Thursday, July 30, 2009

The Pitch-Perfect Acoustic Legacy of a Parent


After a week of playing catch-up from an Austin pilgramage, I finally made it to the Muse Scripts box at the Carrboro post office. Nothing makes me happier than reaching into that box and pulling out a big ole glossy Texas Monthly. I dig that senior editor John Spong used to babysit my husband at the Westlake Oaks compound.

Ever play the game where you plop the magazine open and read only the article on that page? Nothing maintains the allure of an issue like taking it one randomly selected piece at a time. Maybe you can tell I was one of the kids that saved some candy for later.

This afternoon I dug into the magazine and up popped a photo of Roland Martin in a pinstripe suit and a lilac tie. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I returned from the Triangle Area Freelancers meeting so falling upon an article on being a multimedia journalist seemed fateful.

In the interview with Pamela Colloff, Roland Martin talks about Tiger Wood's father's remark, "'Even when I'm gone, Tiger will always hear my voice in his head at any moment in his life.'"

The legacy of what we tell our kids and what our parents told us is Texas size.

This week I traveled to the North Carolina Administrative Offices of the Courts and talked to parents about what they should tell their children about tobacco.

I told them about how tricky the topic of mortality can be for the younger set (9-11). By the way, that's the age of initiation for smoking, so if your youngin falls into that group, it's time to get your game on.

A friend recently shared the story with me about how her son, who is in the aforementioned age group, cut through a parental admonition about dying young with the eager anticipation of a premature death for a chance at early admission to heaven.

The day my mom told me she knew I had been smoking cigarettes, we were driving home in her light green clunker and my favorite song "Blinded by the Light" was on WKLO. (That keyboard intro still gives me chills.) My calliope came crashing down, alright. She gave me the usual, "Wait until your father comes home."

My father let me agonize in dreadful anticipation through most of the meal. His words were simple: "In our house we value our health first." Because I had a headache from the five or six cigarettes I'd smoked that afternoon, round one ended rather quickly.

What are you telling your children about tobacco? What are they saying? I'd love to hear.

I also want to hear what you remember your parents saying when you hear their voices in your head, on any topic.

Mama always told me not to look into the eyes of the sun.
But Mama, that's where the fun is...
Bruce Springsteen, "Blinded by the Light"

Friday, July 24, 2009

Songs I Heard on the Way Home


Got a good station on I-10 outside of Nawlens. How could I have forgotten these songs?

1.) My Baby Blue

2.)Hot Fun in the Summertime

3.) Devil with the Blue Dress On/Good Golly Miss Molly

4.) Band of Gold

5.) My Maria--the 1973 B.W. Stevenson version

I must add that BW (Buckwheat) Stevenson's song "Shambala" was covered by my fourth grade crush on his brother's electric guitar at our 4th grade talent show at St. Athanasius.

Sly & the Family Stone recorded "Hot Fun in the Summertime" in 1969. My sister had the Family Stone album with "Sing a Simple Song."

"Time is passing, I grow older, things are happening fast. All I have to hold onto is a simple song at last."- Stewart, Sylvester

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Stupidly/Stupid

Oh, I just can't bite back my tongue (that's how Richard Thompson says it) any longer.
Yes, I like Obama. Full disclosure: I voted for him.
Today I watched with glee as he called a spade a spade. No matter how you slice it, the police in Cambridge acted stupidly. I've even blogged about racial profiling on this, my mostly apolitical blog.
And yet, when Obama starts to talk about folks going to a primary care doc with a sore throat and alluding to the public that they could fall prey to doctors who will yank the tonsils to make a buck, he's stupid. Primary care doctors don't even remove tonsils. That's done by an Ear Nose and Throat specialist. Was Obama winging it or did his adviser take the day off? Please, when you are trying to triumph yourself as the answer to our health care crisis, don't let that tongue get so loosey-goosey in areas where you have absolutely no content knowledge.
There, and now I feel better. And it was free--the insurance company ain't getting a penny off this.
But I'm not finished yet, while we're talking adverbs. If the police acted stupidly, how is it that the students in the audience today in Ohio were dressed "good." He said, "I didn't dress that good when I was your age." Wince.
Can we get the prompter back?

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Magical Thinking



It’s seven o’clock Central Daylight Time on a Sunday night; I really would prefer to be at the Saxon Pub, but I’m headed East toward New Orleans on I-10 instead. Last Sunday a promise was thrown out to cover Bob Seger’s “Night Moves” tonight at the Saxon, but I’m missing that.

Even at 75 miles per hour, there are more songs than grasshoppers bombarding my windshield.

I just passed Opelousas and thought of the song “Sweet Relief” that mentions it. I recalled the young friend of mine that used to play guitar with me in Houston who was so fond of Maria McKee that he followed her all over Europe one year. Check out Maria’s cover of “Sweet Relief” on the tribute CD for Victoria Williams. Back when Victoria was diagnosed with MS, other musicians covered her songs on a benefit CD. My Cajun friends Barrow and Gregg used to play that CD at their apartment back in Houston.

And how could anyone drive through Louisiana and not think of the other Williams, Lucinda, headed back to the Crescent City?

Egrets dot the rice fields, and I hear Adam Carroll's song "Rice Birds." Scrappy just covered it last Sunday at the Saxon. You can hear Adam's version on YouTube.

Roadside billboards advertise boudins and cracklins. I remember being seven and believing Neil Diamond was singing about my grandmother Rose in "Cracklin Rosie."

When we are children we pass through a phase called magical thinking--Troy was just talking about this with Dano and me Saturday at lunch at Hyde Park. It’s about three parts ideas of reference (they teach you this is pathologic in med school) and ten parts hope. In Human Development classes, they say it’s just a stage, something you move beyond as you age.

As I age I realize what I cherish about music is that it tells me magical thinking is not a stage of development but a state of being that we can all check into when we want. I still believe. And hope, it’s still in my diet. Troy sang about finding it in so many places during his show at Antone’s Friday, and he mentioned at lunch how many people in Austin still have it. Check out an early version of his song on YouTube.

I’m preparing to cross the Mississippi—getting my camera ready to capture twilight on the surface of the water. I’m back at my grandfather’s farm on the river. I hear the calliope on the Belle of Louisville. I remember the song "Riverside." I think of all the wonder still to come.

And oh, the wonder…

Felt the lightening

and waited on the thunder.

Bob Seger, “Night Moves”