Saturday Night Fish Fry

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Charlie Mingus near the end of his career at Umbria, 1974. This band is very similar to the power quintet that recorded Changes 1 and 2. I was extremely lucky to see the Changes band twice within 3 months in 1975 at Amazing Grace Coffeehouse in Evanston, Ill. I like this Umbria lineup even better because it replaces the mediocre (in my opinion) trumpeter Jack Walrath with a guy I never heard of named Hamiet Bluiett on bari. And Bluiett is even wearing a crazy hat, just like Mike I.! With George Adams on tenor, this is a monster wall o' sax! Mingus is making it look easy to pluck that enormous instrument of his, too.

When I saw the Changes band, in the company of the late, great Count (Brad, not Basie), I remember him as being quite subdued. A nonmusical highlight of the first evening was seeing Mingus pick up a cigar from his ash tray and put it in his mouth. Then, after about three very long seconds he removed the cigar from his mouth, turned it 180 degrees on its axis, and chomped back down on it with the lit end out this time.

Above Top Secret

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Items like this give me the willies. Few remember today what Daniel Ellsberg is remembered for. [Editor's note: the previous sentence is lexical nonsense, but it has a nice Yogi Berra feel to it, so we'll keep it intact and start over with a new paragraph.]

I think it's accurate to say that most people today don't really understand what Pentagon analyst Daniel Ellsberg did to become famous starting in 1969, but when I read about it as a mature adult it's truly a mind-blower. You don't have to be anyone special to get a Top Secret clearance, you only have to demonstrate a need to know information classified at that level and convince a nice FBI agent that you're not a current or potential traitor, or highly susceptible to bribery or blackmail by one. So it seems reasonable to me that there must be at least some levels above Top. If Ellsberg says there were 10 levels above when he provided orientation for new National Security Advisor Henry Kissinger --- and I don't know of any reason to doubt him --- then maybe now there are 15 or 20.

It's a shibboleth of conventional wisdom, smugly accepted by everyone from Josh Marshall to Glenn Beck, that people who suspect that some national events are shaped by large conspiracies are "conspiracy theorists," and that "conspiracy theorists" are ipso facto lunatics. Therefore, all reasonable adults know that grand covert conspiracies could never take place because that would just be crazy. The conspiracy to conceal the truth about the unwinnable Vietnam War from the public never happened, and neither did the conspiracy to cover up the Watergate burglary. The Warren Commission Report fully explains away compelling visual forensic evidence of a President's murder that we all can see with our own two lying eyes. And all of the questions raised by theologian David Ray Griffin in his densely footnoted 9/11 Contradictions are "spurious" just because some of them are. Good thinking!

Just to avoid being misunderstood, like every other responsible adult I'm aware that the country is full of conspiracy nuts. But just what exactly do we suppose is locked away in those Armageddon-proof safes where the Top+10 files are archived?

Fuck it. I'm heading for The Saturday Night Fish Fry!

Friday Night Bonus Reel

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While I'm on the subject of  "Buddys," here's a guerrilla recording made on the bus of one instantiation of The Buddy Rich Big Band, date unknown to me.



"Whattaya play?!? CLAMS??!!!"

If you like that, there's more here. I especially like the Beard Confrontation starting at about 5:40. "I got a right hand on your fuckin' brain if ya want it!!!"

Friday Evening Prayer Meeting

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In my opinion, here is the best version of this Neil Young tune that you've probably never heard.



Buddy Miles was a very portly gentleman I principally knew of in connection with this band, The Buddy Miles Express, then as the drummer for Jimi Hendrix's Band of Gypsies. Me and old high school pals had a laugh when we found out Buddy was the lead vocalist for the California Raisins in those 1980s "California Raisin Advisory Board" commercials. And that's the reason I bought four California Raisin figurines at a garage sale some years ago.

It was sad for me to look Buddy up on Wikipedia and find out that he died in 2008. But I was also startled to discover how ubiquitous he was in the music industry during the 1960s, having played with Ruby & the Romantics, the Delfonics and Wilson Pickett, then later forming Electric Flag with Mike Bloomfield. His pop was George Miles Sr., a successful jazzman who had his own band and played with heavy dudes like Ellington, Basie, Bird, and Dexter Gordon. Also was not aware that his mom nicknamed him as a reference to tubs maniac Buddy Rich. But according to the accounts I've read, Miles was an all-around nice guy.

Neil Young fans will disagree, but in my opinion Buddy has always owned this song. I think it could have been a monster Top 40 hit, but six-plus minutes was still too long to play on AM radio in 1969. Could have made Neil a rich(er) hippie.

I read the news today. Oh boy.

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Whenever I read a story like this I wonder if assassination has become a sensational new American trend in the 21st century or if it's always been this popular. I hear myself and others rationalizing that maybe it's always been this bad but largely hidden from view before most people had access to the Internet. I've caught myself almost becoming blasé with every new report of a workplace shooting, a mini campus massacre, or personal assassination orchestrated by an aggrieved, insane individual. But this story stuck out to me, as did the last sentence in it:

The shooting occurred three days after a 32-year-old man with a history of mental illness opened fire in a middle school parking lot in Colorado, wounding two students. 

The latter shooting was perpetrated Tuesday in Littleton, Colorado, and surprisingly didn't seem to get overly lurid national news attention. That's good, but also made it easy to miss what with all the news about the Winter Olympics and Tiger Woods losing his "Gatorade" endorsement.

It shouldn't be difficult to find real statistics indicating that this is in fact a postmodern development rather than a visibility increase with respect to the American norm for murderous behavior. I don't feel like doing the research, and believe that my gut reaction is sufficient evidence for my own purposes.

Everyone can speculate about the compound causes so I will, too. America's collective nonchalance about the entertainment value of bloody violence is certainly one driver --- how could it not be when children are raised to think teenage splatter movies are funny? The coincident rise in individual social isolation and mental illness also are at the foundation. Now, the emergence of a hideously antisocial postmodern conservative Christian worldview that is neither conservative nor Christian may be completely unrelated, but it seems to me that it isn't. After all, postmodern America is a place where the idea of government-inflicted torture inspires "debate" and "ethical quandaries" instead of universal moral outrage.

Editor's note: even though the author is sermonizing above, it does not constitute your Friday Evening Prayer Meeting. You can find that right here.

Ten-dimensional Rigelian Chess in the Neutral Zone

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I can't keep up with it, being just meat and bone and a small nugget of gray matter on a stick. In my guts I feel it would be expecting too much to view the President's healthcare reform "summit" as an intentional gimmick to trap Republican Senate leadership into showing the public how gormless they are; how unprepared they are to withstand any rhetorical pushback; how full of shit they are. But the Republicans themselves have already let that cat out of the bag: they fear it and are stupid enough to say so. And, significantly, Obama has proactively taken ownership of the "Obamacare" sobriquet by throwing his own proposal on the table, so his own executive prestige is on the table, too. To me that means Obama is going to use all his good offices to make sure we have a Democrat-driven healthcare reform package signed into law within a few weeks if not sooner. Likewise, Sen. Dick Durbin (majority whip) also put his manhood on the table by declaring that Democrats will move forward to pass legislation without Republicans. They really have no choice now except to do it or reap permanent contempt from all sides, forever.

Good show, blokes. Except Obama, Durbin, and others like Tom Harkin are pretty much declaring that the public option is dead in the process. Why? In a game 10-dimensional Rigelian chess, you see, it doesn't matter that most people in this country are strongly in favor of government-administered health insurance for people who can't afford private insurance, or that analysis by the Congressional Budget Office has concluded that a healthcare bill would be less expensive with a public option than without one. (Google your own sources tonight, kids; I'm tired.) What really matters, according to the rules of this game, is The Spectacle and, especially, how the adversary perceives it.

Maybe we'll get something and maybe we'll get another 9 months of melodrama. Will Glenn Beck holler "rape!" at a NARAL convention? Will Harry Reid get another Lieberman tattoo on his inner thigh? Will Barack Obama carve an "O" in Sarah Palin's forehead for real this time? I'd be satisfied with a more modest spectacle: Democratic Senators publically dripping contempt on their esteemed sociopathic friends across the aisle.

When Republicans declare that most Americans oppose the House and Senate healthcare reform proposals, I wonder why 33rd Degree Rigelian Chessmaster Obama doesn't kindly reply that two-thirds of that opposition comes from people who think the law needs a public option. And then kindly order Reid, Durbin, Pelosi, and Hoyer to make it so on penalty of immediate reassignment to administer umox at a Ferengi leper colony. It would be a regular spectacle.

It's Bedtime!

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And I don't wanna hear another peep outta ya!



As requested by Big Otis for some reason. If he wants to hear any more rapping by Lorne Greene he'll just have to start his own crappy blog.

Saturday Night Fish Fry

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Here's the situation
And how it really stands
I'm out of circulation
I've all but washed my hands



To my knowledge there was never a recording like this before 1966 or afterward until the late 1970s. I liked it as a kid but never fully appreciated it until I nabbed my own copy while collecting "old" 45s in the mid-seventies. I don't read rock publications but must assume that a herd of pre-Reagan punk bands have paid their proper respect to The Music Machine (and this minor hit in particular). The embedded video is one of two on YouTube, visually clearer than the other but appearing somewhat staged. My preferred version can be viewed here. It's more authentic looking, but YouTube has disabled the embedding so I can't show it to you here. Crank it.

Bye now, payola later

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A helpful post on TPM indicates that Senator Evan Bayh cannot bring his $13 million home with him when he retires this year, as I thought used to be the case. However, he can ladle the gravy to whomever he likes, subject to Federal Election Commission rules. So at very least, Bayh gets to be a philanthropist and Big Man On Campus --- the campus of "moderate" Democrat copperheads looking for campaign handouts, that is. So a little man of the Senate can now buy himself some big respect. (At least until we find out about the goat that is still behind the curtain.)

Evan Bayh makes a deal!

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Evan Bayh's surprise announcement about not running for re-election to his Indiana Senate seat has so far inspired two theories: one is that his stated reason for doing so is genuine and the other is that he may "have his eye on the presidency." Neither theory explains why Bayh's move was so abrupt that it caught most of his own Senate and campaign staff members by surprise. So, without more hard information, I'm not "Bayhing" either of them. (Thank you.)

I suggest that we consider analyzing the Evan Bayh puzzle using the analysis tool known as The Monty Hall Problem. See, Evan is playing Let's Make A Deal. He knows that behind two of the curtains are goats, but behind the other curtain is: A NEW CAR! Like every red-blooded American, Evan wants A NEW CAR. He already knew which curtain he would pick. But, say late last week, someone in the control room whispered into his earpiece that his curtain has a goat behind it. So today Bayh chose a different curtain, and behind it was an awkwardly truncated Senate career... and a $13 million Senate campaign war chest* that he gets to keep!

Evan Bayh is not running for President because that's definitely a "goat" for him; no chance for that to turn into anything other than a way to blow $13M out his vent feathers. And he is not retiring because he feels the Senate is broken, because he is well aware that he's one of the main people responsible for breaking it. So then what is he doing? To find out, we need to follow the Monty. If we can find out who whispered to Evan from Master Control (National Inquirer? Larry Flynt? Justice Department?) then we will know which goat he left behind his curtain.

[Editor's note: the author grudgingly admits he's probably all full of shit on this one.]
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* I'm pretty sure this is accurate, but please correct me if I'm wrong.

Saturday Night Fish Fry

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Come along if you dare.



As you can see, back in 1968 the bands knew how to do a credible lipsyncing job. (The Who probably even knew how to do it, at least before botox penetrated the blood/brain barrier of Ellen DeGeneris lookalike Roger Daltry.) Also, to my eyebones, this is a relatively rare example of '60s footage in which the go-go dancers enhance the ambiance instead of detracting from it like arrhythmic, limp-muscled runaway teenie-boppers. The galloping rhythm section kicks ass, so does Ted Nugent's guitar. I've long felt that the lyrics glorify the mystic experience rather than psychedelic hipness, the drug mystique, or simple hedonism.

Friday Evening Prayer Meeting

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As far as psychedelic scare stories go, this one is pretty tame. After all, don't we all hear the primal scream of the hot dog in real life? Myself, one early experience revealed to me that my flesh was composed of the same material as Hostess Twinkies (R). It wasn't as horrible as the experience of biting into a hot dog (much less curb-stomping one), but it did get me thinking. I'd think the documentarians responsible for this piece of work could have found a hot dog face more outre than a Wishnik troll doll. (Danny Baldwin and I used to decapitate the things to creep out the girls, most enjoyably with devices of Baldwin's own nefarious design.) Anyway, across the streams of hopes and dreams where things are really not, here ya go: a cautionary tale.



I really wish that people didn't feel it was necessary to shit on a nice period piece like this with some stupid logo intended to imply that some postmodern asshole contributed to the intellectual property somehow. I hope the next time that the proprietor of alldumb.com bites into a hot dog, he severs a few veins impacted with spirochetes.

Wise sayings

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[Editor's note: this edition of wise sayings is provided 2 days early, via the good offices of Beer-D, so you have time to bathe in its wiseness.]

The only thing worse than being alone on Valentine's Day is not being alone.

Maybe, but I have reason to doubt

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This guy, whomever he may be, thinks Obama may be launching a campaign to draw Main Street's attention to the  sharp contrast between Democrats, who are trying to conduct the people's business, and Republicans, who have no goal other than to prevent the majority party from governing.

Well, maybe. If so, then Obama is beginning a thrilling gambit in his game of 10-dimensional chess --- maybe analogous to deliberately ceding the lead to the other team at halftime, then launching the third quarter with an onside kick and blinding touchdown drive that leaves the bad guys befuddled and deflated. And the crowd goes wild.

In order for this hypothetical tactic to work any magic, congressional Democrats in both chambers would have to get behind the quarterback and mash some Republican heads without worrying about how it might look to the Washington Post editorial board. In other words, the President and congressional Democrats would have to start ruthlessly working on a constructive agenda so regular people could have a taste of what progressive good government has to offer in contrast to the zombie Reagan agenda.

Nope, I don't see it happening. Just expecting more 1-dimension tiddly winks as usual, as Big Hussein Otis has called it.

Tuesday Night Bedtime

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And I don't wanna hear another peep outta ya!

Saturday Night Fish Fry

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Now this is what life is all about: Frank Zappa and the "Roxy" Mothers providing a classic primer on "imaginary diseases" (as Frank used to call things like smelly feet and BO). I saw this band and several variants five or six times between 1973 and 1975, including this very lineup in Bloomington, Ill. He even makes a reference to Tom Waits, who was opening for FZ when "Heart of Saturday Night" was released. The deliciously average-looking Ruth Underwood is shown here wearing only a bra on top, but not because it was her custom to dress like a "ho." It's because it gets pretty fucking hot under stage lighting, especially when you're darting around like a whirling dervish between 10 linear yards of mallet percussion instruments, drums, cymbals, and what-have-you. In Bloomington (1974) they had to briefly pause the show because she fainted due to overheating (after her solo on "Don't You Ever Wash That Thing?" I think).



I think this video comes from Zappa's Dub Room Special DVD. The performance, probably from the 1974 Roxy shows, is extra-nice for several reasons. First, it's not rushed in tempo, which was a classic Zappa shortcoming in latter-year live performances. Second, this version isn't retrofitted with AAAFNRA* litter, which Zappa continually did to keep things interesting for himself during nonstop touring, yet he does tweak the lyric to acknowledge the presence of Waits backstage, keeping things spontaneous. And third, FZ edited in some claymation by Bruce Bickford, who seems to be as closely in touch with his own id as Robert Crumb. This animated video flourish is, in my opinion, an example of AAAFNRA at its best.
                                                
* Unfortunately for many fans, including me, these ad hoc AAAFNRA modifications to lyrics, melodies, and arrangements often amounted to little more than in jokes for the band or weak second thoughts on how to present the original piece.

Ruled by superminority

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Maybe you've heard about this jagoff of a U.S. Senator from Alabama who has abused Senate protocol rules to put a blanket hold on all of President Obama's nominees until he extorts some public funds for projects in his state. This isn't traditional legislative logrolling for the purpose of maximizing the bacon one brings back for the hometown crowd, which happens within routine lawmaking practice. It's the exercise of a secret active veto over pretty much any Senate activity by a single bad actor.

I haven't read the stories about this closely enough to know how the obstructionist's secret identity was revealed, but my understanding is that, at the very least, the Senate Majority Leader by definition must know who has placed the hold... and that it's considered not very gentlemanly for the Majority Leader to "out" that person.

So not only do Democrats feel they can't control the legislative agenda without a Senate supermajority (i.e., 60 votes as needed to overcome the threat of a filibuster). They don't even feel they can act on a routine presidential nomination if a single member of the club decides against it... because holding that member publically accountable would seem impolite.

All of the above, while not unique or profound observation, I present as background for a couple of Paul Krugman blog posts wherein he describes the abuse of the nobility's liberum veto in 17th century Poland. This familiar-sounding political dysfunction greatly contributed to the collapse, breakup, and annexation of that country, by its neighbors, at the dawn of The Enlightenment elsewhere in Europe.

So the bad news is that America seems to be swirling helplessly around the drain that empties into the septic tank of feudalism. (Think of nobility such as the Duke of CitiCorp, the Prince of General Electric, and the Archbishop of Viacom.) The jury is still out on any good news this may portend.

Friday Evening Prayer Meeting

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This is for Gurlitzer, if you're still out there. Don't know about you, but this was the first rendition of Stormy Monday I ever heard. Many hipsters would say this version is absurd, what with the Hammond organ sounding like a couples skate at the roller rink, and Lee Michaels with his earnest white-boy falsetto. But it hits the same spot as Wagner does on my aural palate.

Tuesday Night Bedtime

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And I don't wanna hear another peep outta ya!!!