music biz

Right! Here! No Regrets.

 

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Last year I read a piece in The New Yorker about Orange City, IA, and how the town has prospered, unlike so many small towns in America, because much of the population has stayed put, instead of moving on to a larger life in a big city.  It made me think of the various moves I’ve made over the years, and how inconceivable it was for me to have done otherwise.

My family moved around a bit while I was growing up – from Syracuse to Cicero to Albany, NY – and then to East Hartford and Hartford, CT when my dad got a new job. Cicero and East Hartford were the only real suburbs, and my parents hated them both – my dad referred to East Hartford as “the armpit of the world”, even tho I don’t recall it being so bad. Sure, there was baseball in middle school, which I totally sucked at – but I bought my first piano when we lived there – how bad could that be? Still, my folks breathed a huge sigh of relief when we moved back to “civilization” where we could walk or take the bus to pretty much wherever we wanted to go.

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New York City was mecca for my parents, so of course that was where I envisioned myself settling after school; I could have no sooner stayed in Hartford after graduation than I could have sprouted wings. It was terrifying but also essential for me to go – New York had been calling me my entire life! And when other opportunities beckoned, I moved to Chicago and Los Angeles to pursue a career in music. Since Arizona isn’t exactly a music biz hotbed, I’ve puzzled at times how and why I wound up here.

But looking back, I can see how each location we called “home” turned out to be the right place, ultimately – even if it may not have appeared that way at the time. For example, I’d been cowed by the incredible musical skills of Los Angeles musicians, to the degree that I didn’t feel adequate to pursue recording sessions as a piano player because, literally around the corner from us lived Ralph Grierson, a pianist who was expert at ALL styles of music. Plus, with so many musicians ready and willing to work for “exposure” (AKA extremely low pay), the competition felt overwhelming! Most of my experiences playing live gigs at clubs and parties left a lot to be desired. But since moving to the Tucson area, I’ve been recommended for a lot of gigs that I wouldn’t have been called for in L.A.  and I got to experience some “steady” work, playing church gigs and musical theater, as well as ongoing work in jazz trios, which increased my confidence substantially.

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My life has hardly embodied the adage to “bloom where you’re planted”, but my current perspective is that I went where I went, when I went, to the right place at the right time. If it should have been different, it would have been different.

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♫ ♩Home again, ♫ ♩home again, ♫ ♩ ♩jiggety jig!!

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growing up, self-acceptance

The Way We Weren’t

 

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I’ve noticed how my perceptions of movies have changed over the years; when I saw  GEORGY GIRL  as a teenager, I identified totally with the title character, but upon watching it 30 years later, I felt much more in common with James Mason’s  character.

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Likewise with

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LAST TANGO IN PARIS,  which I saw when I was the same age as the female lead, Maria Schneider.  I was amazed when I watched the film again in the mid-90s, to find that instead of empathizing with her, I felt for Marlon Brando’s  character. The same was true when I revisited NETWORK  after a couple decades.

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Where I had initially seen myself in Faye Dunaway  I was now was all-in with William Holden.  It wasn’t just the wrinkles… something else was also going on.

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Since its release in 1973, I’ve probably watched THE WAY WE WERE  at least a half dozen times, swept away with the “romance” and soaring (and Oscar-winning!) title song/score, and empathizing with Barbra’s  character.  Supposedly the lovers’ “political views and convictions drive them apart”,  but upon my latest viewing, I don’t see it that way any more. What I DO see is how brittle and insufferably humorless our heroine is – and wonder how Redford could abide her for even 10 minutes!? She doesn’t truly love him “the way he is/was” because she keeps trying to change him! Conversely, she doesn’t exist as a real, whole person to him – I don’t believe he even likes, let alone loves her for who she is!?

Okay – it’s only a movie. I get that. But these are the stories we all grew up on at our collective movie-theater-campfire. As unsettling as it may be to see them for what they truly are, isn’t it better to know what we’ve been fed and been feeding ourselves, than to remain ignorant of how these stories inform our lives?

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#jazzcongress, music biz

Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down

Jazz Congress Confidential – Part Four

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All the Jazz That’s Fit To Tote!

I attended my first Jukebox Jury 13 years ago at the JazzWeek Summit in Syracuse, and it was a trip; seeing radio programmers responding to new releases was edifying, to say the least. When they all got super-excited about the newly-found recording of Monk & Trane, my heart sank; so much for those of us still living, writing NEW songs!? After I expressed my dismay to Mark Winkler, we got a new song out of our angst, They’re Gonna Love Me (when I’m dead).

Fortunately this most recent incarnation of the Jury at the Jazz Congress didn’t include any new releases by dead people, so that was encouraging! The list of 20 new releases was well-received by the panel of radio programmers ( Mark Ruffin, Gary Vercelli, Eric Jackson and Arturo Gómez), and the comments they and moderator Brad Stone made were nuanced and helpful in understanding WHY certain tracks would “make the grade” at their stations. While some recordings were criticized rather harshly, (watch out, vocalists!! especially those of you with “tribute” projects!!), mallets players are in luck, as the vibraphone and marimba appear to have made a comeback, with enthusiastic reception from everyone on the panel. And apparently radio promoters are more essential than ever for getting your music on the air, as music directors are inundated with more and more product than ever before…. especially from those pesky singers!

The Jazz Radio Roundtable session later that afternoon continued to reveal radio programmers’ secrets – I was grateful for JazzWeek’s sponsorship of both of these events and really missed seeing Ed Trefzger,  who was unable to attend the Congress. I’m continually struck by how avidly jazz fans pursue the music – one would never guess how marginalized and practically invisible it is to the music biz overall.

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music biz

Waiting for Harold Vick

I fell in love with recording studios the first time I stepped into one, so in the 70s I was always happy to get to hang out observing sessions after I’d finished copying parts for the musicians. One winter afternoon my client had booked Harold Vick, (who I had never met before), to add a solo to the song “Dream of a Child” on David Forman debut album  but at session time Mr. Vick wasn’t anywhere to be seen. So we waited. And waited. Tweaked David Forman’s vocal track, listened to some preliminary mixes. And waited. And waited.

90 minutes late, Harold rushed in to the studio. I can’t recall his excuse for being so tardy, or if he even offered an excuse. And I thought to myself, “buddy, you’d better play your ass off, after making everyone wait around so long for you!”

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Harold brushed the snow off his coat, got out his tenor, put on headphones and absolutely nailed it, first take. He was perfect. Turns out his contribution had been well worth waiting for.

Unfortunately, my client’s work on the album was thrown out and replaced by Joel Dorn. And although Harold is still listed in the credits for this album, there’s no trace of the gorgeous solo he’d played on the final release.

In spite of the album being virtually all ballads, Rolling Stone thought quite highly of it – even 40 years later. I can only imagine what they would’ve thought of the record with Harold’s solo!?

My old boss at E.B. Marks Music, Don Sickler agrees with my high opinion of Harold – he was head and shoulders (literally!) above the rest. Harold was taken from us way too young, but is remembered in Did You See Harold Vick? – Sonny Rollins – a 2-chord riff of a song that doesn’t evoke Harold in any way, other than mentioning his name. It’s the least Sonny could do, considering that Harold played rings around him, IMHO.  Here – listen and judge for yourself:

Harold Vick – Don’t Look Back

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growing up, Home, politics, self-acceptance

Why Can’t a Moose be President?

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I became aware of the “double standard” pretty early, but I was stunned when my dad explained dating once I hit puberty; he told me that many men see women as “pieces of meat”, as that had been his experience growing up and especially while serving in the US Marine Corps during WWII. In my early teens, I had a great deal of resistance to this idea; having read a lot of magazines, my head had been filled with romantic notions, aided and abetted by pop songs of the 50s and 60s. Even back then, “I Want To Hold Your Hand” sounded pretty innocent and non-threatening.

It often takes me a while to process difficult emotions, and this past year has been especially challenging in that regard. Like every woman I know, I’ve been sexually harassed, and although such abusive treatment has diminished in my advancing years, it’s still a fact of life which grieves me deeply, as I’d hoped we would have made more progress as a society in regards to treating ALL people equally and equitably. Alas, that has not been the case – a fact that has been rubbed in our collective faces, especially since Election 2016 when DT became PussyGrabber in Chief.

I almost wish I could just point the finger at “toxic masculinity” and leave it at that, but I think that having the inequities of our society in such bold relief, in regards to race as well as gender, has encouraged intolerance and contempt for one another. It’s no surprise to me that more people are coming forward these days with their stories of being molested – there have always been “dirty old men”, but as I feared, these men have become emboldened by the so-called leadership of our country. It’s now officially Open Season  on the female gender. What else can we do besides #metoo ?

I’ve recently taken comfort in revisiting YouTube videos featuring kinder, gentler men from my youth, the cadence of their voices and the kindness in their demeanor – men like Art Linkletter, (whose warmth and humor reminds me of my uncle Larry), Mr. Rogers, who liked you “just the way you are”, and my favorite, Captain Kangaroo  The Captain sang, told sweet stories, dealt with challenging cohorts like Dancing Bear and Bunny Rabbit – he even did his own housekeeping! And he featured the absolute BEST political candidate: Mr. Moose – whose campaign promise, “if you elect me, every American will have antlers! (or uncles!?) … and all of our friends will be bunny rabbits!”

Sounds a lot better to me than promoting pussy-grabbing.

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growing up, Home, Uncategorized

Where I Go In My Dreams

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Just as many people I know return to the classroom in their dreams, (usually for a test for which they haven’t studied!?!), I go back to places, real and imagined, when I’m dreaming;

NYC apartments where I may or may not have actually lived, that turn out to have additional secret rooms where I’ve never ventured.

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In my dreams I inhabit the extreme left side of this floorplan and have no idea of the existence of the rooms in the middle and on the right side… until I open a door and… there they are! Wow!

The Japanese garden in East Hartford, that turns out to still exist!

And my Aunt Helen’s house in Houston

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– as well as the house where she and my mother grew up in Rye, NY. The former is HUGE, on many levels, with beautiful sunlit rooms everywhere – and in my dreams, I can never find a bathroom!  The latter is remembered here, drawn by my mother’s hands and memories.

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This house was HUGE in comparison to the apartments where I grew up! I remember warm summer evenings after dinner; the swing on the screened-in back porch – large enough for at least a couple of us kids at once. And the backyard, so green and lovely, seemed to go on forever.

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The cellar was earthy, dark and mysterious, with lots of secret nooks.

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It’s not on this floor plan, but for ME, the MOST important part of the house was on the first floor – the baby grand PIANO!!  I love that my mother remembered where the marigolds and lilies of the valley were planted! She was a surprisingly impressive companion walking through a park or Botanical Garden – she knew a lot more about flora than you might expect!!G-House-2ndFloor

I haven’t figured out the significance of these locations, but they touch something deep inside me when I wake and remember where I was visiting during dreamtime.

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growing up, Home

Lunch at McPrison

Screen Shot 2017-10-25 at 1.16.23 AMLike most people, I grew up with McDonald’s. The first one we visited was probably in 1963 on the Berlin Turnpike in Newington, CT. The novelty of cheap, fast food was thrilling to the Harris family; prior to McDonald’s’ arrival, we’d rarely eat out, and when we did, it was Howard Johnson’s, or the luncheonette counter at Kresge’s or Woolworth’s 5-&-10¢ store. So the economical menu appealed to both of my Depression-era parents, and even though we all knew it wasn’t exactly the most nutritious meal, it was such a treat!!  Long before the “you deserve a break today” jingle hit the airwaves, there was ♫♬”McDonald’s is our kind of place – it’s such a happy place! A clean and snappy place!” ♫♬ YOUR kind of place!

While I never made it a habit to eat at McDonald’s, I generally enjoyed it when I did, remembering fun times with my dad and sisters (Dad loved their coffee and was a real fan of the Filet o’Fish). Over the years, it became more of a “road food” option, especially on long trips; I stopped at a lot of McDonald’s on my cross-country road trips: FUTURE STREET tour ROUND TRIP tour. I did best ordering the “side salad”, which could be consumed without dressing while driving. As one of the Dollar Menu items, I felt okay ordering 3 or 4 at a time and skipping the sandwich and/or fries… (tho I always had a weakness for their hot apple pies.)

A lot has changed at Mickey D’s over the years – and not just higher prices and a more varied menu! I noticed the decor making a quantum shift from the familiar yellow/orange/red palette a while back when the corporation attempted to turn their outlets into “McCafes” complete with Wi-Fi.

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And then the backboard menu “came alive” with a frantically changing video menu featuring huge photos of the food in fast rotation with the names and prices of same, which made it much more difficult for economy-minded folks like me to figure out what we wanted/could afford to order!

The latest wrinkle appears to be in response to the rising minimum wage paid to fast food workers; the closest McDonald’s to our house has remodeled their outlet to a new design which apparently necessitates employing only half of the former staff. This remodel has an “industrial” look, to put it kindly; dark gray cinderblock walls interrupted by hyper-busy mostly black wallpaper surround the public area. There’s no background music, only the mechanical hum, buzzing and clicks of unseen machines. Frankly, the ambiance is dystopian, unfriendly and feels like… McPrison.

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Electronic kiosks shaped like giant iPhones stand like Stonehenge, available to take your order. In fact, this is the ONLY way you can order. Walk up to the counter and you’ll be turned away, directed back to the kiosks by the attendants, whose forced-cheery greetings sound desperate and reminded me of the little waitresses working at Raisins on TV’s “South Park” Since transactions cannot happen thru any other means than these kiosks, heaven forbid there’s a glitch and the computer ever crashes?! (We all know that NEVER happens, but if it does… well, No Soup For You!)

McDonald’s is probably not the first place most people think of when trying to lose weight, and yet the menus list the calorie counts for each food selection in large bold numbers, mostly obscuring the prices which don’t show up until another few click-thrus on the kiosk. Said prices on the big board (if you’re quick enough to actually see them while they flash around in a frenzy!?) don’t always match the kiosk prices. And, as you might expect with all this technological “progress”, ALL of the prices are substantially higher; a small hot fudge sundae that used to cost $1 is now close to $2.

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The acoustics of the room are weird; while many customers were buried in their smart phones, the ones who spoke to one another were clearly audible to everyone – so much for privacy. Every conversation we overheard was about how much they didn’t like these new, streamlined “improvements” to their McDonald’s experience.

I have to agree. While it was never a substantial part of my diet, I didn’t think that I would ever completely “age-out” of McDonald’s. But apparently that day has come.

New wall signs now limit customers’ visits to 30 minutes – then you’d darn well better vamoose! Lunch time is OVER! Back to your cell!

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P.S. Forgot to mention: GERMS!!! Consider all the HUNDREDS of grimy paws that will be using those giant touchscreen ordering kiosks each day… how many of us order and pay for our food and then run to the restroom to wash our hands BEFORE we pick up that hot burger or sample a few fries? Brother-in-law Dr. Tim Wolfram wrote this little ditty, and he should know – he’s a DOCTOR!! http://markwolfram.com/MrSUDzFrameset.html

UPDATE 8/10/18 – Sorry, it’s still McPrison to me!!  McPrison in Chicago!

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