And, being of a certain age, I remember this happenin’ before.
I vividly recall hitchhiking down to DC in 1969 with my dorm-friend, standing for hours on the Mall with countless other protesters while my toes froze. Our cause was just (who wanted to get drafted and sent to Vietnam?) Whether for ourselves or friends or family, we had skin in the game and were certain we couldn’t be ignored or discounted…
and we were wrong; the powers-that-be (corrupt corporations and politicians) had other ideas and their causes prevailed. Watching college campus protests today, I can’t help but wonder what Cornell West & Co. are thinking… didn’t they learn ANYTHING from history?
I’d like to think that I’m savvy and politically invested, aware of the Butterfly Effect and the interconnectedness of the Universe. But I know that in reality I’ve always been only peripherally interested in the world at large, distracted as I am by matters musical and the promise of a good meal i.e. “a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat“.
Further confession: I ignorantly assumed the “Woody” in this tune was Arlo’s dad.Woody ‘N’ You(so much for MY jazz creds!!)
My 17-year old car’s CD player gave up the ghost a few years ago, so I’ve been making do with just the radio while running errands around town – until I remembered we had a portable CD Walkman and my car has an AUX connection! So I recently plugged in and listened to my favorite and 2nd-favorite CDs and was reminded of how much I love them – along with a new appreciation of how completely they fulfilled my desires for the music – and how instrumental Mark Winkler was in helping bring them into the world!
I met Mark in Los Angeles through the Jazz Vocal Coalition where we traded CDs and decided to try writing songs together. While we were both accomplished in our careers, my momentum had been stalled by professional frustrations and disappointments, so hanging out with Mark rekindled my enthusiasm for “the biz”. Since he’d had success in the smooth jazz genre, through his experience with radio promoters and publicists, he showed me what was possible and encouraged me to record and release new CDs of original songs – thus FUTURE STREET and ROUND TRIP were born!
I vividly recall us chasing Bob Dorough around IAJE to ask him to write liner notes… and Mark hiring the makeup artist for my headshot and hooking me up with his photographer… and lining up my CD release party with his pals at Catalina Bar & Grill… and introducing my songs to other singers who then performed and recorded them…
An artist can have talent, skills, determination and focus and still need a spark to ignite the fire to complete their work and bring it to the marketplace. Over the past 2 decades I’ve watched Mr. Winkler re-energize dozens of other singers and songwriters to create and promote their best work – (not to mention his brilliant producer Barbara Brighton!) “Can-do” synergistic alchemy is one of the many talents that sparkplug Mark shares with the world!
After decades of DVDs in the mail and then streaming, we decided to give our Netflix subscription a time-out last spring, while we switched internet providers. We resubscribed Dec. 1st, so that Mark could catch up on THE CROWN (among other favorites) and so we could see the much-lauded MAESTRO.
For the most part, it’s been an enjoyable couple of months of entertainment; we got a peek at a number of shows and movies we were curious about…
…some profoundly un-funny standups…
…and surprising delights…a few of which we thought were CRAZY-good!
We were able to fast forward and/or turn away from a number that just didn’t cut it for us, for one reason or another.
Not bad for $32.86 !!
Last night we turned to LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND – an exceedingly shrill dystopian horror that I found unwatchable. Granted, we are living in bizarre times compared when I was born in the 1950s, with many apparently unsolvable problems – but this dismal film makes the case perfectly for another extended leave-of-absence from the streamer.
The first cockroach I ever saw sauntered across the lunch counter at a Chock Full O’ Nuts the summer of 1972. A month later in a hotel room on West 112th Street, I was joined by another dictyoptera in the tub. My reaction was visceral in both instances: “yuck!”
Since both of these rendezvous occurred in New York City, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to see jeweled versions of these insects in a recent issue of THE NEW YORKER – but I noticed that I couldn’t page through that issue fast enough, as every turn brought on more alarm. Bottom line; I just don’t like ’em! Even depicted as precious gems, they give me the heebie-jeebies!
I don’t like to think of how I’m becoming a fuddy-duddy, but my visceral revulsion to things I find repugnant is getting more pronounced as popular culture takes a turn toward more crass, violent content; a while ago I found I couldn’t handle watching RAY DONOVAN in spite of the excellent writing and production values, and now I have to turn away from LESSONS IN CHEMISTRY, which elicits a similar reaction; the misogyny so rampant in the 1950s reminds me of how disparaged women still are today – after I’d assumed we would have made and retained progress in that arena.
“When did I become such a wuss?” I wonder!? I didn’t used to be such delicate flower! But it’s true. I feel exhausted by widespread fraud; the over-hype of the entertainment world, the shameless lies and chicanery in politics, the relentless complicity of the media compounding the damage to our sense of alright-ness.
What to do about it? I’m not sure, but I’m trying to edit at least some of the violence from my heart and choose gentler language. If I have to absent myself more from the current culture, that’ll have to be okay; FOMO will have to take a backseat to my sense of safety and wellbeing. In the interest of being seen as “hip”, I’ve done battle with my gut-level emotions in the past and it just doesn’t work long term.
I saw this week that Best Buy is ditching the sale of DVDs from their stores after this holiday season, and that saddened me. I predict more stores will follow suit, reasoning that streaming is the new paradigm and owning physical media is obsolete, like having landline phones and mp3 players. Many people no longer even own equipment to play CDs or DVDs already.
Okay – I’m ancient. I grew up with a hi-fi in the living room. It was a big deal for me to get my own record player and then my own tiny reel-to-reel tape recorder in my teens. I’m well aware of how “old school” it is now to prefer physical CDs, DVDs and even vinyl LPs and tapes in the current climate of streaming media. And having more “stuff” goes against my own preference for leaving a smaller footprint in this world (see my blogs here: https://marilyn801.wordpress.com/2019/02/15/baby-with-the-bathwater/AND here: https://marilyn801.wordpress.com/2021/04/02/thredup-pareddown/) But I think there are some good reasons for maintaining a private collection of favorite music and films.
Yes, it necessitates maintaining equipment to PLAY these “antiques” – but there’s freedom to choose what we’re listening to, WHEN we’re listening – and having access to a given title, without fear that it will be eliminated from our service provider; I can’t tell you how many YouTube videos I’ve “favorited” that have disappeared over the years! I’m glad to have a “hard copy” of media I truly love!
Do I trust “the Cloud” to safekeep my favorite recordings and stories? Um… no, I don’t. Too many instances of the old adage, “there are 2 types of people; those who havelost data and those who will lose data.” Plus, what do you do when the internet goes down? (as it has more than once this past month, where we live!) To me, it appears to be just one more place to get hacked.
I also don’t like the idea (or reality, for that matter!) of some algorithm choosing the next selection I should listen to – just as I don’t appreciate most of FaceBook’s suggestions of who I should befriend; I like to make those choices myself, and feel well-qualified to do so, as I’m educated and curious and usually wind up researching more info online regarding music and films I already treasure. Too much of what we’re exposed to is already predetermined by hype-happy publicists and greedy people with agendas. Not to mention how expensive streaming subscriptions might already be, let alone how the prices might rise in the future… !?
So I won’t be recycling my CDs, LPs or DVDs any time soon. And I hope you won’t, either… unless it’s a title I really want that’s missing from my collection!
That said, one of the most striking things I noticed this time around was how incredibly FLAWED the major female characters are! Nobody’s perfect, of course – the men are not without their weaknesses… but practically all of the women in this first season are horrifyingly inept and clueless at best – while the rest are downright villainously toxic.
deceitful would-be first lady Sherry Palmer and her hapless daughter Nicole
utterly self-absorbed teenage daughter Kim Bauer and her doomed party-girl BF Janet York
weak-willed assistant Patty Brooks and Elizabeth Nash – nympho and surprise psycho-killer!
brittle and inept leader Alberta Greene and sell-out agent Jamey Farrell
Jack’s hysterical wife Teri Bauer and murderous Nina Myers – the ultimate Judas!
These ladies are so deeply defective, I found it difficult to empathize with their plights – as beautiful as they all are, over the course of the harrowing day, it became impossible for me to root for their redemption.
Another thing that struck me was the incessant use of “my family” as a catchall for inexcusable behavior; whether it’s our hero Jack Bauer desperately trying to save his wife and daughter from the bad guys – or Senator Palmer attempting to shield his family from shame and disgrace – all the way to Dennis Hopper as Victor Drazen sacrificing his own flesh-&-blood… “family” is kind of a dirty word that’s used to justify every manner of nonsense.
A lot has happened in the past couple decades, for me personally as well as in the world at large – so I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise that I’m seeing different things in the same show that entertained me way back when. I probably expect too much from the writers now, in hindsight.
A while ago, when I mused aloud about some of the choices I’d made in my music career, regretting the paths not taken and opportunities I’d rejected, my youngest sister kindly reminded me that I’d made many, many attempts in various directions and reassured me I’d had a lot of success at quite a few of them! She said, “you’ve left no stone unturned!”
Decluttering through some old papers lately, I saw that maybe she was right! Starting in the early 1970s I’ve kept journals of all the people I’d sent leadsheets of my songs to, reel-to-reel demo tapes of my first attempts at writing and producing advertising jingles, headshots and resumés to get piano bar work, invoices for music copying gigs for other composers and arrangers… plus performances at weddings and bars and cabarets, auditions for accompanist gigs and pretty much anything else that might open the door to more paid music work.
the first wedding I played
We kept it up through the 1980s; our jingle company bulk-mailed newsletters to ad agency folks, kept datebooks of who to follow up on and who not to pester, took out ads in Backstage, Ad Age, AdWeek and Screen magazine, scheduled lunches to “romance” potential clients…
Switching to the pursuit of composing for film scores, we met with every composer who would meet with us, attended industry dinners and took grad classes to befriend the powers-that-be in Hollywood… Submitted TV and film themes for every “open call” listing in The Hollywood Reporter… produced hundreds of cues for the music library of GENERAL HOSPITAL… learned how to “pitch” in Suzanne Lyons’ intensive Flash Forward course that promised YEARS of career growth and connections in only 30 days…
Moving on to making records, we figured out how to “work the release” within the limitations of our personalities, strengths and weaknesses. As someone who isn’t drawn to performing live, I’ve had to make adjustments; creating a life in the music biz is NOT one-size-fits-all and we’ve had to customize the paradigm to accommodate what was personally possible.
It’s given me some helpful perspective to sift through these old files and look back on some of our efforts:
My dad was not the only seeker in our family; my mother had a special book that SHE treasured for a while:
JOY by William C. Schutz
Unlike my dad, she didn’t purchase copies for each of us, but from the late 1960s on, she was on a mission to get happier. She wasn’t much of a joiner, and Esalen was 3,000 miles away and far too expensive, but there were other books that might hold the answers.
Mama would query the I-Ching, tossing the coins again and again when she didn’t get the answer she wanted.
When she lived in Connecticut and I lived in NYC, I ran into her by surprise in New Jersey, of all places, when we both consulted with macrobiotic healer Lino Stanchich on the same afternoon.
still alive and well after all these years!
At some point in the mid 1970s, she signed up for a couple weekends of EST https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erhard_Seminars_Training taking place in a Manhattan hotel 2 blocks away from my apartment, so I invited her to stay with me instead of renting a room. She came back after each 12-hour day all pumped up, ready to talk into the wee hours – which made her drowse off during the next day’s classes. Oh, but we had fun together!!
For many years I watched her sift through the unfathomable stuff in her life, looking for answers and working at self-improvement. “Keep marching!” was her motto. Like the optimist kid stuck in a room full of horse manure, she just KNEW there was a pony in there somewhere!
Ultimately I saw her embrace the difficult knowledge that some incomprehensible stuff never gets resolved and some puzzles don’t have a clearcut solution. When I came across this image recently, I recognized my mama, not missing out on anything.
From the mid-1960s on, Joan and Nelson were my parents’ friends, and their kids, Mark, Allison and Betsy were friends with me and my sisters. I loved visiting them at their home (they almost never came over to ours) – and I loved their dogs, Mitzi and Thurber.
Special stuff was always going on “Chez Bakers” – theatrical hijinks, of course, since, like my folks, Joan & Nelson loved performing, producing, directing – but also music and art, books and politics and lots and lots of talk. I’m sure they had their challenges but the Bakers were such upbeat people, involved and animated and good humored. They were open to new ideas and inspired my parents to stretch a little, too; Nelson drove an Austin Healy bugeye Sprite, energizing my mother’s appetite for imported sports cars, and Joan’s fashion flair encouraged us all to wear clothes that were a little different (I once remade a thrift store fur coat into a very warm skirt!)
They’d open their dining room and invite friends to set up drums and come over with instruments to make music together. There was always a new project they were working on, thinking about, planning to do. While their lawn was never pristine, and I do recall visiting their cellar and seeing the same unfinished repair project on the workbench that I’d spied 6 months earlier – the Bakers always managed to take care of the important stuff, and I felt accepted, heard and noticed when we were there.
The summer of 1971, they were all going to be away and asked me if I’d be willing to stay over, water the plants and look after the dogs for a few days; ooh, I jumped at the chance! To be by myself, away from the noisy chaos of my own family, alone in their quiet house with the piano and tape recorder for a few days? Heaven!
(Actually, I did get a little lonely and was relieved when my dad and sisters dropped in one afternoon and took me to McDonald’s over on the Berlin Turnpike. Otherwise, it was a perfect staycation!)
One of my very favorite memories is the time when Nelson and my dad spontaneously broke into a performance of SONNY BOY – with Nelson’s Irish tenor ringing out so sweet and tender, as my dad gave voice to the Edgar Bergen-Charlie McCarthy smart aleck responses. Without any rehearsal at all, it sounded pretty much just like this: https://youtu.be/1nIrzb0O5ho?t=71
“For who right where on what?” I still laugh at how much fun it was.
I had a thought this morning when I couldn’t get back to sleep after waking too early – about Mother Nature’s intentions for our home, planet earth. I think she’s programmed us all to “be fruitful and multiply”, i.e. for everything that grows, flora as well as fauna, to KEEP growing and REPRODUCE for the continuation of Life. I see this every morning in my backyard; the lemon tree enjoys monsoon rains, greening up more and more every day, while the mourning doves cuddle together in their nest, and spiders spin webs, geckos race across the side of the house… Mother Nature DIGS monsoon-time in a big way!
Fair enough.
And perhaps our patriarchal society conspires to compel that by attempting to control women and FORCE them to be mothers or at least baby incubators. I think this is the belief behind the recent SCOTUS decision to rescind Roe V. Wade and criminalize/outlaw choice.
Whether this is rationalized as “a divine mandate from God” or anything else, the bottom line is that Mother Nature is calling the shots. She decrees: Human beings are supposed to make babies, period. Everything else is nonsense and poppycock.
In grammar school I’d learned how the parasitic embryo took whatever it needed from the mother’s body; calcium from her bones and teeth, every other nutrient from her glands, muscle, blood… basically laying waste to the “host” for its own survival. I knew very young that I didn’t want any part of that! That was just yucky. Yet, in younger years, in spite of my conscious desire to remain barren, my hormones kept telling me to have sex, to get pregnant. I knew from an early age that giving birth was not something I ever wanted to do. Aside from the financial and emotional considerations, abortion was illegal so I chose to take every precaution to avoid popping out any “Mini Me”s.
Viewed in a certain light, using birth control appears to be an affront to Mother Nature’s insistent edict, and getting a tubal ligation or vasectomy is the ultimate insult; the biggest, loudest way to say “NO!” that exists. Both procedures involve surgery – cutting into the body, which is pretty drastic.
It might be different if society actually liked women. If collectively we supported and honored mothers truly – not just paying lip service on Mother’s Day, but holding them consistently in high regard. If women were genuinely accepted as essential to humanity. If women weren’t treated as 2nd-class, but true equals, with their own unquestioned autonomy universally respected and cherished.
It might be different if we treated Mother Earth with respect, instead of laying waste to her ecology, drilling for oil and mining for minerals; despoiling the landscape and the air and the water; polluting the food chain, creating toxic chemicals, climate changes… for what? So a few rich folks can get richer?
42 years ago I staged my own little “sit-in” with my lady parts. I’m still chewing on this, aware that I’m at odds with Mother Nature and disjunct in a way inside my own body = disembodied by my choice. The way I see it now is the same as how I saw it then; it was my only chance at survival.
Celebrations Of Failure 