We now return to the Trouble-Buddy collection and the two Jeff Beck albums it contains: Blow By Blow and Wired released in 1975 and 76 respectively. As a writer, and I assume this goes for Trouble-Bud as well, I love lyrics, so listening to two strictly instrumental albums was a little odd for me. But Beck, who is a phenomenal guitarist put out some decent stuff, with the help of legendary rock producer George Martin, known mostly for his work with The Beatles. One or both of the albums will make an appearance tomorrow when company comes over, and not just as background to our chatter.
Jeff Beck got his start with the Yardbirds, and like a couple of other Yardbirds’ guitarists (Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton) gained recognition and respect for his craft. His Jeff Beck Group gave the voice of Rod Stewart a pre-Faces boost and I remember well their rendition of “Ain’t Superstitious” as that tween who was newly addicted to FM radio in the late 60s, when Stewart was doing what Stewart does best (Note to Rod: you may want to go back and listen to your old stuff. You are not Tony Bennett. Stay Rod.).
In 1985, Jeff Beck briefly joined the MTV generation, impressively so, with the video of “Ambitious” that played out as an audition for the singer of the song and featured Donny Osmond, who mentions having sung with his brothers and “a chick named Marie” when asked about his credentials. There are many other recognizable faces in the video, including the late, great Dr. Joyce Brothers, who does not sing, but offers sage advice. Beck, at the age of 40 when the video was shot, not only demonstrates his awesome talents as a guitarist, but shows what a good-looking guy he was. Still is, but you know, he’s 70.
I’m not really into jazz instrumentals, as many of the songs are, particularly on Wired, but about nine or ten years ago I had the opportunity to meet, interview and write an article about jazz drummer Al Dreares, who played with some of the jazz greats in the latter half of the 20th century, and shared some wonderful stories with me. I’ve not seen him in years, but I still keep a message from him on my voicemail, oh just because. And speaking of Tony Bennett, I forgot to mention last week when we reviewed the movie Amy, that if you didn’t know it by now, the movie proves just how absolutely cool he is. He is the epitome of cool in style, demeanor, kindness and appreciation of others’ talents, not just for his remarkable longevity. Artists of all ages love him and deservedly so.
Btw – It’s a good thing the ex and I agreed to 6lbs by Labor Day, after a wee bit of negotiating it down from losing 5lbs in a month from the 4th of July. For me, my initial weigh-in wasn’t horrible when I texted him my weight last Sunday morning, but then I started heading in the wrong direction. And then I find out that the ex plum lied to me about his weight for some idiotic reason I don’t remember as it actually had nothing to do with me. Regardless, the pact remains on.
This is not about any of the Amys I may know, deceased or living, and I apologize for any confusion. A warning first that this is a long post, as I do go on. You can read it or not, but it is something I needed to write. It has turned into my opinions of the movie Amy, a documentary about Amy Winehouse, inside of a narrative of how I spent my 4th of July, or it’s a narrative of my day yesterday that includes my views on what the movie presented. Either way, feel free to pick and choose.
With his girlfriend out of town, the ex and I decided to spend the day together doing our usual breakfast and a movie, as neither of us had anything to do. Oh, don’t go feeling sorry for me this week. Being a bit of a loner as I am, having more than one social event per week, or in consistent weeks is pretty major. And this was my third this week. As the movie is only playing in two theaters in Manhattan I chose the downtown theater where I could take the ex to one of my favorite New York City diners, The Landmark Café on Grand Street. As stated here before, I do love a good diner and this one, a small establishment with old, but well-kept tables and all of three stools at the counter reflects the culture of the area in a traditional diner setting. We were lucky to arrive when we did as it was full but a table had just freed up. The coffee is good, the eggs were over easy and the bacon was crispy. I had to keep the ex on track though as he was distracted by the offer of spaghetti and meatballs for $8, and if we hadn’t been there specifically for breakfast, I don’t know if I could have dissuaded him. Me? I wouldn’t be enticed to order spaghetti and meatballs even in a fancy diner.
The movie comes with high recommendations from me for anyone who knows anything about Amy Winehouse. It obviously was made by those who love her, and those who used her unconscionably were appropriately vilified. I need to say that I believe that Amy Winehouse was responsible for her own death. However, she was victimized by her opportunist, scum-sucking father who cared not a fig about her health and well-being, only about himself and should be throttled and publicly humiliated then kicked repeatedly all over his body from head to toe. She was additionally used by the opportunist, scum-sucking egocentric predator that she loved and married, who assisted her with her overindulgences and introduced her to heroin, and whom I personally hope suffers immensely throughout the rest of his life. And her mother deserves a hard slap across the face, maybe two, for stupidly shrugging off her knowledge of her teenage daughter’s bulimia saying she thought she’d grow out of it. It’s a good and infuriating documentary that does have those bits that will have you smiling, even laughing. She was a clever girl. Not to give anything away, but watch her reaction of seeing Tony Bennett at the Grammy Awards as he announced her category and her reaction to an interviewer comparing her to Dido. I’ve no doubt the gruesome image we who are not in the know saw of her in the media was softened, but in the end she should have been allowed to walk away, as the ex observed. She would have been back one day. Sorry for the rant, but for those of us who had woefully inadequate parents like the ex and I did, we are angered when we see parents behaving badly and thankful that we had the innate strength to survive.
Having no further plans but not wanting to call it a day, we walked through Washington Square Park where we made a pact to each lose six pounds by Labor Day, which we forgot completely about when our stomachs told us that we might want to consider eating again. No, I was not going to take him back to the diner, but we found a lovely little tapas restaurant where we got to sit out on the sidewalk, eat adequate food and drink very cold Dos Equis amber from frosted glasses.
Not being overly impressed with the food, and it still being early yet, I thought it might be nice to wander a bit, find a café that serves dessert and coffee, and has a bathroom as that idea became more than just a thought (don’t look at me). We slipped into a fancy looking place on West Broadway that seemed friendly as well as expensive, but it appeared to suit both needs. Even though we said we were only there for dessert, they brought us each a glass of peach flavored prosecco and a plate of vanilla wafers. Without looking at the menu we ordered an absolutely scrumptious chocolate mousse cake and a bowl of berries, and of course coffee. I glanced outside and realized I could read the name of the restaurant written on the window even though I was doing so backwards. It was Cipriani’s. We were prepared that this would be an expensive dessert, however when I suggested to the ex that he run when I yell “run,” he thought it might be better to both go the bathroom at the same time as there must be a backdoor. I am far from a woman of means, but I have led a thrifty life and sometimes I just like to be a little cavalier. This was one of those times, and was well worth it. We could hear the fireworks in the distance and needed to get the ex to the train before the crowds started their exodus home.
They were lovely to us in Cipriani’s. The head waiter took my hand to say goodbye and joked that he would see us tomorrow. It occurred to me later, in fact just now, that I with my bright yellow hoodie, ill-fitting old jeans and Keds (yes, I have Keds) and the ex looking equally unsuitably attired for a place like this, and sporting a full mane of greying hair, we may have been taken for a couple of rich eccentrics out for a stroll in search of dessert on a warm 4th of July evening. Let me reiterate, we are not rich.
So I didn’t get to see the big fireworks display this year, but I did last year and have my smatterings of fireworks I can see from my window throughout the year. But I’m good and it was a very nice 4th in the City. It’s days like this that I love this city and am grateful to have the honor of calling myself resident. It reminds me to take advantage of all the little things it has to offer, because unfortunately many of us are not going to be able to stay here much longer.
Btw – the pact is still on.
After Trouble-Buddy left Long Island towards the end of our first year of high school, which was 10th grade for us, I became close friends with a diminutive girl who had a crush on the same older boy that I did. Of course I didn’t like her at first, but that changed. Neither of us got the boy, not even close, and soon there were other boys to replace him. We were friends throughout high school and through her, I became friends with our late friend Amy, and then Vicki’s sister and Vicki, who was a year behind us.
Shortly after Amy passed in the fall of 2013, I got a friend request on Facebook from someone whose name I didn’t recognize, but despite the fact that she was masked in her picture, and it had been a good deal of time, I quickly figured out who she was. She found me through Amy’s husband’s FB page after he told her about Amy. She had been the maid of honor at their wedding. It was four months later that I had to tell her about Vicki. We’ve been through a lot together in our short re-connection and though I far from relished my task of being the bearer of bad news and so soon after our last loss, I have welcomed her support. And although she hasn’t seen much of the results, her support of my writing projects has made me all the more productive.
So, what has this all to do with Mary Chapin Carpenter, you ask. I happen to have a Mary Chapin Carpenter cassette tape. Had two once, Come On Come On, before my old stereo system ate it. And because my friend, for whom I will have to think up a moniker, noticed that I’ve mentioned several times in my blog that I no longer have use of the tape deck in my CD player she sent me a little boom box with radio and cassette player. Now I can get back to exploring my tape collection, what’s left of it. And now you’re thinking, isn’t Mary Chapin Carpenter country? Haven’t you always said you’re a rock ‘n roll kinda gal? True. But she’s done some really good stuff (I also have a Dwight Yoakum tape), and I’ve got to say that I just went all goofy when “Shut Up And Kiss Me” played. It made me miss the other tape even more as that contains my very favorite Chapin Carpenter song, “Passionate Kisses,” written by Lucinda Williams. Listen to it sometime and see you don’t reckon you deserve things like a comfortable bed, pens that don’t run out of ink, and passionate kisses.
I publicly thank my friend for this gift. I am fortunate to have rekindled my relationship with her as well as with Trouble-Bud. Btw – I put a small package in the mail to her the other day and she should receive it in the next day or two.
Tonight – Max and I are paying tribute to Batman, a young kitty we never met, but of whom I’ve heard stories including how he got his name (just think cat with its head stuck in a plastic bag handle) from my favorite cashier at the market downstairs. I noticed today that she looked very sad, which is unlike her, and she told me that Batman was diagnosed with cancer and died soon afterward. So here is to Batman and his human mother who loves him.
Last thing – I wish my brother could have been alive to see this day. Just think rainbows.
Wait! Where did all this Elton John come from all of a sudden? Well, I will tell you. I was expecting a CD of pictures Trouble-Buddy took during her visit a few weeks back, so imagine my surprise when I found this big box waiting for me. She had mentioned still having some of her old albums and thought I might like them, but you know, people say things. But she delivered. And more than just Elton John, whom I can take or leave.
Leave is how I’ve felt since he irked me to no end by his duet with Kiki Dee on “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” which if you have learned anything about me in the past year and a half or more, it should be that I really don’t like that song. I was however, highly entertained by the feud he had some years back with Keith Richards, made all the better because I couldn’t take sides, though I guess I was leaning towards Keith. But they both got some good shots in there, and if it were anyone other than Elton John involved, it would have been much less enjoyable.
I started perusing Trouble-Bud’s collection with John because that’s what I remember of her from the few but pivotal years we were tween and early high school friends. The other albums in the bunch are from artists I didn’t know she had liked. She had already moved away. I do recall that she particularly liked the song “Amoreena” from Tumbleweed Connection.
I’m covering the albums in order and all together due to that leave him thing, even though this is what I would consider his good stuff. The first album, John’s self-titled second, was impressively worn and crackly, but for me had little going for it except for “Take Me To The Pilot.” “Your Song” was the song that brought John and lyricist Bernie Taupin into the limelight, and while I think I liked it once, I find it plain sappy now. Tumbleweed Collection was a much better collection of songs, especially “Country Comfort,” though I still like Rod Stewart’s old cover of it, and the only song I like, and like a whole lot, from Madman Across the Water is “Madman Across the Water.” I few memories were stirred, but Elton John did not provide for a good workout. There are other songs from other albums that I do like from John and Taupin, but I don’t know what Taupin’s up to these days, and I find John a bit annoying. I do remember a television interview with Bernie Taupin in those early years during which his wife Maxine wore boots with her name boldly printed down both calves. I thought that was so totally cool that it influenced my perhaps not so wise decision to wear my own name on the seat of my pants, which I would later turned into shorts.
So in the coming months I will explore the rest of the albums, most of which I am very familiar with the artists but not these records. I’m looking forward to it. A big thanks to Trouble-Buddy, and happy summer solstice to all.
Sheryl Crow and Stevie Nicks are good friends, and though Nicks served as a mentor, their styles are oh so very different. Remember, we just covered Nicks and her pivotal album Bella Donna last week and now we are on to Crow’s breakthrough album. Nicks’ backstory is also quite different – she was making music with then boyfriend Lindsey Buckingham, taking odd jobs to pay the rent, when Mick Fleetwood calls her boyfriend to join the well-established and respected Fleetwood Mac, but he won’t go unless Stevie can too. And there you have it, great rock ‘n roll history based on the magic that occurred.
Crow, a child of musical parents, taught music, sang jingles and then backup for some pretty major folk. She toured with Michael Jackson before stepping out bigtime from the shadows with this, her second attempt at a debut album in 1993 from which “All I Wanna Do” got her loads of attention. In contrast to Nicks’ mystical mystique, Crow was comfortable rockin’ the MaryAnn look in plaid shirts and cutoffs, looking like a laid-back, guitar-playing natural woman (aside – when I first heard “Natural Woman” by Aretha Franklin, as a little girl, I thought she was singing – “you make me feel like a man should a woman” and that she had lost her shawl, not soul, which was recovered from the lost and found).
I am very glad to have found this CD for a buck at Housing Works. I’ve had the tape for nearly 20 years, but as we all know I can’t play cassettes anymore. I probably wore down “Strong Enough” and “No One Said It Would Be Easy” anyway. Good songs. And though I like this album much better than Nicks’ Bella Donna, Stevie’s songs like “Landslide” and “Silver Springs” outrank any of Crow’s on my long list of all-time favorites. However, Tuesday Night Music Club is a much, much better workout album.
Off-topic: You know how I like learning the origins of songs? Well, today on CBS’ Sunday morning program, musician and producer, whom I’ve never heard of, Mark Ronson was interviewed. Turns out he produced Back to Black, the Amy Winehouse album that currently provides the background for more than half of the long workout (my long workout is a little more than an hour and the short one, which does not include Amy, is 38 minutes). He was also a friend, and one day when Winehouse told him that they were trying to make her go to rehab, he said no, no, no. Understandably he is regretful, but they did put out a quality piece of work and now I know who he is.
Btw – another beautiful Sunday in NYC.
The ever-beautiful Stevie Nicks, who just turned 67, had made a mighty big impression when she and Lindsey Buckingham joined the long-established Fleetwood Mac back in the late 70s, as we all know. It’s classic rock ‘n roll history, plus she and Lindsey have been highlighted in my Fleetwood Mac posts of the cassettes I was lucky to listen to and review before my tape deck died.
The very talented, very pretty singer with the unique voice and style, broke out on her own releasing her first solo album in the summer of 1981. It includes none of my favorite Stevie Nicks songs, least of which may well be her collaboration with Don Henley on “Leather and Lace,” a song for some reason I find annoying. It was also before I began to appreciate Henley, but I don’t think that would make a difference. I still don’t like it. I do remember being fascinated by an interview with Nicks on WNEW-FM back when she released Bella Donna, during which she showed she was not only an accomplished songwriter, but a storyteller as well, and I particularly enjoyed her explanation of how she came up with “The Edge of Seventeen.” Turns out she was conversing with Tom Petty’s wife one day, as Nicks and Petty performed “Stop Dragging My Heart Around” together on the album, and Petty’s wife told Nicks that they had met at the age of seventeen, but with Petty’s wife’s southern accent, Nicks thought she had said at the edge of seventeen, and so the song was born. (It should be mentioned that we are referring to Petty’s first wife, to whom he was married for more than 20 years before typically trading her in for a younger facsimile.)
I like when you can form a story around a title. I do that all the time. Trouble is I’ve got so many titles, and so many first lines.
While I find this album dated, it does stir up memories, like working for a radio production company back then and hanging out most Friday nights with my colleague and her husband. It was also the year Vicki came home to New York and fun times were had by all. Stevie however, was not on either of our playlists as I was all about the Bruce and Vicki was into the likes of The Talking Heads and Elvis Costello. She also leaned towards punk and I remember the vision of her one night at Cagney’s wearing a muscle tee and rolled up jeans, drinking a vodka martini while reconnecting with a guy friend from high school who had just become a corporate lawyer and was wearing a suit and tie. At the time, Vicki was an unemployed social worker, who was working the nightshift at her local Taco Bell. Within the year, I too would be unemployed after my company lost funding for one of its programs and moved its headquarters to the Poconos. I think I made the right choice not to go with them, as those were some of the best times of my life, you know, when you could still be frivolous and somewhat dim-witted. And of course, cute. Good times.
Damn – now I want Taco Bell, even though a Chipotle just opened up downstairs. Btw, this is not a good exercise CD.
I wrote an article for tonight’s post about my fantasy of interviewing actresses Helen Hunt, Bonnie Hunt and Linda Hunt together over drinks. I must have been a little too relaxed the evening I wrote it, because as funny as I thought it was when I was writing it, upon further review, I believe I would be the only one amused by it. Then, I had the brilliant idea this morning to write about the spinach salads I have nearly every work day for lunch, as tomorrow is Fernando’s birthday. Fernando holds the first-man position on the salad line at the Flavors across from my office, and often has all my ingredients from his station in the silver bowl before I even plop my large container of spinach on the counter in front of him. Again, I enjoyed writing it, but I admit it is kind of lame, even if Fernando holds a special place in my heart and I can make him blush. So tonight, I write about nothing. Except to say that this coming Wednesday is my three year anniversary of quitting smoking. That’s why I’ve used the picture of a smoking squirrel with a bottle of Jack from my anniversary article of last year on Why I Can No Longer Feed the Squirrels. It’s too precious. Btw – I don’t even have cravings for cigarettes anymore, but I do hang out with Jack every now and then.
Tonight’s post will be a three-parter as I’ve got a few things to cover, starting with TLC. This is actually a pretty good CD, at least it starts out that way. I got a little bored with it after a while, but it was still a decent workout. I always liked “Red Light Special,” song and video, and love “Creep,” song, video, the whole production. This is a more mature TLC than when they first hit the scene a few years prior in the very early 90s. I remember seeing them on MTV, I being in my mid-30s at a time when they were just some smug punky girls in stupid clothes. I found them both annoying and quite appealing with catchy tunes like “Ain’t Too Proud To Beg” and “Baby Baby Baby.” I found them even more appealing and much less annoying with Crazy Sexy Cool, which showed that they could very successfully go from punky girls to punky young women with better clothing selections. I guess I was a punky kid too once, but without their confidence and spunk.
The extent of the trouble my old trouble-buddy and I caused during her visit last weekend, was quite mild if not nonexistent, as we are way far away from our punky days. It involved watching the final episode of Madmen the last night she was here, which was the first time I’d seen the show, and having cocktails and pizza at the bar of a local restaurant on her first night. As tweens we loved cooking and eating hot dogs, canned ravioli, frozen wanton soup and of course Progresso minestrone soup with lots of parmesan cheese. Now, we both love seltzer. It was also the first time in ages I had anybody stay over for more than one night. But, it was okay. It worked out well and didn’t even seem to last the four days and three nights as the time was filled with nonstop conversation. Isn’t it funny how someone you knew pretty well in junior high and early high school, someone who you thought was self-assured and confident, was just as insecure as you were? That’s one of the things I learned about trouble-buddy and wonder if that’s something she felt, and feels about me as well. Cause I was a mass of insecurities. And that leads to all sorts of things, mostly mistakes. Sometimes though when I hear other women’s stories about the men in their lives, and not just trouble-buddy’s, I feel the need to call the ex and thank him for not being the worst boyfriend in the world. But I don’t want to let him off that easy.
Did I ever mention the time when my boyfriend who looked like Bruce Springsteen (not the ex) and I saw Paul Schaefer somewhere west of the Winter Garden Theater one cold winter day, oh about 32 years ago? He was wrapped in one of those long down coats that practically devoured him, and he smiled at us when my boyfriend (the one that looked like Bruce Springsteen) said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, Paul Schaefer.” We were fans from the get-go and it was so early in his tenure as a late night fixture that he probably hadn’t tire of hearing that yet. And with that fond memory, I would like to thank David Letterman for years of unconventional hilarity and complete enjoyment on my part. Thank you very much. It was greatly appreciated.
We’re taking a trip back, far back in my life, but only to early last year in blog time to the Rod Stewart albums. Not the Faces because we split them up if you remember. If you so choose, you may refer to March 31, 2014 – Every Picture Tells a Story, which then refers back to a Lee Michaels post on the prior January 5th. I was 14 and 15 in those stories, and so was my friend, my trouble-buddy I’ve written about, who also appears in an even earlier post about my 45s and again in a later one on August 31, 2014, when I saw my old bud for the first time in decades. Well, here she is now, sitting next to me on my couch as I post tonight’s article. She came up for a solemn occasion having to do with our old friend with whom we had dinner that late August evening, and who just succumbed to her cancer. Trouble-bud and Robin (as we can now use her name) were very close in high school and remained close despite physical distance since. She came up from her southern home and is roosting with me for the weekend. So, if you don’t mind, this is tonight’s post as my bud and I have much to catch up on and have not caused enough trouble yet. Nor are we likely to, as we don’t actually remember how.
No exercise for a while, but we’ve done some walking and just came back from an evening cruise on the Staten Island Ferry.
Here’s the workout line-up as it stands now, I just have to get it back up to 4-5 times a week for the full routine: Aerobics – Santana and Rob Thomas’ “Smooth” twice and Sly and the Family Stone’s “Stand,” “Dance to the Music,” and then “Higher” twice. Variations may include setting up and warming up (laying out the mat, making sure I have water, going to the bathroom and stretching and moving) to Linda Ronstadt’s “You’re No Good,” “You Don’t Matter Anymore” and of course “Faithless Love” from Heart Like a Wheel, or, but not both, if I’m particularly peppy, I will add Sly and Family’s “You Can Make It If You Try.” For the next two sections of the workout, the matt stuff which incorporates some yoga movements with leg lifts, those elbow to knee things, and since it’s how I started this whole routine, the legs against the wall, with breathing and chanting, and then up on my feet for some work with the weights (still haven’t got anything heavier than 3lbs, but the arm muscles are coming along nicely) and stretching various body parts, I play Amy Winehouse. The whole Back to Black CD. I’m still that bowled over, and it is for that reason that she has come out ahead of Linda Ronstadt’s best of CD as the go to in what has now become the standard exercise routine and the music that goes with it.
A capitalist friend (I’ve got a couple) once criticized Linda Ronstadt for the career choices she made stating that if she had stayed in the mainstream he would be able to talk to his kids about her, but they don’t know who she is. Personally, I see a woman who was willing to risk criticism or alienation to pursue endeavors that made her happy. But to some, money and fame trump self-fulfillment. I did not follow her career when she was singing the songs of her heritage, which were quite popular with a demographic that would not include my capitalist friend, nor did I see her on Broadway in Pirates of Penzance, and only saw the movie when it hit TV. She was a big hit on the stage and was perfectly fine in her role, but Kevin Kline was pretty freakin’ major. Just sayin’. At the age of 68, the multi-Grammy winning Ronstadt can no longer sing due to her Parkinson’s disease, but we have plenty of mighty impressive work to remember.
With Amy Winehouse, we don’t have that big library of covers and duets, not to mention Ronstadt’s work with Emmy Lou Harris and Dolly Parton, but Winehouse hit the wow button over and over in her short life. As I get older, with health issues and those of people close to me, plus losing dear friends and other contemporaries, I think about death more and more. It fascinates me more than frightens as I am pretty darned sure that there is something after we die. Don’t know what it is, but I do believe this current life is the afterlife of another. I’ve kind of always accepted reincarnation, it’s comforting and fits well with my practical sense of recycling. So when I think of someone like Amy Winehouse, I don’t think of where she will go, but where she came from. Has she been destined to be that attention-grabbing character that’s here one moment, making sure everyone knows of his or her existence and remembered for the impact they’ve made, and then is gone before you know it? Maybe she was Billie Holiday or James Dean in a past life, or perhaps 19th century poet John Keats in a life before that. For me, I don’t want to seem like an ingrate, or a deserting rat, but when I come back next time, I’d like it to be on a different planet. But for the time being, Amy Winehouse won the coveted spot in my exercise routine, by a nose, by a hair and/or by a wisp of eyeliner over Linda Ronstadt. I thank both women for their assistance in my physical well-being during this lifetime.
The Walrus Was Paul 