Radio Middle Grove, & Sunshine in December:
One great thing about the weekend before Christmas is that NOT MANY PEOPLE ARE SHOPPING… for real estate, anyway. As a Realtor, I get an extended break like no other holiday provides. I am glad, for a brief spell, to leave the market to the retailers.
I took my turn shopping, i.e. sitting in traffic or standing in checkout lines… already enough times this week, so today, and maybe tomorrow too, I will be staying home and avoiding the crowds, the clutter, the hustle, the bustle, the intensity of human density.
This is particularly pleasant on a Saturday when I can typically can hear Jam ‘N Toast on WEQX (102.7 FM) from nine a.m. till the sultry-voiced Donna shows up at 11 a.m. to take over. But this morning I flipped back to WEXT (97.7 FM) in time to catch the last two songs of “My Exit” show done by an equally-sultry guest-hostess who played a mysterious sax-song by Morphine called “Whisper”– with the late Mark Sandman’s haunting vocals then blending into Neil Young’s thrumming meditation dubbed “On The Beach.” This was one of the best segues I’d heard all year.
Later, after a hike to the creek with Bentley the golden, I come back to make lunch as Aja on ‘EXT plays my favorite tune of the moment, a kick’n country drawl-with-a-bite called “PROTECTION” by Lucinda Williams:
You know that people complain and be talkin’ about me,
Make me throw up my hands and wanna crawl outta town,
but The world is gonna spin / with or without me
So I steel get up / and keep on tryin’…
Livin’ in a world full of endless trouble
Livin’ in a world where darkness doubles,
but my gloom is lifted/
when I just stand up
and take the gift that I was given/
by not givin’ up…
This is a tune that serves a purpose: like Sinatra singing “That’s Life.”
Whether one is overcoming loneliness, illness, a disastrous love affair, marriage break-up, death of loved ones, economic woes, gossipy innuendo, or just being overwhelmed by bad news, an anthem like this comes in handy. Personally, at the moment, unlike the past, I am suffering from none of the above, but I still like listening to this tune. Lucinda’s gravelly voice alone tells you she’s been through such grim and grizzly times, but the whip-crack beat and guitar solos illustrate the resiliency and empowerment her lyrics finally proclaim.
So this is the tune I would say is my “Fickle Favorite” of the day… for a while.
I change my mind often on the subject, and will give you a few more in the next blog I’m about to write… But back to Saturday’s stream walk…
First of all, the sunrise actually had some sun in it today! We have not seen a full slate of blue sky and brilliant sun in these parts for a week or more it seems. So even though the temp was still below freezing, I was outside in rolled-up sleeves reveling in it: It’s Springtime in December! I called out to my neighbor as I stuffed my final-round of outgoing Christmas cards in the mailbox… he replied skeptically: Still pretty damn cold out, and this from a guy who is frequently biking 20-30 miles in nothing more than his insulated spandex outerwear. I was feeling more exuberant and adrenalized than him for a change.
A good day for a trip to the stream with Bentley the galloping Golden and Daryn, son number 2, still trying to kick the effects of his bout with Lyme Disease, who needed to feel some exuberance too. The “damn dawg” as we sometimes call him, is good for both of us, getting us out of the house on a regular basis, at his constant prompting.
The ground looked like March instead of pre-Christmas in that the semi-heavy snows of early December were now crusty and receding, but the ground was still hard & frosty underneath. This made for good walking, not sinking into the muck of a thaw, and not sinking into soft corn snow, but trekking on top as the crunch supported our weight.
Down on the slope behind our house, which faces north, the deer trails were visibly exposed down to the leaf layer but everywhere else still had a coating of bright white, which gave an interesting definition to paths that were usually harder to follow.
Bentley’s nose, as always, was a blood-hound Sherlock Holmes, wordlessly guiding us forward. The deer path led to a spot on the creek where the bank was lower, where hoofed and pawed fauna alike were able to lean in for a taste. Bentley, with his schnozz processing information constantly, sniffed a bunch of them, no doubt.
The Kaydeross was flowing briskly like liquid ice, perfectly clear and shimmering in the sunlight. I took deep breaths through my nose and suggested to Daryn that he do the same– at 20 degrees it singed our sinuses and brain with cold clarity. Much better than mouth breathing in the cold, I reminded myself.
Since I don’t usually have company other than the dawg when I hike down there, I took the opportunity to show D. what I considered to be the “anchor tree” of the lower slope of the valley we were part of… a huge white pine with two trunks, about eight feet in circumference, with its top rising well above the edge of the plateau where we started. Native Mohawks reputedly used to stand with their spines pressed back against the most majestic pines they could find to rejuvenate their powers, which I remind myself to try on a regular basis, but I don’t recommend attempting it in public, say at the State Park’s Avenue of The Pines. It’s much less pretentious, less self-conscious, to perfom such rituals out in the wild a bit.
Daryn wasn’t so sure about my interpretation of the Mohawk’s theory but tried it with me anyway, on the opposite side of the “Siamese Pine.” One good thing about living nine miles out from Saratoga’s downtown is that I’ve had the chance to illustrate to my three children firsthand the power and beauty of the deep woods, whether they bought into it or not. Miles being post-college, and Bella being in her teenage prime, are less receptive to these messages right now, but Daryn at least is open to suggestions.
The Dawg needs no such encouragement– he loves it down there. It is his favorite antidote to being housebound, and beats the hell out of hanging around the living room all day. He does figure-eight laps past us and returns in a loop, running hard and low to the ground as his breed was intrinsically trained to do. It’s invigorating just to watch how much energy he puts out on these backwoods runs.
When he stops, he tends to “truffle-dive” with his snout into the crusty snow, smelling something good, and then uncovering a mouthful of leaves, a stick, or a pine cone, like it was a hidden treasure… hilarious. Then he will march around with it in his mouth like he just retrieved a quail or partridge. Fortunately for a non-hunter like me, he hasn’t actually killed any birds yet. The light is pouring down through the cathedral pines in our favorite stretch of riverbank as I snap a picture of D. behind the ground-prowling canine…
When we head back up the 90′ slope towards the back of our property, I realize Daryn is now grinning, when he’d been pretty glum to begin with… a combination of our own stirred up endorphins, plus the antics of our slaphappy dawg. It lightens the spirit– almost the same as any great, invigorating tune, like Protection, the one I’ve got in my head today, or those I will list on my next blog!– but in more of a physical manner. Hiking, music, hoop, running, biking, yoga, dance, working out, working outside… they all recharge the human battery, brighten one’s mood, and enlighten the soul.
This is what I’m thinking about, after a 45 minute walk with the dawg.
Later in the afternoon, because I have time to sit around and chill– I will read about another interesting corollary in two different local newspapers. Writing a column for the (Albany) Times Union, Jo Page’s piece was titled “Dance is the affirmation of our lives.” She writes about a 4 year old boy breaking into spontaneous dance moves as he heard a dress-rehearsal of a song about death and resurrection from The Messiah–
a piece called A Trumpet Shall Sound:
Ms. Page wrote:
The bass sang on about how the-dead-shall-be-raised-incorruptible-and-we-shall-be-changed and the little boy just wiggled and swung and jumped and spun. He was unstoppable. Everybody on stage watched, laughing…
She goes on to extol the virtues of dance for one and all, talented or not–
“…Mostly, dance is about that amazing impulse to move our bodies through space, to feel the air or to feel our partner’s bodies and our own bodies, the muscles in our limbs and ribs and feet as we make contact with the Earth or as we leave the Earth in little jumps. Movement is what is dazzling, even if all we are doing is…watching others and feeling that infectious vitality…
The tradition of the “danse macabre” she insists, is a testimonial to the power of life, related to her late mother’s expressed desire to “go out dancing…” (taken from Section D of the Times Union (Albany, NY) , Dec. 18th edition, by Jo Page.)
And even if we aren’t fully dancing ourselves, we can still watch and feel the music, the vibrations, the kinetic spell cast, to wit:
In the weekly Capital District arts review tabloid Metroland, long-time contributor David Greenberger rhapsodizes on the contact buzz achieved in the midst of throbbing, bouncing listeners standing close to stage at The Hollow Bar + Kitchen at a sold-out show for Lucius:
Mr. Greenberger writes:
I felt two simultaneously uplifting sensations. One was the sheer, clear sonic landscape of the five musicians onstage, gently loud and smartly eccentric. The
other stirring awareness was that of being an outsider in a sea of real fans… I saw myself as an individual in a sea of people united in an experience… and I’m one small part of the magnitude of an audience taking in music… each unfolding song peppered with resonant moments, no looking forward or backward, just being receptive to the constantly changing present…. rudderless and floating upon it, and in this case further carried by the engine of excitement that surrounded me…
Now, I’m not normally prone to gushing about the perspective of other local writers (aside from William Kennedy, let’s say), but having felt that same wonderful musical catharsis at several musical events over the years, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it summed up quite that well– especially for a performance given by a group the writer wasn’t all that familiar with before he went. Exactly the point!
Greenberger encourages us, as a good reviewer should, to test the limits of our known likes and dislikes, and what we are already familiar with, no matter what our age or outlook… he finishes up by saying:
“(Screw) nostalgia. Lose your bearings, regain a view of the horizon anew, and be vigorously revived.”
(As appeared in Metroland, Dec. 18th, 2014 edition, by David Greenberger).
*
This, among other reasons, is why we attend concerts, bars with music, recitals, performances, and sometimes stop in our tracks to hear street buskers.
This is why I have to start going more often to “Free-QX” concerts at Vapor Nightclub at the Racino, or inexpensive gigs at Putnam Den for Bands I barely know, or, coming up soon, the First Night Celebration at Saratoga’s City Center on New Year’s Eve, with a lot of local talent I know by name only. I pledge to remain open to new experiences for as long as I can handle them all! And if lucky enough to have the time to spare, I hope to keep writing about these musical epiphanies here and elsewhere…
So to you, dear readers, especially those who are feeling depleted just before the low point of Light the Northern Solstice represents… at the end of the solar cycle for the year we call 2014… and before the New Moon as well… please understand that one of the main reasons I continue to write this Blog is to point up the moments (as above, and as written about in my past Blogs) that add sparks of ecstasy (the real stuff, not the drug) to our lives, too counteract all the bad news you can always get plenty of most anywhere else you look.
To properly commemorate the year 2014, these are a few of my euphoric moments of the past year when I felt what Greenberger described:
#1) seated front row with my wife listening to Sean Rowe’s solo mastery (particularly during “Spoonful” and “1952 Vincent Black Lightning”) back in April at the sanctified Troy Music Hall;
#2) in the middle of a standing, bouncing, singalong throng at Upstate Concert Hall during the peak points of The Head and the Heart performance in late May, during their hits “SHAKE” and “Lost in My Mind” but also the lesser known “Gone” and “Rivers & Roads”…
#3) during the BECK concert at MassMoCa, otherwise marred by crackly, shoddy sound, but mesmerized by the throbbing jolt of “Devil’s Haircut” and “Think I’m in Love” right off the bat, while tunes like “Soldier Jane” and “Que Onda Guero” were the revelations of the night, along with “Heart is a Drum”– which I’ve come to love…from my subsequently favorite album of the year, “Morning Phase”.
#4) and a local night of old-time (’70’s Allman Brothers) enlightenment during an end-of-night jam at a lightly attended Thursday night session in Malta at NaNola on Route 9, south of Exit 13… A buddy of mine named Rob Beaulieu playing lead on Whipping Post with his Stone Revival Band…a stunning and wonderful jam to top off an office party evening… congrats to Shane and Ralph Spillinger for literally “reviving” a musical venue that had been underused or empty for a decade…
On that night and a few others, Melinda and I were also feeling the urge to dance as spontaneously (but maybe not as well) as the 4 year old Jo Page described, especially during a FUNK EVOLUTION gig (9-piece killer party band, with horns…) in mid-summer outside at Dango’s!!! Packed inside the undulating mass and locked into a throbbing groove for a finite eternity, ah… winter memories of summer in Saratoga!
Redemption, Renewal, Reinvigoration– via music, love, exertion, exercise, dance or whatever– this is what I wish for you and me and all.
Take care, & Peace,
Wayne Perras,
“West of Saratoga”
Copyright 2014 for WaynesWord2 at www.saratoga.com