclean spirits being cast out of Mary Magdalene and two other women, and concerns a farmer who went out to sow his seed. The sower was a bit sloppy, and some seed 'fell by the wayside'. In fact, a lot of it seemed to fall by the wayside. Only that seed which fell upon the 'good ground' was productive. Just after the teaching of this parable, the Teacher walked upon the waters, a pretty nifty act.

Now that I've wandered off onto this tangent, I'm no longer sure of where the heck I was headed. Was it to post a few pics from the garden? Or the chance to write mildly amusing commentary on making my own tomato paste, or the adventures of putting up copious amounts of fresh homemade pesto against the depravations of winter? (I used up the very last of last year's pesto a few days before starting this year's batches.) Or were the seeds a reference to all the movies I've watched lately? Or haven't watched?

A part of the larger garden at Solar Hill (which I help maintain) where my garden is located.
At the top of the photo is a bit of the playground for the Neighborhood Schoolhouse

More of the Solar Hill garden. Just off to the left are a large number of peonies, one of which can be seen here.
The Japanese dogwood was kind of spectacular this year; it demanded a photo.

A portion of my garden this past June.

Another part of my garden in mid to late Spring.
There's lots more, including other seasons. I'm considering starting a garden blog.

That last bit in the text above (the 'haven't watched' part) refers to an attempt to screen the RKO 'Hitler's Children' for one of my younger friends. While he's knowledgeable about independent movies from the late 1980's or so up to today, he's somewhat less aware of earlier movies. At any rate, my younger friend is going to be a first time daddy soon. He made his announcement via a Facebook post whose only content was a sound file that mystified a number of folks. It was the sound of the baby's heartbeat in the womb. Now, he's never seen any of the Nancy Drew movies, and thus has no associations what-so-ever for Bonita Granville, or, for that matter, with cowboy star Tim Holt, both of whom have the lead roles in the movie. So one night not long after the incidents in Charlottesville with tiki torch bearing American Nazis, white supremacists, and the follow up ravings of Donald Trump in the role of President of the United States, we settled in to watch this bit of lurid potboiler propaganda history.

The film starts out with a Nazi rally (above), and proceeds, via flashback narration, to a 1933 confrontation between American students in Germany, and a group of teenage male Nazis in training. A fight breaks out, during which wholesome Nazi Tim Holt holds onto the American's baseball bat, refusing to give it back. Plucky Bonita Granville looks him in the eye and suddenly exclaims, "Heil Hitler". When Holt's arm rises in automatic salute, she punches him in the stomach. When the German headmaster refuses to stop his charges from fighting, the American teacher (Kent Smith, giving a performance only slightly more lively than a cigar store Indian) simply yells out, "Achtung!", which causes the German boys to fall into line. If only it were that easy in real life. We then see a little bit of the school room education of the day:

Just after Tim Holt's praise for Hitler in the clip above, my young friend asked me to stop the movie. Under the current political climate, and being an expectant father, it was too much. His heart had started racing, and he was beginning to have a bit of a panic attack. We were only about 10 minutes into the film. Thinking back on it, it was probably a good thing we changed the picture. I'd have freaked out if I was an expectant parent, too. And I'm not just thinking of the scene in which a young mother to be hopes her birth is painful as a tribute to the Führer. This picture gets far more lurid and serious.

Of course, the reverberations of movies like 'Hitler's Children' into our own time should give us pause. We currently have an administration in power which excuses the outrages of the far right, pretending there were good people amongst them, condemning those on the left for their part in the violence (even though every report I saw or read stated that the 'antifa' crowd only resorted to violence when the Nazi types began charging at women, children, the clergy, and people with brown skin). Pictures that came out of the event were startling.

Is it live, or is it Memorex?

Today I turned 67 years old. My parents divorced when I was quite little; my mother was gone by the time I was 6 months old. My father, my brother, and I lived with my Aunt and Uncle in what had been my Grandfather's house. My Uncle had fought in WWII. When television came in, I wasn't allowed to have it on much after 5pm, when my Uncle got home. The noise and cacophony of tv shows with children's laughter, and especially sudden loud sounds, unnerved him and he would fly into rages. I won't dwell on it, or on what would now be easily recognizable as PTSD, except to say that I often felt terrorized as a child. The experiences I had in those years would come back to affect me later in life. As it turns out, I was diagnosed as having PTSD too. The stresses and coping mechanisms from those days got me through my first years on my own in the late 1960's, the Vietnam war protests, getting beat up because I had long hair, being beaten up and/or threatened for being perceived as gay, being shot in the head (not as serious as it sounds, except for the psyche - it was delivered via a pellet rifle after I was seen returning a European kiss on the cheek to a male friend returning to Germany. Still, the bullet lodged in my skull and they thought I might have some damage.) During my years managing bookstores in NYC, my assistant was from Pakistan. When the Ayatollah Khomeini returned to Iran, my assistant became agitated and predicted the rise of ultra conservative Islam. He was in New York studying to become an architect so he could build decent homes for the poor of his country. He told me flat out that with the rise of conservative Islam, he was concerned about returning home; he might be killed for becoming educated, and going to the United States. The best cashier I had was a gorgeous black woman from the Caribbean, with a lilt in her voice which would make most people smile. My warehouse manager, who was the guy I trained to run the science fiction section, was from Cuba. You get the idea; I had a lot of friends and co-workers who, if they were around today, might face deportation. The sad fact of the matter is that my country is rounding people up. Some have been deported, some are being held. Many on trumped up charges, or minor traffic style violations. Now a  movement is on to deport those who were brought here as children, who grew up here, and became part of the fabric of life here. Legal protections for transgender folk are being removed. Repealing the right of marriage for gay folks won't be far behind. The Trump Department of Justice has already insisted that gay folks are not entitled to job protections under federal anti-discrimination laws. Confrontations in the culture wars continue, and will, until decent normal everyday people start to riot. And what then? Well, perhaps that's why the Trump administration has 1.2 Billion dollars in the Federal budget for 'detainee beds'. I have been accused of having a decidedly liberal paranoia about this, but I could spend several hours writing out the reasons for such suspicions, and pointing out the similarities between the US today and Europe in the early 1930's. You're free to laugh at me if you want, I won't mind. But I will remind you that Nazis are on the march. In America. They may be carrying mass market torches, but that doesn't change the fact that they are there, marching, provoking, waiting. Their own leaders will tell you that an army is being built. We have a President who threatened violence from his supporters if he wasn't elected. His supporters threaten violence if he is removed from office. Go ahead and laugh some more. But remember the following image when the 'arrests' start. It was painted on a fence in California a few days after the Charlottesville events. And you'd better hope to hell everyone in your family is straight, and white. A lot of the seeds being sown aren't for flowers.

Playin' rondo variations on the sciatic nerve

Grump, grumpy, grumpola, to grump, or not to grump... do you see where this is going? Do I? Should that be "Do eye" just to be contrary and upset grammariticians? No, I'm not just trying to cover up for my lack of posts, or the fact that I'm now behind by three radio show links on my own blog. If I thought anyone actually read any of this or listened to my shows through the posted links in any sort of regular fashion, I'd be horrified. Something is wrong. I'm having the worst attack yet of pain from the sciatic nerve. It's so bad that I can't think off hand if this is the beginning of week three or week four of this go'round. I'm out of any kind of painkillers, and it will be another two hours before there will be a bus to the market. My spine is now making complaints. I wonder if has to do with the rainy weather? My skin condition has been acting up - it's not supposed to be painful but it is at times, and I seem to be in one of those times. It's enough to make me wonder if there is a doll somewhere that looks like me with any number of pins stuck in it.

I've been goofing off and watching movies again. Last week, all but one of the movies I watched had some bearing (not that much really) on my radio show. I've just deleted a couple of paragraphs about the interconnectedness of the movies I watched. I shall try to get back to pondering such things a little later - after I get to the store and purchase a giant bottle of Aleve. For now, I'll just catch up with posting the last few weeks of radio shows.

I'll start off with the program from April 16th. The legislature in my state has had a major push to decriminalize the use of marijuana. The bill passed the Senate, but once it got to the House it became the unhappy subject of legal shenanigans. A committee decided to delay, stonewall, and obfuscate by re-writing the bill, and took out the decriminalization part in favor of just discussing regulations. They passed their version to the next committee, which put everything back, plus added a clause which would allow folks to have two plants for their own use. (The two plants thing was standard, if unacknowledged, 'look the other way' practice in Vermont some 20 years ago.) With the "four-twenty" a few days away, I thought I'd do a show featuring viper songs of the 1930's. ("Four-twenty" is a pot culture reference, and a day on which "smoke-ins" are held to encourage repeal of anti-hemp and anti-marijuana legislation. It grew out of a meeting of students at the appointed time to search for a fabled abandoned field of pot. These things take on a life of their own.)



The above, by the way, is one of my most played shows on Soundcloud. It was almost lost - the station's recording computer program burped and ate my show. Luckily, one of the DJs wanted to hear it, didn't know about my recording and posting my shows, and set his home computer to record the program. His volume was set a little high and there is a bit of distortion - particularly during the first few minutes - but I'm extremely grateful the show was saved, and that someone likes my show enough to record it. Another listener used to record it on cassette tapes and send them out to his friends.

Up next, the show from April 23rd, which took note of the birthdays of Lionel Hampton, Shirley Temple, and one of the show's Patron Saints and Goddess of Song, Ella Fitzgerald. It was also the start of Passover. In all of the surviving radio shows which are generally available, there are only a couple which even mention it. Those two mentions were from "The Eternal Light", a drama series. I assume that shows like "The Goldbergs" had Passover themes, but those shows are not among the survivors. So, for friends who celebrate the holiday, I included a segment I made last year which edited together scraps found of a NYC Yiddish radio station. Included in that segment, the Barry Sisters sing "Yiddle Mitn Fidl" in both Yiddish and English.



Just as a by the by kind of thing, "Yiddle With His Fiddle" was the most successful Yiddish musical ever filmed. (I think the actual citation is that it is the most successful movie in Yiddish.) It starred Molly Picon, a wonderful entertainer now largely forgotten. I screened a 16mm print of it when I lived in NYC, but don't remember much of it. I can't find a reference to this anywhere, but I'm fairly certain it was a stage show long before it was a movie. I have a memory of discovering that a theatre on Second Avenue (or was it on Third?) on the Lower East Side whose existence was endangered had been where the show played, with Molly Picon as the star.

And that brings us to the most recent show, which "played a few" for the birthdays of Blossom Dearie, Duke Ellington, Kate Smith, Lorenz (Larry) Hart, and Bing Crosby. There were also segments for Walpurgisnacht and May Day. Whew! Too much to do, not enough time. Many years ago, I did a show called "Bing and..." which was only Bing Crosby and various other performers in duets and etc. It was, I think, the most fun I ever had in the 'doing' of one of my shows. Maybe this Saturday I'll do more for Bing. And Kate Smith only got one song. Few now remember  that she was a jazz baby singing "hot" songs.



Well, now that the posting of the radio shows has been caught up, I can go writhe in pain until it's time to catch the bus. I shall try to get back later (today, tomorrow, or whenever) to record impressions of the movies I've watched, as well as the garden and this year's attempts at Spring.

Yes, memory is now like that comback you thought of a half an hour too late.

About a half an hour after I finished the last post, I finally remembered the film I'd watched (and deleted form the DVR) which I wanted to note someday before I forget it completely. It was Tim Burton's "Big Fish". I like Burton's movies, even the less than successful ones. It's the kind of movie in which no one gets any appendages cut off in clinical detail while fighting invading intergalactic warriors. There aren't even any transforming intergalactic warriors. There is a transformation of sorts, but it's part of a story about a man who is a teller of tall tales, and his relationship with his son. Released in 2003, it probably couldn't get made today, even for an internet only streaming content provider. All in all, a lovely little film I hope to see again someday.

As usual, I'm running late on some things and rushing through others. One item in the "late" category is the posting of my radio show from April the 2nd. The show opened with a few songs to greet the new month, then turned to a meditation of sorts on the idea of a pop song "April in Paris".



By the way, I've noticed that some of my shows posted here through SoundCloud no longer display the player/picture for that episode. Just click on the square and go to my account on SoundCloud - I have shows archived there going back to November 29th, 2014.

There's lots of other stuff and nonsense on which I'd like to catch up, but have little time to do so. Which means that I'm going to post last night's show and go do other things.

I would like to make a mental note that today is the anniversary of my turning on the new transmitter which put WVEW-lp back on the air almost a year after the fire at the Brooks House. This event was on April the 10th, 2012.  I had also turned on the old transmitter when the station made its broadcast debut on September 1st, 2006.  I turned the transmitter on for radio free brattleboro a couple of times, too. It's probably quite wrong to be proud of such things, but I am for many reasons I'm not going to enumerate just now.

Okay, now - last night's show played a few for lyricist E. Y. "Yip" Harburg, whose birthday was April the 8th. And I played a few for Capitol Records, which was founded around this time in 1942. Accounts differ, and I've seen April the 9th (1942) listed as the day the company was founded, the day it changed its name from Liberty Records to Capitol (about a week after the founding), and the day on which its first record was cut. And finally, there was a set for pianist/band leader Martin Denny who practically founded the "Exotica" movement of the late 1950's and early 60's which resulted in a proliferation of Tiki bars and lounges. The image for the sound file for the show is of a woman listening to a crystal radio made out of a coconut shell. It seemed appropriate at the time.



As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show(s).

p.s. Well, what do you know, all of the shows form this year are now displaying their players properly. I'd written an old address I had for Soundcloud's tech support (all such info having vanished from their site), but never heard from them. I'm just glad it's working again. It's not like friends or family are currently waiting with baited breath for each and every post, but I'd like things to be available for anyone who stumbles upon these pages.

Onion rings for breakfast

Do you know what happens when you get too busy for the daily chores of life? You get onion rings for breakfast. My schedule got messed up again thanks to stuff at the radio station (all volunteer, including humble self) and I never got to the supermarket for groceries. As I don't have a car these days, I have to rely on the bus. I missed my planned excursion on Friday morning, with the result that while I have plenty of leftovers for dinner, I'm out of cereal, eggs, and well, just about everything. I could make rice and veggie dishes for dinner for a couple more days without a shopping trip, but I've been trying to be better about actually eating breakfast. Balance and all that. Last night I wasn't all that hungry after doing my radio show, so this morning I was primed for some nice scrambled eggs with veggies, French toast, cereal - something. But the cupboard for the necessary ingredients is bare. (Studio apartments don't have much in the way of cupboards.) All that's in the freezer is some turkey stock, and the onion rings. They made a good brunch.

Logging in to the blog made me realize that I never posted last week's radio show, which was the 16th anniversary edition. The show has gone through a few evolutions, but lately I haven't been able to spend the time to do the shows the way I want to do them. Between running the station, and being President of the station's non-profit, there is just too much to keep me busy. ("If only I were paid rather than a volunteer", he thought to himself for the 1,474th time.) Over the last few years the show has concentrated on the mid 1940's. This has been mostly due to the number of music oriented shows from that period which have become available. Those episodes, when the entire broadcast was spent in a certain week or two with various excerpts from radio shows of the weeks involved - including the news - are the shows of which I'm proudest. But I've been feeling like I'm stuck in a rut. There's no time to listen to the radio shows of the period, no time to make new clips from the shows, I've just been re-using the clips I made in the year and a half I wasn't running the station. I was thinking of calling it a day last August with the show that marked the 70th anniversary of the end of WWII. At the time I didn't think that I'd accomplished what I had wanted with that show, so I figured I would just keep at it for awhile. Since then, I've had an increase in the odd verbal mistakes I've been making ('senior moments'), and an increase in the feeling that I'm not putting together the quality of shows that I want to accomplish. And I feel like I'm done with the WWII story for awhile. Over the last few weeks, I gave a lot of thought to calling it a day. Just before the anniversary show, I decided that while I'm done with the WWII shows for awhile, I'm not done with the show itself. That decision had a lot to do with my thoughts about Delores deleting her blog. I wrote to her, by the way - she's fine. She didn't say why she deleted it, and I didn't ask. At any rate, here's the 16th Anniversary edition of Recycled Radio:



Another thing that got away from me this week - I'd intended to start writing a bit about the movies I've been seeing. When I first started collecting 16mm movies, I began a practice of noting the movies I showed - mostly as a way of tracking bulb life. When I worked in film distribution, I took home a lot of movies from the company's non-theatrical library. Now I wish I had made notes about the films as well. I remember my assistant asking me to show him Mario Bava's 'Four Flies on Gray Velvet', but I'll be darned if I remember much about it 40 years later. I actually went out to the movies at a movie theatre last week to see - oh, great - I can't remember the name. It's a Marvel anti-superhero superhero movie. Ah, "Deadpool". (Bless the ability to instantly look things up on the internet.) It was in its last week at the local theatre, a late era smaller town movie palace, built in 1938. I've posted about the Latchis before. For its last week the movie went back to the main auditorium which is mostly intact and still has an old fashioned big screen. (The only change of consequence to the main auditorium was turning the "crying room" into a separate screen.)

I've not really seen much of the wave of superhero movies of the last decade. While the special effects made possible by computers have opened up a whole new world of possibilities, I can't say that using them for ever bigger explosions and more intense battle scenes has any kind of innate appeal for me. Plus, I was never a Marvel kind of guy. My era was DC comics with the likes of Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Justice League of America, et. al. Over the years I've known a number of people who have toiled in the comics industry - when I used to manage that big bookstore in NYC in the 1970's, the guys from Marvel were regular customers. At that same store, I gave several autograph parties for various illustrators. So I've been aware of many of the problems of the artists, especially the shameful way Jack Kirby's heirs were treated, and etc. So a part of my boycott of superhero movies was due to my feelings about Marvel specifically. At any rate, 'Deadpool' makes fun of its own genre without really making it to the levels of camp. It's a movie for the teenage boy still hiding inside of adults no matter what chromosome set they have. It's got the best opening and end title sequences in recent memory, and is highly entertaining. But even though it was very enjoyable, it was kind of like popcorn without butter on it - something was missing, it was satisfying in an empty calories sort of way. Now I have no problem with sheer silly entertainment for entertainment's sake, after all, one of my favorite movies is "Cobra Woman" with Maria Monetz as twin sisters. The problem I have with this kind of big budget film making may come down to the budget itself. When one is spending over a hundred million dollars to make one two hour movie, problems with protecting the investment arise. The necessity of having every single thing planned out leads to a certain lifelessness. This kind of filmmaking used to be the B picture, inventiveness due to budget constraints was required; there was a kind of 'make it up as you go along' giddiness to many of them. Now, it's a very studied affair, a linked group of set pieces told in broad strokes and broadswords. Even the cheeky vulgarity seemed too planned. When I see things like this, I keep wondering what if Kurosawa had been able to use this technology while making 'Dreams', or if Orson Welles or Dali had been able to use it.... etc.

I keep thinking that I must have seen a movie at home this week, but I can't recall having watched one. I did watch a few pieces of movies on the Blue-Ray player a friend lent me to test the format. And one day was spent at the Smith College annual bulb show. Tuesday night a friend without tv came over to watch the primary election returns, and to bitch about the current state of politics.

Spring arrived at 12:30am this morning. We've had a temperature drop, and at one point snow was predicted. No matter, it's Spring. My radio show had its annual 'Swing Into Spring', on last night's program, which also played a few for Stephen Sondheim's birthday on March 22nd. 'Senior moments' intruded when I noted Ted Lewis as Al Lewis; and totally forgot to credit a lovely piano solo on "Meditation" to Marian MacPartland, whose birthday is today, March 20th. These kinds of mistakes have been increasing in frequency. My memory doesn't work as well as it once did - or as quickly. This morning I read that statins, which I take for high levels of bad cholesterol, can cause this kind of thing as a side effect. I once went on a specialized diet for many months without any change to the cholesterol reading. My doctor smiled as she said, "this is genetics laughing in your face". When compared to the size of my father, his brothers, and my brothers from both my father and my mother's later family, I may be taller than my Dad and his brothers, but otherwise as far as bulk is concerned, I'm the runt of the litter. Also possibly contributing to these little lapses in memory are the antidepressants I used to take. Ditto the anti-anxietals I used to take. Luckily I got off of those years ago. Next time I see my doctor, I hope I remember to discuss the statin. At any rate, here's the annual "Swing Into Spring". As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show.


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Another dance on the edge

Last night, after another very long week (well, actually two very long weeks), I finally started work on the first part of a program to celebrate the 16th anniversary of my radio show. It was my intention to only work for an hour and then watch the Republican's performance piece. I got lost in my task and missed the debate. I just saw the first 15 minutes of it on the internet. I had great difficulty with the Fox News website (Fox News hosted the event), having to restart the debate webstream 3 times, watching a different commercial each time. I finally got the first section to play without crashing. Then it suddenly ended, and according to the website, the stream moved on to section 2 of the debate. The only problem was that it was section one repeated. These problems occurred at 7 something o'clock in the morning, on a major corporation's website, i.e. not a heavy traffic time. If ever there was a metaphor hanging the air like a bunch of over ripe grapes....

In the few minutes I got to see, candidate Marco Rubio played the role of attack dog. The general demeanor of the proceedings degraded so quickly that within the first five minutes the leading candidate was defending the size of his genitals. I suppose it was something of a victory that he didn't use crude language. The audience hooted and hollered with delight, similar to what one might hear from a group of children egging on the participants in a school yard brawl. Perhaps it didn't help matters that a couple of nights ago I watched a 1942 movie called "Hitler's Children". It was a wonderfully melodramatic and lurid account of life under the growing influence and strength of the Nazi regime. It opens with a schoolyard fight between freedom loving American children and heavily indoctrinated Fuehrer loving German children. It was based on a once famous book, "Education for Death", which was also the source material for a Disney short of the same name.

Here's a clip from the movie's opening (all that is available on the internet - there is a trailer on the Turner Classic Movies website, but its embed code doesn't work) just ignore the subtitles, please... (and yes, that's young Bonita Granville, who played Nancy Drew, wielding the baseball bat).



The Disney version (if you get the bothersome 'world's best' flag on the lower left hand corner, it can be clicked off. Oh, by the way, if you're going to watch this, I suggest using the full screen function.)



I had to remind myself that the alleged debate was a forum of candidates seeking to be the leader of the most powerful nation on the face of the Earth. Of course, it probably doesn't matter anymore - our Presidency is beginning to resemble a ceremonial leadership position not unlike the monarchs of Great Britain. The real authority and power lies elsewhere. Pun intended. Considering the consequences of electing any of the candidates in last night's entertainment (and the moneymen behind the curtain), I have begun to consider that Armageddon might not be that bad of an idea after all.

Last week's radio show escape didn't focus on a particular month and year. It was one of the jukebox style shows I've been doing lately, and took note of a number of birthdays. Thus, there are performances from singer Mildred Bailey (2/27), bandleader Jimmy Dorsey (2/29), singer Dinah Shore (2/29), bandleader Glenn Miller (3/1), and composer Kurt Weil (3/2). Sadly, I only fit in one piece (at the opening) for Desi Arnaz (3/2). And there was one song with a lyric by Dr. Suess (3/2). My 'senior moments' continued - a reference I made to a Lucha Libre mask came out as something on the order of 'leecha lubra'.

As the anniversary program is at hand, I'm wondering if it's time to give up the show. Perhaps it's time for a nice blowout and graceful exit while I can still manage it. I'm fairly certain that this rumination has more to do with other problems at the station, and the time I spend trying to keep everything there moving forward. Each week it seems I have less and less time for my own show, and a much harder time focusing on it. My work on it lately has left me feeling disappointed in myself. I'm not enjoying it any longer.  I realized some time ago that I was having a wonderful time when I wasn't the Board President, and wasn't managing the station. My work has rebuilt our show schedule and bank account to about the same place things were when I stopped for not quite a year and a half. It took not quite a year and a half to accomplish that feat. Well, enough of my whining. Here's last week's show.




As always, I hope any listeners enjoy my truly meager efforts.

The Bug Going Around

Holy almost Christmas!

I've had some sort of 'bug' for weeks now (by which I mean a pathogen, not something of the hemipteran genus or, for that matter, anything slightly arthropodic). I haven't had more than a mild cold for a number of years. I used to get every little something that wandered by, and always had a difficult time getting rid of it; if the average person had it for three days, I could count on a week. 

This 'whatever it is' started the week before Thanksgiving. I've visited with my doctor, in her professional capacity, twice now. This week she reluctantly proscribed a second round of antibiotics. (The doctors no longer give a shot of penicillin, and keep the antibiotics to a minimum.) Had it not been that I am an asthmatic, she might not have done it. While I would normally agree to keeping such things at a minimum, I have to say that this second round seems to be winning the day.

I wrote "seems to be" simply because I have twice thought I'd gotten over it only to have it return. It's all centered in my chest area and up. After the first two weeks, my lungs recovered, but the other symptoms either returned, or remained. Doctor's nurse noted that this exact scenario has been reported by many patients. My energy levels, which had been disturbingly low, have been increasing.

All of which is this week's explanation for not getting last Saturday's radio show posted. (I felt decent enough both of the last two weeks to go to the studio to do my show, only to return to the mire both times.) I'm beginning to think that I should start a new blog devoted to excuses for not getting a post written, or finished.

I had wanted to spend a little time jotting down a few thoughts about the show and its subject. Last week's show was on December 12th;  Frank Sinatra's 100th birthday. Mr. Sinatra is one of the patron saints of my program. The holy trinity also includes Johnny Mercer as the Patron Saint of Songwriters, and Ella Fitzgerald as the Goddess of Song.

For many of my generation, and most of the younger set, Sinatra has been little more than a late night comedy show caricature, a mobbed up, intolerant arch-conservative, sexist pig. In his later years, he certainly seemed to be trying to live up to that image. But that isn't the real story, it's only the end game that went along with the need to continue performing after the voice had gone, when all that remained was a punch drunk vocal style that relied on arrangements which had once been breathtakingly dazzling, but which had become as punchy as the singing.

The real story is much more interesting, but as I'm working on tonight's show, I don't have the time to tell any of it. I did post a sort of highlights version on the show's Facebook page, using photos with biographical notes in the comments area. Hopefully, this link will take anyone interested to the post. (Non-Facebook types will be able to click through the slideshow, but won't be able to leave comments, or etc.) If that link doesn't work, use this one and scroll down to December 12th: Recycled Radio's page on Facebook.

At any rate, here's the 'Sinatra's 100th Birthday' edition of my little radio show. As always I hope listeners enjoy what they hear.




p.s. Happy Birthday, Mr. Sinatra. And Thanks for all the music.

                         

The Jeweler

Today, December 6th, is the birthday of Ira Gershwin. Ira was two years older than George. Where George had been something of a delinquent, Ira was quiet, studious, and downright bookish. George quit school when he was a teenager - he was already making an attractive sum as a song plugger for the music publishers of Tin Pan Alley. Ira stayed in a prestigious New York City High School where he formed a life long friendship with fellow student Yip Harburg, the guy who wrote the lyrics for songs like "Buddy Can You Spare a Dime", and "Over the Rainbow". George began writing music for popular songs, and became internationally famous at the age of 21. Ira, who had worked a variety of jobs including one in the Turkish baths his father managed at the time, began writing song lyrics. He refused to cash in on the family name, and worked under the pseudonym 'Arthur Francis', a bit of Ira's humor; those were first names of his youngest brother and sister.

Ira Gershwin

George, who had encouraged Ira's writing, suggested they try creating songs together. After a show done in (I think) Atlantic City, the brothers created their first Broadway show; "Lady, Be Good" which starred Fred Astaire and his sister Adele. Aside from the title tune, the score also featured "Fascinating Rhythm'.

(left to right) Fred Astaire, George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin

With that show, and the shows which followed, George Gershwin changed American music. Ira always made sure the spotlight shone on his brother. Perhaps it is because he shunned the limelight, perhaps it is because his lyrics so perfectly fit George's music that they seemed effortless, but Ira rarely gets his due. He changed what was possible in a song lyric. Where Irving Berlin's songs were written to be easily understood by immigrants with little knowledge of English, Ira's lyrics reveled in sly puns, "sound alike" rhymes, and slang. "Life can be delish, with a sunny disposish." A lyric might mention Beatrice Fairfax (an advice columnist), have an introduction composed of other song titles, or contain the names of Russian composers. Ira once spent three days fussing over one word. Other Broadway lyric writers called him "The Jeweler".

The Gershwin brothers, George on the left, Ira on the right.

The brothers' songs became the soundtrack to the Roaring Twenties and provided the sass to fight off the Great Depression. It was an era when the songs composed for Broadway and Hollywood were the popular songs of the day. Songs like "Embraceable You", "A Foggy Day", "I Got Rhythm", "Someone to Watch Over Me", "They Can't Take That Away From Me", "But Not For Me", and the last song George wrote before his untimely death at 38, "Love Is Here To Stay". Ira wrote the lyric for it, and left the business. When he was coaxed back to work  three years later, he wrote lyrics for the likes of Jerome Kern ("Long Ago and Far Away"), Kurt Weil, Vernon Duke, and Harold Arlen ("The Man Who Got Away"). After the last named song, Ira retired and spent the remainder of his years gathering together, and preserving, his brother's manuscripts and memory. Thankfully, that project preserved his own works.  It's time Ira got his due.

This week's radio show was devoted to the lyrics of Ira Gershwin. A lot of lesser known songs were included at the expense of some of the most famous numbers in the American songbook. As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show.  



p.s. Ira was the business manager for the brother's works. An interviewer once asked him, "Which comes first, the words, or the music?". Ira replied, "The contract."

As summer slides away, fair season arrives...

Holy Moly, Batman. (side thought - why do I find it interesting that Blogger's spell check recognized, but was unable to suggest the correction for, 'Holy Moley'?) Two weeks have gone by since I last posted here. I'm behind the eight ball again. (What is it with the trite phrases today?) (What is it with the use of parenthesis today?) I haven't even posted my radio show links here for anyone who might be interested. Sorry about that.

The show from Saturday August. 29th began by 'playing a couple' for the birthdays of Dinah Washington and Charlie Parker, as soft summer breezes created a reverie of those last glorious August days in the sun at the Jersey shore when I was much, much younger...

Something odd happened with the graphic for the streaming player from that program. It looked fine on the Soundcloud page - I had to monkey with the image a bit to get it to display properly. By the time I was done, it looked great. Until the 'project' was 'saved' and the image shrunk. The problem shows up in the player below - do scroll down, please, as there is more. I just can't seem to correct the size of the image.



The show  for Sept 5th took note of the local proclivity for county and state fair season; the first hour perambulates around that theme. The second hour played whatever was at hand, including a few favorites from 'last" season's shows. The joys and adventures of aging struck once again - there is a clip from a Jean Shepherd broadcast of July 1976 which, as I gave the credits, somehow came out as 1946.

Fair going was on my mind. It was Labor Day weekend and time for the State Fair up in Rutland. That one isn't really the State of Vermont's State Fair , it's just called that. It's always been called that, and no one has objected, so it continues to be the State Fair . In a couple of weeks it will be time for the World's Fair up in Tunbridge. These fairs are traditional in style, going back more years than anyone will admit . I guess Vermont used to get a little giddy when something to do ambled along.

Here's that show...



The following day, I managed to get to a local fair in the village of Guilford, just south of Brattleboro and just north of the Massachusetts state line. It's a newer event, only having been around for 73 years. Just the same, it's what the kids of a few years ago were calling "old school".

As I still don't have a car, a friend drove me down in the late afternoon, which was quite delightful as most of the day's crowd had gone. To be fair (no pun), there was a big event going on down the road where there was a 50th anniversary celebration of the organ at the barn where the Friends of Music at Guilford perform. Or something like that... At any rate, the field used for dog shows and classic car displays was already empty as we parked - closer to the fairgrounds than I have ever managed to get in the past.

 The first thing I like to do, aside from listening to the performers at the little pavilion set up for them, is to go through the old display hall where the agricultural judging was held and the winners are displayed in all their glory.  Just outside the door were a few items that I'd never noticed before. Now how can any day on which one turns 65 and gets to see not one, but two blue ribbon winning bales of hay be bad?

As one wanders out of that building, one can easily wander over to the booth selling giant plates of French fries. Now that I'm 65, I was finally given the Senior discount for my admission ticket. The plate of French fries cost more! The lovely thing about the booth with the fries is that it overlooks the ring for the horse show and pulling contests. Sadly, they were packing up when I got there.

 Just up on a ridge is the midway, which this year had more rides than I have ever seen there.

After walking one side of the Midway, there's a barn where the livestock is judged and on display.
There is also a very popular sheep shearing demonstration a couple of times a day.



After doubling back through the Midway, one reemerges into the area where the food and sales booths are located. There is a moment to take one last look at the French fry tent.

 It was a little odd to visit the fair after most of the crowd had left for the day. (It's a two day affair.) (No pun.) I didn't get to see the woodcarving with chainsaws, nor the tractor pulls, eve the sheep shearing was ending when I got there.  But there was still something quite wonderful about it all, even though the Guilford Fair, unlike the State Fair, doesn't have pig races. Ah, well.

Sorry about not getting the shows posted in a timely manner.
As usual, I hope anyone kind enough to listen enjoys them.

Do Nothing till You Hear From Me

It seems I still can't find the time to fit in a decent post. Can we go for indecent (ba-da-dumb)?

Here's last Saturday's radio show...  which took brief note of a few birthdays before using the old Philco to tune in August 1943 for a broadcast by Duke Ellington from New York City's Hurricane Club.  The broadcast, on August the 14th, featured singer Al Hibbler, whose birthday was August the 16th. In the broadcast, Hibbler gave the first public performance of the lyric (written for him) for "Do Nothing till You Hear From Me", which had been introduced as an instrumental few months earlier. As such, it was a reworked version of Ellington's "Concerto for Cootie".

Duke Ellington with singer Al Hibbler.

As always, I hope any listeners enjoy...

Getting around to it...

Oh Good Lord... here it is Thursday and I haven't gotten around to posting last Saturday night's radio show (with or without the usual weekly wordy ramble accompanied by visual materials). The memory does vaguely recall that there were two days in a row in which the weather politely suggested I stay out of the garden. Those days were so filled with awe and wonder that I have little awareness of what I did during them. It was reasonably peaceful - which means that the new neighbor, a nearly feral young man caught in the web of social services, wasn't banging himself or his supposed friends against the shared wall while screaming obscenities mixed with occasional threats of violence. I do catch myself day dreaming about acquiring my own home, with my garden just outside of my door - all located far enough outside of town that I won't have to deal too often with other people. I'm certainly not misanthropic, I just don't want to be bothered. I dare say a couple weeks of listening to little but crickets - and the ever present echoing whoosh of automobiles - will propel me back towards the unwelcoming arms of humanity after, oh, say, a decade or so.

The spring garden, with its visual perfume of peonies, iris, and the first blush of roses, has faded into memory. The flow of words and the mental image of the garden are ripped from my being by a telephone call - after moments of silence and static a young man with an  Indo-Pakistani accent explains to me that he is calling from "Windows Technical Department". As this is the 5th such call I have picked up this week, I responded in a manner that was not entirely kind, and did not reflect any of the generosity of spirit to which I aspire. I glumly reflect that I should be thankful it wasn't another of the calls for a local Social Services Agency. My telephone number was previously held by an agency which contracts with the state to provide various services. They've been under fire for a $650,000.00 retirement payout last year to a previous executive, which was topped by the recent revelation of an attempt to hide a $1.8 Million Dollar loss operating group homes in another state. Somehow, for their information summary, Google picked a phone number which had been assigned to a social worker who left the concern a few years ago. I've had the number for close to three years now.  Not long ago, I found out whose number it had been; amusingly enough, the gentleman in question sought out a show on the community radio station as an adjunct to the new position he took working with young fathers. I trained him. And his replacement. I believe the position has vanished due to budget cuts. I've complained many times about the problem, but no one seemed to know how to get Google to change their display. This has been the first week in months without calls for the agency. I looked them up using Google. Their number has finally been corrected. One down, and fourthousandthreehundredtwentysix to go.

Where was I? Oh, yes, I was about to devote a few words to the garden. As I've wasted this much time, I'll just post a few pictures instead.

The summer version od the garden begins to take shape.

The trail to the 'back 40' shade portion of the garden.

A visitor to one of the daylilies.

This was a scrimp and save addition last year. There's a post here somewhere about a trip to the daylily garden.

May was very dry and hot, requiring constant watering. June has been very wet and hot. A couple of rainstorms played havoc with the peas. On Sunday, I was able to harvest a handful - enough to put in that night's dinner. On Wednesday there were so may snow peas and sugar snaps that the large paper bag I brought was over 1/3 full when I finished picking.

Saturday's radio show was again "off format", continuing the "summer series" of shows. This edition selected its playlist from records and broadcasts of the week's birthday celebrants, Billy Eckstine, Della Reese, Louis Jordan, Jimmy McHugh, Oscar Hammerstein II, and Dorothy Fields. Someone at the station changed a few settings on our equipment, which resulted in the show's recording being a tad over modulated. Luckily it's not too bad and is listenable. As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show.

Plymouth Notch and the 4th of July

Plymouth Notch was/is a tiny village a hour or so north of where I live in Vermont, It was/is one of the villages that make up the town of Plymouth. Once the center of a number of farms, the village had a General Store (which was also the Post Office), a church, a schoolhouse, and a cheese factory among its few buildings. John Coolidge used to own the General Store. His son Calvin was born (in the small cottage attached to the store) on the Fourth of July. After John Coolidge's wife passed, he married the local schoolmarm, and ran the cheese factory. Calvin became a layer, Governor of Massachusetts, and Vice-President of the United States. He was visiting his father at the start of August 1923 when then President Harding suddenly expired. As there was no telephone in Plymouth Notch, messengers had to be sent to tell the Vice President the news. It was early in the morning; John Coolidge had to wake his son, who dressed, said a prayer, and went downstairs where people were waiting. As the father was both a Justice of the Peace and a Notary, he was pressed into service to perform the ceremony swearing his son into office as the 30th President of the United States. After sending a telegram of condolence to Mrs. Harding, the President went back to bed. John Coolidge passed away a couple of years later. His housekeeper refused to change anything in the house. It, and the village, eventually became a historic site. It's all still there.


Plymouth Notch, VT

The General Store was bring repainted and was the scene of some confusion with a number of tourists milling around waiting for a tour to begin.  I never got a chance to take its picture.
As I don't have the time to dig out one of my old pictures of the place and scan it,
here's a friend's photo in front of the Store  - that's his 1948 Dodge in the center.  (Nice, huh?)

Upstairs, over the store, is the old meeting hall, site of dances and etc.
During the President's visit in 1924, it was the Summer White House.

At the back of the General Store is the building in which the Coolidge family lived when Calvin was born.

Next to the General Store is the village church.

The interior is all wood, milled locally. The flag denotes the Coolidge family pew.

 

Across the street from the church is the house John Coolidge purchased after he remarried.
The building just up the street is the cheese factory. (The one room schoolhouse is next to it.)



Inside the Coolidge home, the workroom contained a ball of string.
My family had one in the kitchen when I was young.

Aside from facilities in the attached barn, just inside the house was a small 'two seater'.
The reading material, emergency paper supply, are seed catalogues.
Sorry about the quality of the photo - everything is glassed in for preservation.

The dining room - everything is original and as it was.
The second Mrs. Coolidge (the President's Step-Mother) passed on the fainting couch by the windows.

A detail of the sitting room. On the table is the bible used to swear in the President.
Being a Progressive Republican Vermonter, Mr. Coolidge refused to swear on oath on the bible
and simply held his hand over it.

The village's two old barns (one rebuilt and added since I had last visited over 15 years ago) contain farm tools, carriages and the like - donated by local farmers. Everything there was used in the general vicinity.

Calvin Coolidge is, to this day, the only President of the United States born on the Fourth of July - the date on which the Colonies declared their Independence from Great Britain. My third visit to the site (over 20 years time) was this past Thursday. The first time I was there, it took me a good 20 minutes to figure out why things felt different walking through the village. Then I suddenly realized that there were no utility poles to be seen. There have been changes since my last visit, which include electric lights illuminating exhibits in the barns, a videotape in the Summer White House, etc. It's a shame in a way, as visiting used to be such a step back in time.

My radio show this week took note of some of the other people born on the Fourth of July - lyricist Irving Caesar, songwriter Stephen Foster, songwriter/bandleader John Phillip Sousa, and Louis Armstrong. (Throughout his life, Armstrong thought he was born on the Fourth of July. Later research turned up his baptismal certificate which showed his birthdate as August 4th.) The show also notes George M. Cohan, who was born on July 3rd. As always, I hope any listeners enjoy the show.