A CASTLE OF MY DREAMS

the saddest movie ever

2010-09-17T05:40:00.000-07:00

Do not watch "Hachi: a dog tale" unless you have either a) no human heart beating in your chest, or b) two boxes of tissues and no problem with a sleepless night or two following the movie. This is the first movie in which I bawled my eyes out in at least 40 years. Based on a true story about the faithful Japanese Akita Hachiko, it's about a dog (Hachi) who forms an incredibly tight bond with its owner and accompanies him to the train station every day. Hachi then goes home and returns to the station at precisely 5:05pm every day when the train pulls in and his owner returns from work. Well....one day the owner keels over from a heart attack and never returns...not on the 5:05 and not on the 7:00 pm train. You can guess the rest: Hachi returns to the station EVERY DAY FOR NINE YEARS, waiting for his owner to come back. The townspeople give him scraps of food, pet him now and then and make sure he has his basic needs taken care of. But Hachi only has eyes on one spot: the exit door of the train station at 5:05 every evening....until the very night in the middle of winter, soft snow falling from the sky, when he closes his eyes, dreaming softly of playing with his owner and departs this world for doggie heaven.

The movie is slow, with gorgeous music, very softly photographed and will simply rip the heart out of your chest with pure sadness. The only solace I found after watching it was cuddling with my dog Hugo, holding him close, stroking his head and whispering into his ear. As Rudyard Kipling - the most keen observer of the emotions of men and beast - said: "If you want to know true sadness, get a dog"

tamil ships

2010-09-08T19:22:00.000-07:00

When I immigrated to Canada in 1982 (I had been here before on a student visa), I had to first leave the country with my pregnant wife, apply for immigration status while living in one room (no shower and the toilet was in the hall) in my mother-in-law's basement, fill out tons of paperwork, travel for an interview at the Canadian High Commission in London, go through my medicals and wait a total of about a year before being approved. I did not complain, nor do I see that period of my life as a hardship today. I was young and strong and living in a 10x10 basement room with wife and baby for a while didn't faze me. When we arrived in Canada, I quickly realized that my Master's degree in English and Linguistics wasn't going to be of much help. I worked as a bingo caller, dental equipment salesman and even a vacuum cleaner salesman (for one day, mind you!) Eventually, I found work as a music teacher...it was part-time work but it paid some of the bills. As time passed, I slowly found my way to being a full time musician and building my career.

I am not very happy to see a boatload of people come to our shores and for all of the passengers to claim political asylum. This is a flagrant abuse of the system - especially since the identities of the asylum seekers cannot be easily established. I truly want for folks to come to this wonderful country and to enjoy all it has to offer, provided they do it legally. This is not a question of discrimination or hate. It's a question of very basic fairness. I have no doubt that these people's voyage to Canada was not only unpleasant but perhaps horrendously so. Perhaps they went without food for days on end and spent the journey crammed into small, dark quarters. Nevertheless, this is not an excuse to abuse Canadian generosity - whether on the part of the claimants themselves or some human smugglers (who, btw, constitute the lowest of the low, the scum of the earth and who should be found and prosecuted to the full extent of the law)

On to perhaps lighter themes next time.

harbourfront

2010-09-05T16:54:00.000-07:00

So...I went down to Toronto's Harbourfront this afternoon to catch me some downtown action. It was not good: no parking whatsoever, unless you're willing to shell out $20, leave your keys with a car jockey (me no likey) and walk 1.5 - 2km to your destination. You can take public transit, of course...well, the streetcars were too packed to even contemplate. Between the stink and the coughing passengers - I don't think so. OK, so I parked at Bathurst and King and walked about 2km; no big deal, it was a pleasant afternoon. Once I got to where the action was, I knew I could only take a minute or two: the crowds were just too thick. Claustrophobia hit me and I had to snake my way out to the slightly less crowded sidewalks...missed all of the Ashkenaz festival. I'll fess up: I'm not all that interested. I don't want to belong to a club that would have me for a member...this one would have me, for sure. I'm ethnically Jewish but don't feel any need to mingle with my coreligionists or take in Yiddishkeit (Jewish culture)

So I turned around and walked back to my car. Jets screamed overhead (air show) and infants screamed all around me. Cars honked impatiently and sardine can streetcars passed me by. On my right, as I walked back west, there was the god-awful ugly, unwieldy mishmash of waterfront condos, plus the Rogers Center and the CN Tower - not a pretty picture in the least. The contrast between the calm, serene lake with the green island and the manicured lawns around the sidewalks and the cold, anxious looking concrete jungle couldn't be more jarring. It's too bad Toronto couldn't get its shit together and look a bit more like Chicago.

I was glad to get into my car and motor on home to the outer suburbs. Leafy streets and silence. Oh yeah, baby. And then the wife and I went for a nice sushi dinner to cap off the sunny early fall day

"hate media"

2010-09-03T06:16:00.000-07:00

"Prime Minister Harper is trying to push American-style hate media onto our airwaves"...So starts an online petition to stop a new conservative-style channel from being broadcast in Canada. One has to wonder sometimes whether a large section of the population understands the meaning of words such as *democracy*, *liberty* and *choice* One of the objections mentioned in the petition (aside, naturally, from the sense of loathing towards anything that isn't perceived as "progressive") is that this new channel would be partly funded by cable fees, thus financially obligating even those who vehemently oppose such a channel.

Well, I have news for the objectors. There already exists a TV and radio network in Canada, funded not just by cable fees but by our tax dollars. The network is called the CBC. Is it not conceivable that I object to this compulsory CBC participation in the same way the petitioners object to the proposed right wing channel? While I never watch CBC TV (except for play-off hockey), I do occasionally listen to CBC radio, some of which is intelligent and well presented. I would prefer for it to run along the lines of NPR/PBS in the States (i.e. corporate donations, some minimal advertising/sponsorship + audience membership) - but be that as it may, I am not overly exercised about paying my $40 annually for the CBC - or whatever my tax portion may be.

As for the expression "American style hate media" - this speaks much more to the ignorance of the petition creators than to the actual nature of the channel being proposed. First of all, as someone who lives in the U.S. a few months each year, FOX news is not "hate" media. "Der Stuermer" was hate media. "Pravda" was hate media. FOX is occasionally silly, often over the top and, admittedly, does employ some borderline nutbars, such as Mr. Beck. But overall, their programming is no more "hate" filled than CNN or MSNBC. I have absolutely no idea where this notion comes from, aside from complete ignorance.

Lastly: if you don't want to watch it, TURN IT OFF. The petition makes it seem like Mr. Harper is somehow foisting this channel upon our collective minds, shoving it down our throats while we're gagging, begging for mercy and pleading for another 24 hour CBC channel (the one we have commands about 6% of audience share, btw)

Grow up people! This country is about liberty, choice and tolerance. Try to be tolerant of views you don't like and simply switch the channel, why don't ya!

border checks

2010-09-01T10:48:00.000-07:00

Just read an article in the New York Times that sent shivers down my spines. So this is what "homeland security" has come to. Soon they will ask us to carry inland passports a la the Soviet Union. Basically - for those who don't click on the link - border patrol officers board New York bound trains that travel close to the Canadian border and ask random passengers to produce ID. This is INSIDE U.S. territory and without any prior suspicion or proof. Strictly random, most likely racially profiled, interrogations. One of the astounding facts one can read about in the article is that the Immigration office personnel at Rochester quadrupled after the Toronto - Rochester ferry went bankrupt. I.e. no more ferry, no more direct traffic from Canada, but the office now has four times as many officers as before. One assumes they pull people off the streets of downtown Rochester at random? What else could they be doing? There is no ferry and no direct border crossing in Rochester, N.Y. (there's not much of anything else, either)

Even the name "homeland security" is so Orwellian it would be laughable if it weren't so scary.

Let me tell you a story about "homeland security". When I was a lad 0f 12, my parents and I undertook a journey from Prague to Israel. Today, no one would think of any other mode of transport but flying but in those days (1965), we took the train to Greece and then a ship from Piraeus to Haifa. Three days on the train, three days on the ship. Here's what "homeland security" looked like in Czechoslovakia, cca mid-1960's: the train started slowing down about 10 km from the Austrian border. It then stopped and about 20 officers armed with sub-machine guns and with large German shepherds boarded the train. They entered each compartment in pairs. Every person in each compartment had to produce their passport, their exit visa, their return ticket and their proof of purchase of foreign funds. Every person then had to open every single bag and suitcase, as well as wallets. This inspection lasted about two hours. At the end of it - and after numerous citizens were pulled off the train for insufficient documentation or for trying to smuggle something OUT of the country (such as forbidden books or a few more dollars than they were permitted), the train started moving towards the Austrian side. On each side of the train, electrified barbed wire reached about 25 feet high, with watchtowers and machine gun armed guards every 300 yards or so. This "no man's land" (but in fact a minefield designed to capture anyone trying to escape the socialist paradise)was about 3 km long. The train traversed it in a few minutes. Suddenly, there was nothing but green fields on either side of the train. Austrian custom officers boarded (about 4 of them for the whole train) and conducted a completely perfunctory check of our documents. They smiled and joked, offered people light for their cigarettes and told us to relax and enjoy their country. The relief, the joy, the elation throughout the train was amazing. We all laughed, and drank beer in the dining car (well, my folks did) and rejoiced at how wonderful life in a free country can be.

QUO VADIS, America, with your "homeland security" idiocy and your curtailing of freedoms and you usurping of citizens' rights by a cruel, faceless and metastasizing beaurocracy?

heat

2010-08-31T12:20:00.000-07:00

Sooner or later all bloggers talek about weather. The weather in Toronto this summer has been absolutely awesome. The last two summers were wash-outs, so we deserved a good one. Even now, at the very end of August, temps are in the 30's (high 90's on the good old scale) But wouldn't you know it, there are people, even in this city, in this country which basically shivers for eight months of each year under the combined assault of frost, wind, snow, sleet and windchill, there are people that complain about the heat.

People: SHUT UP! Buy yourself a window A/C unit, I've seen them go for as low as $150 in June; right now, I'm sure you can get a slightly used one for next to nothing. Cool your bedroom and the rest of the time, just enjoy the sunshine, enjoy the girls in teeny dresses and flip flops, enjoy the ice cappuccinos, the dips in the lake, the longer days, the frosty pint on the patio...enjoy life! Summertime, and the living is easy.

back home

2010-08-30T18:46:00.000-07:00

Southwest Airlines is as bargain basement as it gets. No assigned seating, no entertainment system, old rickety planes, haggard looking flight attendants who try to keep themselves amused by using lame humor and, worst of all, stinking, moldy looking toilets with dirty paper towels sticking out of overflowing waste bins. Still, it's hard to beat $80 one way (less in, say, mid-November) from Orlando to Buffalo and so I keep booking with them despite the bovine conditions.

The security line-ups in Orlando are always made worse by the countless kids, tots, babies, children of all shapes, sizes and smells (mostly only one smell and it ain't good) whom their caring parents keep dragging to Disney World. Why anyone would pay good money to spend a day in a park filled with plastic animals and only marginally less plastic people, fighting crowds in 95 degree heat and 100% humidity is a mystery that shall remain unanswered. My idea of a good time in Orlando is my pool, a drive out to Cocoa Beach, lunch at Ming's Court and an afternoon of window shopping at the Mall At Millenia.

Good to be home. I think.

frying and flying

2010-08-29T08:57:00.000-07:00

I am happy to report I have mastered my feel of frying. I used to use too much oil with appallingly greasy results. Or I used too little and the smoke detectors would go bananas. Then I started using olive oil...which burns very fast. Solution? Lard!

But what I really want to talk about is mastering my fear of flying! A long time ago, a good friend - who incidentally died of liver cirrhosis, so obviously he wasn't free of his own issues - told me the formula for conquering the fear of flying was simple: "To beat it, you must fly it" It's odd that even though I have led such a peripatetic life and have flown more than most people, I would still dread each trip anew. I would fidget in my seat, sweat profusely, panic at every bump, run to the washroom every 20 minutes (always chose an aisle seat and still do) and generally felt miserable for the duration of the trip. This was not so bad flying, say, from Toronto to Boston but ocean crossings were horrible. I'd lose a couple of pounds every time just via copious sweating.

The solution presented itself for an unexpected reason. As a sufferer from a rare disease called "cochlear hydrops", my doctor recommended I take a decongestant when I fly...to relieve possible pressure on the middle ear, which might (this is disputed in medical circles) contribute to cochlear pressure in the inner ear and cause hearing and balance problems. I took the good doc's advice with the result that I felt pleasantly sleepy during the flight. Suddenly finding myself dozing off instead of white-knuckling the arm rests filled me with a sense of triumph and well-being. So, on the next flight I doubled the dose, resulting in the flight attendant having to wake me up upon landing. The last few flights I haven't even taken the drug - though I do have it handy just in case. I find that having flown a few times in a relaxed mood got rid of the panic and dread that I had felt for decades before. Now I take off, land and fly through turbulence without lifting my eyes up from my book (currently reading "The Fear of Frying" bu Josh Fried) I say: more power to Big Pharma, baby!

back after 2 years

2010-08-28T13:40:00.000-07:00

Driving along the I-4 here in Orlando, listening to NPR, I heard the announcer mention "so and so blogs at blblabla.com" and suddenly it hit me! He blogs! I blog! Why don't I blog again? I recall a few people (ok, my daughters and wife) telling me they liked my bloggy babble, so I'm resuming after almost two years.

Comparisons are always fun. And as I'm spending a lot of time down Florida way since we bought our lovely condo down here (check it out and contact me if interested in renting for the rock bottom price of $500 a week), I am often given to comparisons between Yanks and Canucks and between the different ways things run here and there.

Banking: American banking is way behind. First of all, banks don't have nearly as many branches scattered through the city as they do back home. Even major banks, like Chase or Bank of America only serve select neighborhoods ("neighbourhoods" in Canadian)and are hard to find. Also (!!!) you can't deposit money through ATM's; or, if you can, I haven't discovered how yet. Certainly my bank doesn't supply envelopes for it and the machine doesn't allow for it at the two branches I tried. Lastly, I have not yet seen a bank that has an open branch on Saturday; at least not here in Orlando. My bank back home operates limited Saturday hours which is great!

Nutrition: Americans have huge asses. They love their starches, their carbies and, probably, their penicillin infused hamburger meat. It's truly incredible and very sad, how many fat people strut around the streets (forget streets, I mean malls) here. And I mean grossly obese. Then there are their stick-skinny counterparts, usually observed jogging at breakneck tempos. Very little in between. Stick people and Brobdingnagians.

Booze: I don't drink, except the odd beer or glass of white wine with lunch but I LOVE the ease with which one can obtain booze in every 7/11 here. I cannot describe to you how much it fills me with a sense of freedom to be able to walk over to my local corner 7/11 and buy a six pack (for $7, natch!) any time of day and night. Last time I attempted an alcohol purchase at home, it was around 4pm on Friday and I wanted a glass of red wine to go with the pasta I was cooking. It had just started to rain and by the time I got back home from the GOVERNMENT liquor (Canadian: "liquour") store, it was 5 o'clock and I had endured an hour in rush hour traffic, compounded by construction and a torrential downpour. Why? Because the nearest GOVERNMENT store happens to be 3 miles (5 km in Canadian) from my frigging house. Why anyone on God's good earth would support this system is totally beyond me.

This blogging thingie is fun. I'll continue soon!

moravian farm recording from june 15 2008

2008-10-28T12:37:00.000-07:00

some tunes

2008-05-12T11:28:00.001-07:00

Here's a medley of tunes Bohemian Swing played last January at the Dominion on Queen in Toronto. This medely was submitted to a folk-ish music fest but was deemed not "ethnic" enough. Judge for yourselves

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ekTM2no8DJk

(tried to embed...didn't woik)

early spring

2008-04-21T14:00:00.000-07:00

When people have nothing to talk about, they talk about the weather. Or about the Toronto Maple Leafs, which is like talking about nothing. Experience has taught me never to talk politics and religion with friends. Conversly, it's a very good idea to talk religion and politics with non-friends because at the end of the conversation, you'll dislike each other even more deliciously. Politics, just like religion, is irrational - though unlike religion, it seems rational and bears all the hallmarks of feasible logic...to start with! That's because it's only your own view that is rational, whereas the other person's view is total bullshit. And so, let's talk about weather.

A few years ago, I was in Prague in April and came back home in early May. Prague was sunny and green, the fragrance of lilac permeating old courtyards, chestnut trees in full glory, pigeons starting to fatten up. Conversly, the landing at Pearson was a shock. It was about 10 degrees, a cold drizzle and fog hugged the runways and when we reached home, nary a green leaflette was in sight. Only one scrawny bush in front of our house tried valiantly to sprout its yellow flowers. It took another two weeks (till mid-May) to catch up to where Prague had been a month before.

Well, this year, we went through a winter that must have been sent to us by some zealous demon. Or maybe Al Gore. Snow up the yin-yang and up to your eyeballs, right up till the end of March. And then suddenly BANG and spring gallops in. The last few days have been fantabulous and wonder of wonders: the trees in my street are beginning to sprout plumpy little buds and even the odd magnolia is starting to show its mettle. Only once before do I remember spring arriving this early (despite the dire predictions of "experts", btw....more below) I think that was in 1985. I recall taking my ex and two daughters to the airport and driving back, the nature all around me already in full dress and the date was May 1. And so, last night, we had our first deck BBQ with satay chicken, fried rice (my own secret recipe which involves oil and rice), veggies, Ceasar salad and a glass of chilled PG (fellow wine snobs will understand)

Now, the experts: I've been tracking "expert" financial/economic advice for the last few years and here's my conclusion. Do what George Costanza did on Seinfeld: THE OPPOSITE. I tells ya, you can't go wrong. When the "experts" predicted our dollar to fall below 50 c U.S., it began its meteoric rise. When they said there was no real estate bubble, house prices began to decline. When they said our economic indicators were strong, we began to tank. And when they said our decline would continue for at least another two years, the economy started firing on all cylinders. In short: economic "experts" are well paid dufuses ("dufi"?). They have well tailored suits and brains full of crapola. There's a reason for it: there is no such thing as an ECONOMY. There are millions of micro-economies in each country: families, individuals, villages, towns, clubs etc...Yes, there are broad trends but precise predictions are an idiot's game. So no prediction from me. I am no idiot. I'm a musician. So I must be a genius.

bank job

2008-04-12T23:30:00.000-07:00

It's a funny thing...so often reviews and reviewers just plain get things wrong. If I had read some of the reviews about the movie "The Bank Job" before heading out tonight with the DW, I would have stayed home and watched some insipid reality show on TV. As it, I luckily hadn't read any crap on IMDB and as a result saw one of the best movies I've seen in ten years. The pace is fast and furious, the period (early 1970's in London) well portrayed. The bad guys are bad to the bone and the good guys are only slightly bad. A good soundtrack and an edge-of-your-seat thriller with Cockney accents, a phenomenal bank heist and some stomach churning torture scenes. I'd rank this up there with another excellent gangster movie I saw earlier this year, "American Gangster" and very close to my all time favourite "Pulp Fiction", though perhaps not quite as enormously intelligent and intricate, and definitely a lot less self-referential, than PF. A delicious twist is that this movie is based on real events. Almost makes you want to believe the conspiracy nuts. Rush out and see it. And don't read the IMDB reviews - judge for yourself.

2008-04-08T15:00:00.000-07:00

Whoa! Hard to believe I haven't written anything in almost three months. My last entry sounded like I had it SO together....but the rest of the winter was a biatch. Too much snow for human and canine.

Talking of too much snow....yesterday, as I drove home from my local supermarket, negotiating the winding, hilly streets of my neighbourhood (yeah, like I live in San Francisco!), I saw an elderly oriental lady chipping at the remnantes of a snow bank in her driveway. What a crazy, silly thing to be doing - hacking at the last two inches of ice when it's 60 degrees outside and sunny and what ice and snow is left will be gone within 24 hours anyway. Does this sort of activity come down to people simply having nothing to do?

Back in February, I played at a big gala gig at the Royal York hotel. A fun gig - except one thing. There was a silent auction and I couldn't help but bid on an acoustic guitar. It looked so pretty, a little thin Ovation imitation. Couldn't resist. I ran it up all the way to...nah, I can't tell you. I'm ashamed. So, I bring the thing home and it turns out to be an unplayable piece of plastic garbage. It took me an hour to file down the saddle to just be able to play a G chord. Absolutely, positively, THE worst guitar I ever played. So today, I took it down to Capsule (a great store, well worth checking out) to have them consign it for me. They were very reluctant to defile their store with this piece of junk but eventually took it. If it sells, I'll make $40. Waaaaaaaaay less than what I paid. If Jews are supposed to be good businessmen, I am the honourable exception.

Yesterday, I sat down to write a ballad. A great jazz ballad. The greatest jazz ballad ever...to rival My Funny Valentine. I'll let you know how it goes - but so far I only have 16 mediocre bars. Very mediocre...although I did insert some very hip chords. So hip, I don't even get them. The tune is called "One Day in Early Spring". If it doesn't go as ballady as it should, I'll rename it "I Sprung One Day Too Early"

Au revoir....I'll try to open you more often, dear diary

mid winter, no blahs

2008-01-15T11:00:00.000-08:00

A slow, light snow is falling. Just what winters were meant to be (in German fairy tales) No wind, no hard frost, just puffy flakes and dogs frolicking in the ravine. And glorious whiteness all around.

Christmas was fun. My wife takes excellent care of my wardrobe, not letting me become a dowdy middle-aged fart (well not as far as clothes are concerned, anyway) I got a sharp new suit, a couple of shirts and some other smaller items. In retrun, I gave her a new bag, gloves - all white. And a bluetooth earpiece for her BlackBerry. We ate turkey leftovers and chocolate for about ten days. I weigh 20 pounds more than at this time last year. I LOVE capitalism.

I haven't been paying much attention to the news lately, except the Human Rights Commission fiasco with Ezra Levant. The man is a true hero. I hope that the nation wakes up and that we get rid of this vestige of totalitarianism, called HRC. Any sentence that starts with "Human rights..." is liable to be full of some leftie crap. I believe in individual rights - freedom of speech etc... - not in the rights of some groups not to be offended. Read Ezra's blog if you have no idea what I'm talking about.

I did watch a bunch of hockey of the Christmas holiday, more specifically Canada's juniors who were once again magnificent in winning the World Cup for the under 19's. Strange thing was that there were more Canadian fans in the stands than Czechs, even though the championship took place in Czecho.

May your year be happy, healthy and filled with joy. Rejoice in your libery and defend it wherever you can. Rejoice in hockey, too. And in chocolate!!

poll

2007-12-01T13:48:00.001-08:00

Opinion Polls & Market Research

exhausted

2007-11-26T10:30:00.000-08:00

This is the most tired I've been in weeks, perhaps months. Usually six hours of sleep are sufficient for me and I'm up at 7 or 7:30, checking my email, writing, composing, then walking Hugo and continuing my work day. This past weekend has been extremely exhausting. I've been gigging non-stop since Thursday. Had a major concert on Friday, two gigs on Saturday, then topped it off with a four set marathon at the Swan and Firkin last night. I could hardly stand upright when I got home...had a bite to eat, then fell into a stupor of a sleep and slept for eight and a half hours. I can't remember last time I slept this long. And when I woke up this morning, I didn't feel all that refreshed and still am groggy two hours later. But I wouldn't want to do anything else, no matter how exhausting live performing gets after the age of 50.

Remembrance Day

2007-11-01T14:15:00.000-07:00

Despite the treasonous bleatings of the likes of Jack Layton, despite the insidious relativism of the 21. century, despite the protestations of the champagne lefties, the chattering classes and the media pundits - wars will be won and evil will be supressed, if only temporarily - by young, brave men and women who fight, who do instead of talking and who persevere instead of grumbling. This is in memory of the brave soldiers of the past and present:

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables at home;

They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;

They sleep beyond Englands foam.

Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

first I laughed....

2007-10-12T11:45:00.000-07:00

....then I cried, then laughed again. Al Gore, that swollen blob of self-righteousness, the man whose house burns more electricity than the capital of Iceland, the man who flies around in a private jet, then spreads fear and panic about "climate change" (yes, I'm using quotes. If the war on terror is the "war on terror", then fugging climate change is "climate change"), this greasy snake oil salesman has won the Nobel Peace Prize. Exactly how has Al Gore contributed to world peace? I wasn't exactly thrilled when the grizzled old terrorist Arafat won it - but at least the world perceived him as a contributor to peace (as opposed to the killer of children which was his real avocation) His prize was a recognition of that perception. But Al Melting Icebergs Gore? Like so much else in our lives, the Nobel ~~Piss~~ Peace Prize has become a meaningless tool of political correctness, a symbol of an age where calling things for what they are must be avoided at all costs but no political capital is spared at carressing the egos of those who seem to be advancing the fashionable causes. Congratulations, Nobel ~~Piss~~ Peace Prize committee! You have done yourselves proud. You can now sleep soundly in the knowledge that thanks to Al Gore, ~~piss~~ peace will now spread around our planet like a soft blanket of pacifist dreams. And no trees will die in the process.

2007-10-10T00:30:00.000-07:00

America is a weird and wonderful place. Most big cities are great, full of energy and innovation. The country is a different story altogether: a throwback to the 19th century - guys with long hair and tattoos, rifles slung over their shoulder (well, ok, we only saw one with a rifle but still...) As I have written before, it's a very self-contained world. And what's with all the incredibly overweight people? You never see any of them on "Grey's Anatomy"! The hotel clerk at the last hotel we were staying at was a complete moron. "No, I cain't change yo reservation - if you made it over the innernet" "Do you have any non-smoking rooms available?" "I cain't change yo reservation - if you made it over the innernet" "Well, I couldn't have possibly booked a smoking room, since I quit smoking in 1984" "I cain't change yo reservation - if you made it over the innernet" "How about if I pay you extra for it?" "I cain't change yo reservation - if you made it over the innernet" Maybe he was just a robot with a greasy forehead and zits to make him look human.

The drive home was tiring but beautiful. Once again, we passed through stunning mountains and some historic Civil War battlefields in Virginia, along route 250 - the most gorgeous scenic route you can imagine, especially in early October on a sunny day. Probably not recommended in the winter, though: very twisty, steep climbs and sharp curves.

Surprisingly, the wait at the Canadian border wasn't too long. As soon as we crossed the border, we headed for the nearest Swiss Chalet. It was delicious. Toronto looks like a huge concrete megalopolis compared with anywhere in the South. There are fewer trees here and no mountains. But boy, oh boy, one visit to Loblaws and you know we are a "world class city" :)

Pics from the trip to be found here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/13156129@N02/

mountains

2007-10-06T21:00:00.000-07:00

We're in Asheville, NC, smack dab in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Planning on driving the famous Blue Ridge Parkway tomorrow, doing all the touristy things, maybe a bit of hiking too and most definitely lots of picture snapping. It looks like Switzerland with a good dash of Dodge City here. Asheville itself has been gentrified and I am surprised at how clean and big city-like it looks.

I've given up on American cable news. Fox, CNN, CNBC, it's all the same crap. There is no such thing as "news". There is only the presidential election. Maybe if terrorists bombed Paris or London, American cable news would notice. Anything short of that - fuggedaboutdit. It's all Obama all the time and all Hillary all the time. Is Obama wearing his US flag pin on his lapel? Is he patriotic enough? Is Bill the driving engine behind Hillary's behind? Is Rudy too fruity-friendly? Is Mitt full of grit? Poor people down here, having to endure this trial by cable for a full two years!!!

On the whole, Canadian supermarkets are way better than what I've seen here in the south. The choice of bakery products alone puts the local marches to shame. Lots of cereal choices, though. Geez, if only we could import their energy, vavoom and weather.

fine day in the south

2007-10-05T23:00:00.000-07:00

Well, finally a nice day down here in Charleston, y'all! Woke up to weak sunshine and though the clouds threatened, rain never mat erialized. We decided to do the touristy stuff today: drove downtown and walked through Market Street, which actually is a market. The wares are fairly skimpy - weaved baskets and trinkets. But it was nice to see old black ladies actually weaving. We plonked down $20 each for a horse/buggy ride which was fun in a hokey kind of way. Our guide was a very nice lady in her 50's, 12th generation Charlestonian. Some of the old houses downtown look amazing. The locals tell us that even as recently as 20 years ago, this place was so crime infested that any downtown activity was severly restricted. It took the black/Jewish police chief, Reuben Goldberg to clean the place up. The whole downtown area does look very pretty, though I still have doubts about its commercial vibrancy, despite what the natives claim. The feel of the city is really great...the humid southern air, the smiling, talkative people, the superb food! Yeah, we lunched at Hyman's again. Best fish ever!

Since the sun was shining, we took a dip in the ocean after returning to the hotel. It was amazing. The water was quite warm and the beach here is second to none. I realized that the last time I had swum in salt water was in Israel in 1989. I dipped my feet into the Pacific two years ago in Los Angeles but it was too cold to swim in. After the swim (and after my lunchtime beer at Hyman's), I drifted off for a two hour nap.

We're off to the Blue Ridge Mountains tomorrow. Overall, what strikes me more than anything else is the Americans' pride in their history and heritage and the colour of everyday life. People simply seem happier. I don't know if it's the weather....it's just national character. People in Toronto seem closed, certainly much less talkative and - I hate to say this - just more depressed. I wish we could be as proud as the Americans. It is high time form our school system to teach Canadian history and to instill the idea in our kids that there is more to Canadian identity than hockey. Or healthcare (what a joke!)

hyman's seafood

2007-10-04T12:11:00.000-07:00

The more I travel in the U.S., the more I begin to understand the Americans' sense of exclusiveness. To many Canadians - and others - this often seems like arrogance. I don't think that's what it is. Americans live in this absoluetly vast country (and I don't just mean geographically, like Canada, but also population wise) that overlows with everyhing and anything life has to offer. They have the snow and the sea and the tropics and the desert, gambling and the fun life in Vegas, snorkeling in Hawaii, horse riding in Montana and word class theatre in New York. And that's just a fraction of it. Americans are uneducated about the rest of the world out of a sense of naivite, not because they look down on other people. In fact, I find that they're often embarassed about their "ignorance", prefacing statements with words like "Well, what do you want, I'm an American". They travel in a universe called America and do so with zest, energy and power. And like a powerful bear, they sometimes break things in their path - out of blissful ignorance or miscalculation, because they're simply not on top of what's happening elsewhere, outside of the good ship U.S.A.

Had lunch at Hyman's Seafood in downtown Charleston today. Without a doubt, the best fish I've ever eaten. Very affordable, too. We had a couple of glasses of fine California Pinot Grigio with it and paid a total of $35. Excellent value. Then went down to their gift store (yep, a resto with a gift shop!) and bought a couple of T-shirts at $4 each. Btw, presidents and famous entertainers have eaten at Hyman's. There are signed plates on their walls. One of them says: "Great chow! I feel GOOD!...signed James Brown"

Still pissing with rain, damnit. Why couldn't we bring some fine Ontario fall weather down here?

charleston real estate

2007-10-03T18:00:00.000-07:00

Went to see some properties with the help of a friendly local agent. Wow! A beautiful 1 bed condo can be had for around 100K. This is when the cdn and the us dollar are at par! The market here is sluggish and they offer all sors of incentives. One of the properties we saw was 5 minutes from the beach and all had gorgeous landscaping, palm trees and the rest of it. Similar properties in T.O. sans the palm trees would go for 350K. We are now very seriously contemplating a purchase down here.

Downtown Charleston is quaint, old and charming. Whether it actually has any dynamism and life has yet to be seen....we had a disappointing, expensive lunch at a place called Cafe Cafe. The service sucked and the food blew (or is it "blowed"?)

charleston

2007-10-03T03:09:00.000-07:00

Made it down to Charleston. The last stretch of about 100 km on highway 26 seemed endless. The highway runs through what looks like an alley of cypres trees and the view never changes. When we finally emerged into Charleston rush hour traffic, it was almost a relief.

Got settled in our hotel on Isle of Palms, which simply gorgeous. We have a view of the Atlantic from our window and the beach is 30 meters away. So far, it's been raining and thundering all the time, so not exactly beach walk weather but we're keeping our fingers crossed!

Had a very fine (and expensive) meal here at the hotel last night. Americans seem mile ahead of Canadians when it comes to accomodating diners with special needs. My low sodium request was received with smiles and completely honoured

on the road

2007-10-01T22:00:00.000-07:00

Driven 880 clicks today from T.O. to Fayetteville, WV. There was about a 25 minute delay at the border in Buffalo but the customs chap was pleasant and quite civilized and waved us through. The drive down has been spectacular. Both Pennsylvania and West Virgina are blessed with gorgeous mountains, dense woods and breathtaking vistas. Makes the drive easier. We are ensconsed in a nice hotel here but the locals at Wendy's (I only dared buy the baked potato) were right out of central casting, dead ringers for Cletus Delroy Spuckler one and all!

Tomorrow we'll have a quick look at the white water river here and more of the truly magnificent scenery before heading down to Charleston, SC. I will be blogging about the trip frequently but only adding pics when I get home. Toodles!

Victor Borge

2007-09-29T09:00:00.000-07:00

It's been a very long time and my blogging has been on hold. Still is! In the meantime, here is a clip from - in my very unhumble opinion - the very best comic of the 20th century, Maestro Victor Borge.

contrast

2007-08-08T14:00:00.000-07:00

I watched two TV shows last night - one on Bravo! and one on TLC. The Bravo! show was captivating and I gobbled up every second. The TLC show was also captivating but in a repulsive, an accident-you-can't-look-away-from sort of way. The Bravo! show was an excellent documentary about Canadian jazz/blues/roots legend, Jackie Washington. Jackie is an unbelievable character: a true natural performer. Self-taught on guitar and piano, Jackie sings hundreds, if not thousands of songs in a plaintive, wailing tenor, accompanying himself in a rough-hewn style that perfectly fits his personality. A smile never leaves his face. He was born the grandson of slaves in Canada and has lived all his life in and around Hamilton, ON, even refusing to travel to the U.S. until 1999. Jackie is in his mid-80's and still performs regularly, most often with Ken Whitley and Mose Scarlett. In his youth, he travelled across Canada and worked as a porter for CN Railways. It is quite obvious from every single interview with anyone who has known Jackie that this man has been a ray of sunshine in everybody's life. He smiles and laughs infectiously and makes everyone around him smile as well. He makes friends easily, loves to talk about his music, is completely unassuming and modest and loves life despite various fairly severe ailments he suffers. Jackie also happens to have a photographic memory: he remembers every important date, every face he's ever seen, every song he's ever heard, carries all his music around with him in his head. I've used the word "legend" to describe him and that is indeed what he is. Like someone said on the show: if everyone was like Jackie, there would be no wars. Jackie knows how to diffuse every situation with a smile and a song and he's disarmed everyone who has met him - friend or foe. I am willing to bet that anyone who has met him, have had their lives enriched - kids and adults alike. I know that mine's been enriched just by watching this show.

Conversly, the show on TLC featured numerous angry, sulky, scowling young people - mostly women - getting their arms, legs, bellies, backs and in some cases even faces tattooted by a tattoo artist in Miami. I think the show is called "Miami Ink". Difficult to judge people from a reality show but what I saw was a lot anger, resentment and, ultimetaly, just spiritual and intellectual emptiness. These people could only talk about either what pisses them of, or about the next tattoo they were going to get. It was quite disheartening in its stupid shallowness. Like watching an army of automatons, engraving ink in their skin, sputtering inanities. I cannot possibly imagine anyone's life being enriched by any of these people.

If only more of us could look away from the unimportant and mundane and be true to ourselves...but that often takes introspection AND hard work; qualities in short supply. I don't think someone like Jackie Washington is terribly introspective but he knows who he is and works very hard. The ink people have no idea who they are, don't work hard, if at all and need at least a smidgen of introspection to get them off their path of nothingness.

Soldier on, Jackie! You're the man!

overqualified

2007-07-01T08:33:00.000-07:00

On my way to a gig on Orangeville yesterday, I passed a large dry cleaning store. They had a big sign out front: SHIRT PRESSER REQUIRED, PLEASE SUBMIT RESUME.

It got me thinking: what kind of a resume does a shirt presser need to submit? B.A. in starched collars, M.A. in button sowing, PhD in sleeve tucking, years of international experience, personal shirt presser to Sir Elton John (for 7 hours only - Sir Elton fired me in a fit of rage, the bitch!) - and voila, the shirt pressing gig in Orangeville is yours for the taking!

Don't get me wrong: I NEVER denigrate any job and shirt pressing is as important - perhaps more so - than playing swing tunes to sleepy crowds. I just don't get the resume thing: I mean, why can't you just walk in, tell the boss about your previous experience, let him/her allow you to do a few shirts and decide. A resume is something that an engineer needs to submit, n'est ce pas?

In the meantime, we have doctors, engineers, designers, architects, dentists and professors with resumes up the wazoo driving cabs in Toronto. What a crying shame!

The Orangeville gig was fun....played at the train station before people boarded their special "Mystery Tour" train for a ride down the Forks of the Credit.

spring

2007-05-08T10:00:00.000-07:00

This is what my street looks like this morning:

Leaves budding, grass lush and green, everything in bloom, birds trilling. It's quite amazing that spring never ceases to delight, no matter how old you get. Sometime in April, when the drizzle and the sleet seem like they'll never end, you think to yourself: "Ah, spring will be beautiful, I'm ready for it" But you're not really ready for it. Once the colours burst forth, your amazement is much greater that you had ever suspected. It's fabulous. And although I'd love to live somewhere like California, where it's spring pretty much all the time, I can't help but think that the reason why the heart delights so much and why a song flutters on your lips is exactly because of the oppressivness of winter.

In other news, Hugo was really terribly sick last night. He had been having some stomach and intestinal problems for a while but we thought he was over it. Then, last night we drove up to Aurora and took him along. On the way back we stopped at Bruce Mill Park and had him run for a few minutes. All seemed great, he had a ball as always, running free of the leash. It's only a 20 minute ride back home from the park but Hugo became violently ill in the car. He kept throwing up till there was nothing left but foam. When we finally got home, we thought he'd get better as soon as he left the car (a bit of motion sickness, we thought) but, alas, no. He kept heaving and retching, ran to the back yard and started munching on grass (which, apparently, is something dogs do when in digestive distress). Finally he settled down and slept fitfully, then woke up around 10pm and dry-heaved again. We called the vet for a phone consult but he never called back. Long story short, this morning Hugo seems fine. I took him out for our morning consitutional and he behaved normally (i.e. sniffed and peed on every blade of grass in the vicinity) Now he's curled up on a cool spot on the bathroom floor (unusual! He usually snoozes on a blankie on our bed) and he's deep asleep.

Finally, gigs have been coming fast and furious. Good music making with my main man, Ian MacGillivray (trumpet) and my other main man, Braxton Hicks (clarinet, sax) I've been also working a lot with bassist Abbey Sholzberg recently and with my band Bohemian Swing whose CD is now completed and being pressed as we speak.

May we have a looong and gorgeous spring, a looong and warm (but not too humid) summer and a loooong and beautiful fall. And no winter. Yeah, right!!!

ear fear

2007-04-04T22:00:00.000-07:00

I've had a bum ear for about a year now. Approximately a 50% hearing loss in my left ear. Nowadays it's actually measured in db's, not in percentages but using % is a clearer illustration. The ear is never good but when not going through an acute episode, it's something I can live with. Unfortunately, this problem is caused by something called endolymphatic hydrops - in plain(er) English, there is an excess of fluid in the inner ear which puts pressure on the cochlea (hearing apparatus) and in some people also on the vestibular portion (balance). So far, thank God, mine is limited to the cochlea which means I don't get vertigo.

Every now and again - in completely unpredictable intervals - the fluid in the inner ear canals swells and my symptoms worsen considerably. An episode can last anywhere from hours to days. No predicting the onset or the termination. Right now, my hearing is almost down to zero. I have two distinct humming pitches (tinnitus) and a feeling like concrete has been poured down my ear right down to the brain.

My next gig is about a week from now, so I hope this will improve. I'll keep performing even if it doesn't but it's a tough affliction for a musician to have.

advertising

2007-04-01T15:00:00.000-07:00

The other day I drove past a bench that screamed in big red letters: "You have just proven that this ad works". I don't get it! How on earth did I prove that? I think I proved that I could read. Now, if the red letters had said: "Go to the nearest mall and purchase a pair of Levi's jeans" and had I indeed purchased said item - then, I'll grant you, bench advertising would have been proven to work. In this one case. But it only said "You have just proven that this ad works". Silly. I drove on.

Throughout my life I have made a concerted effort never to buy any product that is heavily advertised. There are exceptions, of course: I've driven Honda and Toyota cars and have seen their commercials - but there's no way around that. One has to drive something and all cars are fairly heavily advertised. On the other hand, if I see a commercial for Raid and I'll need a bug killing product, I'll scour the aisles for anything BUT Raid. I don't drink Coke and don't eat fast food. I bank with one of the big four- but most definitely not with ING Direct ("Eenvest vizz ING deerekt and safe your moneee") I will totally avoid any company that chooses to advertise in movie theatres. Screening commercials before a feature film is perverse and should be punishable by jail time. You pay $15 for the flick, $5 for the popcorn and $1,500 for a bottle of water (or something close) I think you have earned your right not to be assaulted by ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM or polar bears gulping down Coke.

I consider advertising to be the most insidious and creepy aspect of capitalism. Don't get me wrong: I am a happy capitalist and think we live in the best system ever invented in the history of mankind. But even good systems have weak points and advertising is one such point. It is vulgar and loud and more often than not inane, appealing as it does to the most imbecilic common denominator.

Some commercials (especially British ones) are quite funny. But they probably don't work. You know what works? Mayor Mel's son yelling on late night TV: Noooooooobody!!!

There is one exception to the above rule: ads - especially infomercials - that are so insanely stupid as to be entertaining. The same applies to televangelists. I get a huge kick out of those. Like the geek that does one hour infomercials with Hugh Downs, extolling the virtues of natural remedies no one's ever heard of (YET!!) but which are endorsed by countless Nobel Prize laureats. Or Dr. HO!!! You owe it to yourself to spend a few minutes in the munificent presence of Dr. Ho as he touts his massage machines.

I'm outta here....must go drink some water and eat some dry generic bread.

more health care

2007-03-21T15:00:00.000-07:00

Just to put things in perspective: I do not have all those ailments mentioned in the previous post. Some friends got worried about me and emailed...those were just examples of how broken the system is.

Incidentally, yesterday I waited an hour and a half for an ultrasound and had to reschedule because I could wait no longer. My resched is for four weeks hence. The waiting room was gloomy, somewhat dirty, very shabby and crowded. I cannot imagine it's much different from Cuba but I stand to be corrected. Not a pleasant experience: waiting never is, of course but the surroundings were terrible

health

2007-03-16T10:00:00.000-07:00

If anyone can offer me a rational explanation for the following, I'll send him/her a box of chocolates (which we all know, is like life!)

I get an excruciating pain in my jaw, visit my dentist and he extracts an impacted, abscessed tooth. I pay him $100 and go home, feeling great.

I get a panic attack, call my shrink (a psychologist in Rosedale), go for an emergency session, pay between $75 - $200 and go home, feeling a little better.

I get a urinary tract infection, treatable with the newest most potent antibiotics. I get a presciption, fill it for $100, start taking the pills and feel great.

My pet ingests a piece of rubber. I take him to a vet who performs life saving surgery for $800. My pet frolics and licks my hand, all is well.

I injure my knee playing hockey. The knee is not getting better. A few years pass and the knee is almost useless. I can hardly do any physical activity at this point, even slow walking is painful. I need a knee replacement. I go to Buffalo, pay between $1,000 - $2,000, get a new joint and feel like a million dollars. Or I stay in Ontario and wait another year or two in pain, crippled and helpless.

Please email your rational explanation why Ontario (and Canada) will not allow me to pay for my knee replacement. Or to have my tonsils taken out. Or for prostate cancer surgery.

Btw, I scheduled a gastroscopy last summer (eventually cancelled) I could have one through my specialist at his hospital. The wait was about six - eight weeks. A private clinic on College St. does them for about $70 - the wait is one or two days. So obviously, some private procedures are kosher even in our inhospitable arctic province...

valentine

2007-02-08T15:00:00.000-08:00

Rogers' and Hart's "My Funny Valentine" has got to be the only love song specific to this day (14/2). I haven't done a Val Day gig yet where I wasn't asked to play it. Rightly so: it remains a beautifully written, even profound classic 70 years after its creation.

Thinking about Funny Valentine and Tin Pan Alley and all the great tunes that were written back then led me to pondering this question: what is - chronologically - the last tune that could claim its rightful place beside a tune like Funny Valentine? What is the last era in which great evergreens were still being written?

If one looks at the Beatles ouvre, it is easy to see that McCartney's "Yesterday", Harrison's "Something" and quite possibly Lennon's "In My Life" would fit the bill. Quite a few other McCartney tunes would probably have to be considered..."Here, There & Everywhere", "Long & Winding Road", "Eleanor Rigby". While "Let It Be" and "Hey Jude" have an anthem-like quality to them, I personally don't think they make the grade. Lennon's over-hyped "Imagine" is terrible: treacly lyrics, with meaningless phrases like "Imagine no possessions" (from a billionaire, living in a suburban mansion at the time), to the bland melody, yikes. But I digress.

Post Beatles...what? Elton John? Probably not. Decent songwriting (although Taupin's lyrics can't hold a candle to someone like Ira Gershwin), yet none of the E.J. megahits from the 70's can really be classified as an enduring classic. None of his melodies comes lilting off the tongue with the ease of a "S'Wonderful" or a "Blue Moon". And the 80's? Michael Jackson? Madonna? Songwriting-wise it's all dreck. Great dance tunes? Yes, certainly. Solid arrangements. No doubt! But do you really stroll down the street humming tunes from"Thriller"? Billy Joel wrote some fine tunes and probably one that will stand the test of time, overplayed as it is: "Just the Way You Are".

And that's about it. No sense even looking into the grungy 90's or the rap-infested present decade. Don't get me wrong: nothing wrong with grunge or rap if that's your bag, baby! I am simply saying that there is nothing there that will last.

My ultimate favourite version of "My Funny Valentine" (and there are scores of superb ones) is Chet Baker's. Not really a great singer, perhaps not really a singer at all. Yet the pain, the trembling vulnerability of his vocal interpretation and his trumpet playing will send shivers down your spine. It's a song that belongs to him just as surely as "Lady is a Tramp" belongs to tge Chairman of the Board!

Whatever you do, don't spoil the tune for yourself by listening to Rod Stewart's version from one of his "Rod Stewart ~~Murders~~ Sings the Classic American Songbook" CD's!

envy

2007-01-25T15:00:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot recently about why the United States is so universally disliked. It's hard to meet a Canadian or a European who has a good word to say about the U.S. The disease is wide-spread in Canada but not as virulent as it is in Europe - after all, Canadians have an easier access to their southern neighbours and usually can verify that the devil is not quite as scary as their imagination (and politicians and media) would have led them to believe.

I have travelled fairly extensively in the States, though not for very long periods. I've visited California a few times, as well as some of the old industrial northern states. I've been to New York and Washington on numerous occasions and Boston is a frequent stopover. From my own very limited personal experience, I have found the following:

1) In most places, service is the best in the world - far superior to Europe and somewhat better than in Canada
2) The assortment of consumer products is bewildering, as is the convenience of most anything and everything you wish to purchase/lease/rent
3) In the mid-West, the people I've had dealings with have been unfailingly polite and courteous, as well as open and honest
4) Generally speaking, you will never see more overweight people anywhere on the planet with the exception of Sumo wrestlers. The pervasivness of obesity is truly scary
5) Most Americans you'll meet will have no clue about the existence of a world outside the United States: unlike many I know, this does not worry or bother me
6) With the exception of New York back in the early 1980's throught the early 1990's, I have never felt unsafe in the U.S. I have felt far more insecure and jittery on the Paris metro. Admittedly, New york back in the old days was very scary
7) I think California is paradise. Especially Santa Barbara and San Diego.
8) Many Americans are wide-eyed naifs, which I tolerate but it does grate on me sometimes. Still far preferable to the European decadent, know-it-all cynics in my book
9) Tap water is horrible in many places; outside of the big cities food is greasy, salty and the portions too big. Midnight shopping is the norm in even small towns and villages, though, so you can get half-decent - and safer! - supermarket food
10) There is simply everything in the U.S., the best and the worst, the ugliest and the most beautiful, the loudest and the most serene. It is a very unique continental republic - impossible to dismiss with a wave of a hand.

I think that the antipathy towards the U.S. is rooted in envy. I would divide this envy into three pricnicpal categories:

1) Envy of the level of material well-being of most U.S. citizens. They earn more, keep more of their money and can buy more stuff with their money than any other citizenry on the planet
2) Envy of the variety of natural beauty and resources: The fact that you can ski, snowboard and snorkel all in the same week (or the same day), that you can choose to live in a dozen different cosmopolitan and exciting cities or in the mountainous wilderness, that you can select and change your lifestyle many times during your lifetime - that's amazing
3) This one is the most important - envy of hope! Americans are the most optimistic, most hopeful people you could ever wish to meet. Not everything may be possible but it is possible to dream that everything is possible. That is a fundamental American characteristic, bred in the bone of most Americans. And that is the source of the deepest envy in people whose lives seem much less hopeful, much smaller, much less POSSIBLE. It's all about the dream - a dream that Hollywood has captured in many cloying and annoying movies but nevertheless a dream which the nation believes in. And all it takes is belief.

drink

2007-01-08T13:15:00.000-08:00

Just read in the paper today about teenage drinking. Apparently teens are drinking a lot these days, much more than when surveys were done ten years ago. I have never in my life understood the attraction, the lure of alcohol. When I was in my teens, I tried to drink beer like some of my peers. I could never drink more than a couple without getting sick to my stomach. I persisted for about a year, then just gave up. I have never been drunk. I don't know what it feels like. I have been tipsy from a couple of glasses of wine but I don't like the feeling so I don't care to repeat it very often - unless forced to by social circumstances. When you're at a dinner party and you're the only one not imbibing you get a lot of weird comments and looks. I've tried beer, wine, even whisky over the years...I like none of it. It either makes me sick or I can't even drink it. I'll pour myself a glass of red wine with my pizza or pasta (or some other dish that red wine reputedly fits with) and I'll take three sips and leave the rest in the glass. My mother is the same way. Not sure if it's a blessing or if we're missing some phenomenal part of life but in any case it's hard for me to understand the teenage drinking trend. Btw, I've had the same experience with pot. Tried it, didn't see what the attraction was. I guess I am drug and alcohol-proof. To a degree it's a fear of losing control but basically, it's a biological thing. My body just doesn't take to it.

In other news, 2007 began in great style: my new band, Bohemian Swing performed a concert at the Victoria Hall in Cobourg. What a marvelous building! I have played that venue before but this time we actually played in the great hall - beautifully decorated super high ceilings, very good sound system and sound engineers, great lighting. After a 45 minute set, we shifted on over to the Oasis Bar and Grill and played there till after midnight. That, too, was a terrific gig. Very receptive audience, everybody in fine New Year's spirits. Both Bruce Whitehead on bass and Ian MacGillivray on trumpet did a great job, we all played our butts off. I had played at the Oasis many times before but they had us in a different room this time and the vibe was just right.

Some good shows are coming up but overall, I haven't done a lot of gig hunting lately and my schedule is rather thin after mid-February. Better stop blogging and start hustling, eh?

listening

2006-12-22T13:30:00.000-08:00

I've been listening to the new Madelaine Peyroux CD, as well as Miles' "Sketches of Spain" that I bought the other day. MP is a fine singer with that subdued, whispery je ne sais quoi in her voice, suitable for late night listening and relaxed lovemaking. Her interpretations of classic pop tunes are original and easy on the ear and the calibre of her musicians is very high. I especially enjoy the trumpet work of Till Broenner on Charlie Chaplin's imortal "Smile". A good CD, all in all, nice to drive to. It has inspired me to look for a certain sound in my own future recordings: that relaxed snare groove, the sparse bass.

Miles' and Gil Evans' "Sketches of Spain" .....there's nothing that I can say that has not already been said by more erudite critics than I. This recording (along with a few others from the same period) will simply live forever. It's haunting, it's profound, it employs a huge palette of sounds and ideas and its scope is breathtaking. This is not just a recording to listen to while having dinner. One must listen to every note, every harmonic twist. Pure, unadulterated genius!

On a completely different note: if this is global warming, give me more, baby!! Hugo and I went for two long walks yesterday and on our second walk, around 1pm, I sat down on a park bench, turned my head towards the sun and it felt like early May. Hugo immediately curled up into a ball at my feet and snoozed contentedly. When the time came to get up and head home, he put up fierce resistence! He wanted to rest on that warm grass much longer. C'mon now! Can the blizzards be too far in the future? (not that Hugo doesn't love those too, the little rascal!)

positive thinking

2006-12-19T01:30:00.000-08:00

It's odd that we hear a lot about the power of positive thinking (well over ten million hits on Google) but not so much about the insidiously destructive power of negative thinking. After the onset of my hearing loss last April and after having discovered that not only will the loss not get better but the prognosis is grim-ish, I have indulged in way too much negative thinking. Negative thinking is a spiral that leads you into a vortex of self-pity and depression. It's never the event itself but the perception of the event, and later its interpretation that starts the negative spin. Since April, I have found that I live inside my head far more often than outside of it. I have created an island, a pool of thinking about my predicament and have found it progressively harder to leave the island and to swim out of the pool in order to fully participate in the outside world. While in this state, the outside world obviously continues spinning merrily but I am losing hours, days, weeks not engaging in it. Yet it's the only world we have: if not engaged in it, you might as well fade into the sunset, go gentle into that good night, give up the ghost! To paraphrase a quote from a favourite movie of mine, The Shawshank Redemption: if you're not busy living, you're busy dying.

So the other day I went down to my local mall to do some Christmas shopping for my wife. She was good enough to supply me with a ~~long and detailed~~ short wish list of items she'd like Santa to get for her. The day was fine...more than fine, actually. Our weather of late has been fabulous. It feels like December in the Carolinas. The temps hover around the 5-10 degrees C mark, there's no wind to speak of, the air is crisp but not in that icy way that saws through the bones and often the sun peeks from behind the clouds. Some say it's not christmasy enough for them but I say "bah, humbug"! Christmas is what you make it, right? Would you prefer to slosh through mounds of filthy snow, jump over snow banks, skid on black ice and recieve an icy spray of slush in your face from passing motorists as you attempt to cross the road? Thought not! Mind you, all the above pleasures are in store for us in the coming weeks, of that I have no doubt. Anyhoo....so as I reached the mall the other day, on that fine warm-ish winter aft, I was thinking my usual gloomy thoughts. In my defence let it be stated that the ear affliction I have is truly unpleasant (constant tinnitus and a loss of hearing, not to mention an occasional feeling of fullness in the ear that feels as if cement has been poured all the way down to my brain) This is not such an easy disease to cope it for a musician. When I have those attacls of fullness, I can hardly hear in the affected ear and gigging regularly becomes rather difficult. But what is even more scary to me is that many doctors think that what I have is a precursor to Meniere's disease. The hallmark of Meniere's is severe rotational vertigo. It is this aspect of the whole thing that has me dooming and glooming so much...because I have an obsessive thought pattern and once a thought takes hold, look out! I can't get rid of it for days or weeks. So, as I said, my inner world has been on the negative side lately.

But guess what? Walking into Fairview Mall and milling about for a while, I actually got infected with a bit of Christmas cheer. The lights were bright and my steps were light, a beautiful sight, we're happy tonight, walking in the shopping wonderland. First I went to the record store and bought a couple of CD's: Madelaine Peyroux's latest called Half the Perfect World. A very fine album from one of my favourite contemporary jazz artist. I also bought Miles Davis' classic Sketches of Spain. I believe I have an LP of it somewhere but I wanted a CD to listen to in the car. It's an absolutely amazing recording and probably the only credible jazz interpretation of a European classical composition. A giant accomplishment by Miles and arranger Gil Evans. The only problem in the CD store was the level of the piped in music which must have nudged 90db's. I quickly inserted my handy dandy piece of cotton in my bad ear which must be protected at all times but I thought - pity the folks who have to work there.

Then I skedaddled on over to the Bay and started on my wife's ~~long and detailed~~ short wish list. I was able to get most of the stuff I needed with a quickie detour to Shoppers Drug Mart and Grand and Toy (if you're reading this, my dear, you can kind of guess what I got - but only kind of!)

At the end of it all, as I walked to my car, my thought process had turned wholly positive and there was a bounce in my sprightly step. I started realizing that it's not just our mood that affects our thoughts byt primarily our thoughts that affect our mood (for a primer on cognitive therapy see works by Aaron Beck) Just like I said at the outset: it need not be the event that will affect our life but rather the way we percieve and process the event. In the past few days - and in the spirit of the season - I've been processing in a much more positive way.

Feliz navidad!

concert musings

2006-11-28T16:00:00.000-08:00

Well, our Swing Into Christmas concert was a roaring success! We had about 80 reservations and I would have considered that to be a decent attendance but we ended up with about 130 tickets sold and had to add a row of seats. My good friend, Erica Viezner worked with me and she really put a lot of effort into making this venture so successful. Rush to her website right here and support her great group of dancers!

Neo Mundo opened the concert. They played a great set - I'd probably call what they do world music, though there are unmistakable jazz influences. After dismantling their instruments in an incredible hurry (we wanted to keep the intermission short), my new band, Bohemian Swing took the stage (sorry, no website yet!) The best way to describe what we do would be "ethnic swing". We play a lot of the old swing standards arranged for trumpet and violin and then spice things up with gypsy jazz tunes and my original melodies which definitely have a klezmer-ish feel to them. The tp/vln combination works really great. Bruce Whitehead did a fine job on bass and I was called upon not just to do my usual guitar and vox job but also to serve as MC for the evening. Since there were quite a few pauses - our set was interspersed with MMM dances - I had to step up and ad lib, keeping the audience happy while the dancers changed costumes. I felt very relaxed in front of an appreciative crowd.

The glow from the concert hasn't completely abated yet - and it's now four days later. I know this can be a very successful band and I'm spending a lot of time thinking about how best to promote it. Our next gig is at the Rex in January. Go to my main website for details.

The weather has been unbelievably mild. It was about 14 degrees and partly sunny yesterday. Not sure who enjoyed it more - me or the pooch. We went for two long walks and Hugo tried to sniff every blade of grass between here and Steeles Avenue. I let him.....even though the walks took forever!

It made me think about how great it would be to live in Southern California and enjoy weather like that all the time. There are some who claim that you must have four seasons in order to truly enjoy the warm days to which I say: tosh and hogwash! Give me SoCal any day, baby! Then again...mudslides...earthquakes....perhaps not! Just give me a warm autumn day and a happy dog!

sun

2006-11-15T14:30:00.000-08:00

What a perfect fall day today. It's just around ten degrees Celsius, the sun is shining and the air is perfectly still. As Hugo and I walk through the ravine, a slight burning smell wafts towards us, a woody fragrance of sodden leaves and naked birch trees. Hugo skips happily along, attempting to lie down on the path every now and again in order to rest and soak up the sun. It's rare to get as good a day as this in mid-November and my dog and I make the best of it. As we walk, I think of my upcoming concert. Should be a doozy! We have the very talented young band, Neo Mundo on the bill, as well as the MMM dancers under the direction of my good friend, Erica Viezner. I will be introducing my new band, Bohemian Swing (no website yet). BohSwing plays a really exciting mix of swing tunes, gypsy jazz and music with an ethnic and Klezmer feel. The instrumentation is guitar, bass, trumpet and violin. I'm hoping to add a clarinet player later on. In any case, the concert on the 24th should have something for every age group and every musical taste. See my website for details.

We came back from our walk and Hugo immediately prostrated himself on the entrance hall rug. He's snoozing happily as I write this. It's quite amazing what just a little bit of sun can do.

tired

2006-11-07T12:15:00.000-08:00

Many years ago I visited a musician friend. A very well known and highly successful film composer. This was before I had made music my full time career and I was salivating when we were sitting in his study, sipping tea: his desk was overflowing with music manuscript papers, CD's, tapes, his piano open and all manner of electronic equipment scattered throughout the room. My salivating was caused by envy at seeing someone surrounded by music and so tremendously successful at it. Then my friend - who was in his late fifties at the time - did something unexpected. He reached over to his desk and swept a bunch of papers to the floor with the back of his hand. He looked at me and said: "Man, I'm so fed up with all this music crap, I can't wait to retire"

Well, I don't think I'd ever heard worse blasphemy! Fed up with music? What was he talking about? How can anyone get fed up with music as a profession? I would have given my eye teeth to make a living playing music and here's this guy who can't wait to retire...

You know what's coming, right? Here we are today; I've been making a living at music for the last decade or so and suddenly I can completely understand what my friend was talking about. I think one can get tired of just about anything, music included. Most of the past decade has been very enjoyable. After I had given up teaching and started doing gigs full-time, I had a good time almost every time I played a gig. But those days are in the past.

I'm feeling tired. I'm only in my early fifties but I feel dragged down and uninspired a lot of the time. I get that "is this all there is?" feeling quite a lot. Of course, this being mid-November doesn't help my mood and come May, perhaps I'll be twittering like a nightingale again, chomping at the bit to get out there and play for people. Right now (although I would still rather be doing this than almost anything else I can think of - perhaps with the exception of writing which pays even less than music), I need a break from playing swing tunes, from gigging late into the night, from playing the same repertoire, from playing requests. I am at the same point of blasphemy my above mentioned friend was all those years ago.

And my ear still buzzes and whistles. I have lost about 60db's of high frequencies in my left ear and it ain't coming back. Just saw Dr # 3 - this time at Sunnybrook. The prognosis - while not grim in the sense that this is not life threatening - is not good. My hearing certainly will not get better and there is a good chance it will get worse. There is also about a 50% chance this will develop into full blown Meniere's disease, a truly dreadful affliction.

Wow, I haven't written for almost two months and here I am writing all this downer stuff. Just wait till the AD's kick in!!

wallet nightmare

2006-09-11T09:00:00.000-07:00

I'm getting ready to drive to a gig in Guelph. I'm loading up my car but my hands are full and I decide to put my wallet and my cell phone on the roof of my van. I make a strong mental note not to leave them on the roof. I load up my amp and my guitar in the back...thirty seconds later, I'm backing out of the driveway. A couple of turns and half a mile later I hear a bump, something bouncing off the van. I pay it little heed, thinking it's a pebble, a small piece of debris from the road. As I'm driving down the on-ramp to the highway, I hear another bump, this one much lighter. Again, I pay it hardly any attention, thinking something is loose in the back and I'll check it when I stop. Now I'm zooming down the 401, on my way to pick up my bass player. I reach over to the passenger seat for my phone to make a call. The phone is not there. Suddenly a dark realization dawns on me...OH - MY - GOD - OH - MY - GOD - OH - MY - GOD ....Shit!!! Fcuk!!!!!Geezussss!!!!!! Those bangs? That was my cell phone and my wallet which I did manage to leave on the roof...

Needless to say, there was no gig on Saturday night. I picked up my bassist, explained the situation (except I wasn't explaining, I was rasping breathlessly. We drove back to my place, retraced my steps a couple of times, then again with the help of my wife, drove past the spots where I had heard the bangs...nada. Wallet and phone irretrievably gone. Now, like most men, my wallet was brimming with cards, ID, pictures, cash, cheques - you name it. I spent the rest of the night calling credit card issuers, banks and my cell company. The nightmare isn't over. Today I need to get going on a new driver's licence, a new health card and - worst of all - my social insurance card. It's the worst because you need the most ID to get it and I have almost no ID. I do have a passport but they won't accept it....I have to rummage through my drawers to find my original landing document from 1980.

For future reference: I will only carry a bit of cash, my debit card and my driver's licence. All the rest of the stuff can sit in my drawer. Also: always deposit cheques immediately. I don't know why I insist on carrying them in my wallet for a week before putting them in the bank.

If you insist on putting stuff on the roof of your car - do it before the age of 50 is all I can say. Immediate recall is not something we middle-aged, scatter-brained males excel at

summer sizzle and doggie schizzle

2006-08-29T12:45:00.000-07:00

It shames me that my last entry is dated June 14. Where has the summer gone? Well, at least I know how it's gone! It's gone watching CNN coverage of the Lebanon war, it's gone playing lots of interesting and less interesting gigs, it's gone moving to a brand new house, the first new digs in ten years, it's gone looking after my pooch, trying to make him a mensch-dog, it's gone complaining about traffic - in short it's gone the way all summers go: preoccupied with bullshit, instead of chilling out at a lake somewhere far from the daily grind. Every year I promise myself to spend more time outdoors in the summer, to really, truly enjoy the fleeting chimera we call summer in these parts and every year I let myself down. Same time next year, baby!

In other news, my daughter Hanna, her man Andri and my cute grandson Elias are over here visiting from Iceland. It's a bit chaotic in the house (well, ok, more than just a bit), with people coming, going, showering and cooking and the baby crying and the dog barking his face off but at the same time, it's great to have family over, to be with my clan again. It's all good: wonderful when everybody is around and chaos reigns supreme and also good when they leave for a day trip and I can concentrate on some quiet work with my faithful hound at my feet (NOT!!!)

Talking about my hound (again!) - I love the way he's now trained to do his business on cue! I always take him out last thing at night, usually around 11, just before I trun in. We walk out of the door, cross the street and he immediately crouches or lifts his leg to pee (depending on how manly he's feeling, I guess). Then we walk a bit down the street, towards the main road. Hugo usually walks fast, ears perked up in the night air...he is a night hunter, for sure and he walks more briskly and purposefully than on his day walks. As soon as we reach a certain spot, he squats and does his numero duo as if on command. The master stoops to conquer, wraps it up and we're good to go back home. This ritual is repeated every night almost without fail. The dog knows how to do his thing just to please me, sometimes I think he doesn't even really need to go but he thinks: "Feh, let's get this thing over with, I want to go back to bed"....Let's hope he continues being this brisk when the north wind howls in January and we skip over snow banks.

multi kulti

2006-06-14T13:30:00.000-07:00

OK, am I the only one who thinks all this flag waving, street racing, honking, yelling and hollering during the soccer World Cup is more than a little odd? Is this multiculturalism in action and should we all rejoice in its flamboyant and vociferous demonstration or is it some retrograde chauvinism that should have no place on the streets of Canada? Let me put it this way: I was born and raised in Czechoslovakia. I do some work for the Czech community in Toronto, I am proud of my roots and I love Czech literature. But that's about it. I feel way too Canadian to be running through the streets with a Czech flag when the Czech team wins a soccer game in Germany. I don't realy give a rat's arse about how the Czech team does. I am not interested in Czech politics of the day. When I go to Prague, I am a Canadian tourist who happens to speak good Czech. And why should it be any other way? I have been in Canada for 27 years. This is my home (if not my native land) When the Canadian hockey team plays the Czechs, I root for Canada. That's why it is so incredibly puzzling to me to see all these swarms of Brazilians rejoicing in a Brazilian victory or the hordes of Italians burning rubber through Toronto avenues when the Italian team scores or wins. Don't get me wrong - I am not a fuddy duddy who would deny anyone the pleasure of watching a game of soccer while playing hooky from work. But Canada is not playing in the World Cup, so what's the hoopla about? Not only that - a lot of the people I see celebrating foreign teams' victories are young folk who speak perfect Canadian English and who are apparently Toronto born and bred. Do they realy feel such fealty to Brazil, Portugal, Italy, Poland - what have you? And if they do, isn't there something slightly screwy with an educational system that doesn't inculcate strong Canadian values? Am I completely off base on this? Are there people on the streets of New York and Chicago who jump up and down and holler when "their" team wins? I don't know...but if this is what our multi-kulti stew is all about, I don't dig it.

daily kvetch

2006-06-09T12:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I woke up and immediately noticed there was a marked worsening in my hearing. My left ear felt as if it was stuffed with a wad of cotton wool, sounds came through tinny and muffled, there was even a slight bit of pain. Since I have a bunch of gigs lined up and since we're moving and I can't afford to blow off any work, I immediately went down to see my ENT specialist. The secretary took pity on me and gave me an appointment later the same day.

All I can say about the treatment I got is that as far as I'm concerned, private health cannot arrive too soon. I can't help but think that if I paid the ~~quack~~ specialist who treated me a decent amount of money from my pocket I would have gotten a bit more than his perfunctory, patronizing and cold two minute treatment. This was the third time I went to see this particular ~~golfer~~ physician. He hardly looked at my chart. He didn't know who I was. He patronized me in the worst possible way, casting doubt on the fact that my situation had worsened ("That's impossible!", end quote) For the record: I never expect miracles of doctors. If he thinks this condition is untreatable, so be it. But I do expect some attention and some good old fashioned decent bedside manner.

I am actually a supporter of public medicare. It's obvious that the U.S. system has many substantial, systemic problems. No one should go bankrupt or suffer because they cannot afford a physician. On the other hand, nothing can replace the energy and incentive that immediate payment provides. I don't see why I should have to wait, suffer and agonize for weeks if I can afford an hour or two of a doctor's time. Some sort of a mix of private and public delivery is surely possible. It seems to be working very well in Scandinavia and in other European countries and I don't see why we couldn't adopt it here. In the meantime, I'm scheduling an appointment in Buffalo. What a great advertisment: The United States - the great safety valve of Canadian medicare

Other than that, nothing much is new. We are still in real estate limbo. Right now, we're waiting to hear whether an offer we have made on a nice house in Vaughan will be accepted. If it is, I'll need to get my ear better and get my ass back on the gig circuit as soon as possible. Every penny will be needed to pay for ~~the bank's~~ our house. (as you can see I've discovered the HTML ~~strikeout tag~~)

As a quick aside: I listened to the Beatles' "Rubber Soul" album in the car the other day. (an exhaustive analysis of the record can be found here) I was seriously underwhelmed. Sorry to offend any Beatle fans. I used to be one myself. No doubt there are some classics on this album. In my extremely humble opinion, "Girl" is by far the best cut. "Michelle" has a marvelous melody but is undermined by wooden playing. I don't know....when I listen to Motown records from about the same era, the playing is vastly superior and the production quality a lot better. The Beatles wrote some superb melodies but in hindsight a lot of their stuff seems pretty mediocre. Ok, sue me!

move

2006-06-02T15:00:00.000-07:00

Time marches on, though many things remain the same. My hearing, for example. It has not improved one iota. Not only that; the specialist I saw is showing no further interest in the case, the steroids did bupkiss to help and the MRI has not even been scheduled yet despite assurances from the doc's secretary that I would not have to wait the obligatory six months for the test. I'm not freaking out about it, just observing the glacial pace of our health care delivery. If I were freaking out, I'd drive to Buffalo and get an MRI done on the spot. Incidentally, I also made an appointment to see a urologist and his first open date was in November. Nice, eh?

We're moving! The condo has been sold. My home and hearth for the past decade has to be vacated by mid-July. It's far more sensible to sell first, have the money in the bank, as it were, and only then look for a place to buy. The main problem is that if we don't find anything within the next six weeks, we'll be homeless for a while.

I'm playing the Orangeville Jazz Festival today and tomorrow. Should be a lot of fun (except for the driving, though even that has been made more bearable by the purchase of my 2000 RAV4) After the weekend, I'll try to get out of town for three days, I need to chill somewhere away from this desk. Montreal is a possibility. I was there last weekend - what a fantastic place. I love Montreal - by far the best city in Canada. Unlike Toronto, it actually has a feel, an atmosphere of its own. The only trouble is, I'm not sure I feel like driving that far....

Over and out. I'm sooooo tired

hearing and overhearing

2006-05-05T10:20:00.000-07:00

About a week ago, while driving on the 401 (a major Toronto east-west freeway), sandwiched between two tractor trailers at 100 km per hour, I noticed a weird sensation in my left ear: it felt stuffed, as though someone had pushed a wad of cottonwool in there. In fact, the whole left half of my head felt plugged up. When I got home and the feeling continued, I covered my right ear with my hand and noticed that suddenly I was almost deaf. All that was coming through my left ear was garbled, low frequency noise - the TV, for example, was almost inaudible when I plugged my right ear and just listened with the left. In addition, there was now pretty serious rining in the left ear, too.

Spooked, I ran to the nearest walk-in clinic which is just around the corner from my house. There, I received the usual perfunctory, inattantive, absent-minded treatment by the resident quack: nothing there, probably allergies, take some Advil, see you later...I'm talking literally 1 - 2 minutes. By the time I got back home, I was freaking out. I started calling around to see if I could get a sub for a gig that night since there was no way I could play music with half my hearing (and a goodly portion of my mind!) gone. I did manage to find a sub at the very last minute so at least things worked out on that front - the place I was supposed to play at is one of my favourite gigs and I didn't want to jeopardize it.

Many of the musicians I called were very sympathetic. Some had gone through their own hearing scares. One of them recommended an audio technician at the Musicians Clinic in downtown Toronto and I made an appointment there pronto.

Well - I had my test done yesterday and the results are not good. The ringing is gone but there is a most definite loss of hearing in my left ear. Probably around 25% - though no one actually gave me that figure. It's my own estimate from having gone through the tests and from trying to only use my left ear now and again to see how well I can hear out of it. I got a referal to an ENT specialist and, lo and behold, was actually able to get an appointment with him immediately.

The ENT dude, whose waiting room walls are lined with signed B&W pics of various entertainment industry luminaries (Sharon Stone was one, if I recall, as well as Ben Hepner, the opera singer) was an older gentleman, curt of manner and stingy of word. He put me through the same hearing test I had just undergone the very same morning and came to the same conclusion (i.e. "left ear f...ed up") He prescribed tons of steroids and put in a requisition for an MRI ("Nothing to worry about, it's just a fancy X ray"...."Dude, it's ok, I went to college, I know what an MRI is!".....why the heck are these quacks so condescending all the time? Why do they insist on treating patients like little kids?) He said that cases like mine are actually pretty mysterious - all he can do is treat me "very aggressively" to reduce the inflammation and hope that the nerves in my ear won't be permanently damaged. Of course, the steroids may damage my liver and my stomach in the meantime and with the waiting time for an MRI being UP TO SIX MONTHS!!!! - who knows what the hell is going on anyway. Suffice it to say, I have no intention of going on the steroids and will be seeking a second opinion. In the meantime, my right ear is fine and as long as the ringing doesn't come back, I can live with this, even if it means a reduction of hearing capacity in my left ear.

And now for the real kicker of the story. While I was waiting to be seen by the specialist, an elderly Jewish couple walked into the waiting room. They chit-chatted about this and that, the bar mitzvas of their grandchildren ("keine nehoreh"), the upcoming weddings in their respective large families ("keine nehoreh"), and about everybody's state of health, which ("keine nehoreh"), is not bad, all things considered. Then the lady turned to the gentleman and said: "You know, last fall we all went to Israel, the whole mischpoche, the children, the grandchildren ("keine nehoreh"), the cousins, the whole clan. And you know what? We also did Poland, we did Auschwitz, we did the whole thing...we had a great trip....and the bar mitzva in Israel ("keine nehoreh"), it was fabulous"

So there you have it: they had a great time! They DID Israel, they DID Poland and they DID Aushwitz. My mother also did Auschwitz - between 1942 - 1945. I could most certainly assure that insensitive, stupid, parochial old hag - whose cell phone never stopped ringing and who in between talking about her mischpoche , yakked about buying gifts "in the village" - that my mother's trip had not been quite as sunny as hers. I am proud of being a Jew - but in the presence of such vulgar insensitivity I feel I belong to quite a different tribe - "keine nehoreh"!

operation

2006-04-21T06:37:00.000-07:00

My poor dog was neutered a couple of days ago. Sigrun and I both feel rotten about it. We feel guilty for violationg the poor guy's complete trust in us and subjecting him to a painful procedure. Plus he came home smelling really bad from the two nights spent at the vet clinic - I guess it's the smell of other dogs, of medication, the aneasthetic and who knows what else. He oscilates between high energy and total exhaustion. He lies down at weird moments and unusual places in the house. He always used to seek shady corners and would rest on his cushion in the living room but now he just plops himself down on the kitchen floor, looks sad for a while, then falls asleep.

I know it's probably just a question of a few days and he'll bounce right back! Even now, the sadness is more in our perception than in his behaviour. Plus all the vets we consulted (three of them) recommend neutering without any reservation. No chance of testicular cancer and way, way less chance of Hugo sprinting away to chase a female in heat and getting run over by a car

Still...poor guy! And he's wearing that stupid cone collar which makes him look like an Elizabethean lady-in-waiting. It's a good thing that the weekend forcast calls for rain. We will just snuggle up inside and wait for his woulds to heal. Woof!

album

2006-04-15T09:00:00.001-07:00

a few pics from our recent sojourn in Iceland...

family

2006-04-12T07:00:00.000-07:00

Do you spend time with your family? Good. Because a man that doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man

The famous Don Corleone quote has never rung more true for me. Just returned from a whirlwind trip to Reykjavik, Iceland where I:

a) spent lots of quality time with my daughters and my new grandson
b) played a show at the cozy Cafe Kultura with Thorir Johansson on bass and local violin whizz, Dan Cassidy
c) attended countless family get-togethers, both on my side and my wife's side
d) ate great fish
e) marveled at the vistas of foamy seas, majestic mountains, lava covered cliffs and bubbly hot springs
f) sampled delicious icelandic hot dogs daily (oy vey!)
g) froze my butt off in the Icelandic "spring" (hehehehe)

The trip up to Iceland only takes a little over four hours from Boston but the layover in Boston (both ways) is exhausting. Upon arrival at the airport in Keflavik (about a 40 minute drive from the capital), we were greeted by my daughters, my grandson and gale force northerly winds that immediately transported us from a mild Toronto spring right back into February. The air, though, is marvelous up there, so dense you can feel it cleanse your lungs.

We arrived at my wife's friend's (Linda) house a little after 8am (4am in our heads), blearey-eyed and hungry. Managed to sleep about three hours in a cozy bedroom that Linda had prepared for us: pristine sheets and the window open just a crack to let in some of that bracing northern air. After a short rest we started our packed schedule. My wife had to visit every single member of her family (there are about 150 of them) and I wanted to spend lots of quality time with my girls, so she (wife) and I pretty much stuck to separate schedules right through the trip.

I travel to Iceland often and find it difficult to describe it adequately. Most people think of igloos and permafrost when in fact Iceland, while definitely not a warm place, has less snow and less frost than New York. It does, however, have those gale force winds pretty much all the time. Icelandic people are very hard working, very ingenious and they have managed not just to carve out a living for themselves on their bleak northern rock but to build one of the highest standards of living anywhere. The streets are full of chic chicks and elegant gents. People drive new cars and clamour after all the lates gadgets (every household I visited has a router and wireless internet, everybody has a slew of cell phones etc...)

My concert went very well, though I was sorely disappointed that no-one from the Candian Embassy deigned to attend despite their promise that they would. I would have thought it was incumbent upon them to show support for a visiting Canadian artist. Dan Cassidy, originally from Washington, D.C. and the brother of the late, great Eva Cassidy, has been living in Iceland for many years. He is a first rate violinist who feels at home in swing as well as in Irish folk music. His tone and attack are unbelievably clean and his improvisations superb. Additionally, he has perfect pitch and is a strict taskmaster when it comes to everybody in the band being in tune. Our bass player, Thorir Johansson, plays with the Iceland Symphony and has chops to spare, plus solid swing. Couldn't ask for more. The small audience (about 25 people - which completely filled the small coffee house) loved the show and I was able to sell some CD's as well. Kudos and thanks to Barbara Kristvinsson of the International House in Reykjavik who put the show together.

The trip back was uneventful, though quite exhausting. On our stopover in Boston I allowed myself a long-forgotten indulgence. We plopped ourselves down at an airport bar and ordered chicken burgers with fries and a beer. I can't remember the last time I had fries...boy, it was SO delicious! The flight from Logan to Pearson was one of the most bumpy and unpleasant rides in a long time. We flew in one of the new, small Embrear jets...the Air Canada service was indifferent (that's a compliment) and the captain didn't say a single word throughout the 1.5 hour roller coaster ride, even at moments when the plane felt like it was coming apart, creaking, heaving, pitching and tumbling through the air. At such moments, the captain's words are always comforting. Made it home and then...instead of hitting the sack I still spent an hour on the net, looking at all the pics of my grandson that my daughter had posted on his website. Only slept about three hours.

Later today the rigmarole begins anew: Hugo comes home, I resume my gig schedule and soon this trip will fade into memory. Such is life. But family....family is really the only thing there is. Nothing else counts. Adios!

warren

2006-03-13T12:00:00.000-08:00

In the last few years, I have become something of a jazz snob. I have all but stopped listening to anything non-jazz. Even old Beatle tunes - some of which, such as "Here, There and Everywhere" used to make me quiver with excitement - hold no special allure today. Now and again I try to go back to an Elton John CD, or an Elvis Costello favourite from the late 70's - nada! I listen for a few seconds, then slide the CD out and either listen to talk radio or some Jack Teagarden selection. What jazz does for me is different from what the Beatle tunes used to do: I get a sense of depth from it, a sense of understanding of life, of mastery and smoothenss that was lacking in the pop tunes. I may not get as immediate a tingle but the pleasure is longer lasting.

A few days ago I decided to take a few old pop favourites with me to the car and give them a spin, just for old times' sake and to see if they would do anything for my jaded ear. One of the discs I took with me was Warren Zevon's late seventies classic, "Excitable Boy". I popped that baby into my car player and right from the first bar of the first tune ("Johnny Strikes Up the Band") - WHOA!!! I hadn't listend to Zevon for more than a decade and had forgotten what an emotional punch the guy can serve up. Lyrics on par with Tom Waits or Dylan and straight up, melodic rock on par with....well, anyone. All that plus that fabulous, powerful baritone voice which seems out of sync with the cover pic of an angelic looking, bespectacled college student. And I love the 70's production values, too. I had forgotten how clear and bright everything sounded back then. The drums are punchy, the reverb clear as a mountain brook, the guitars overdriven but not screeching. Above all, the songwriting is simply brilliant and without par. "Accidentally, Like a Martyr" is an absolute gem of a ballad about hurt and loss. The title track, "Excitable Boy" and tunes like "Lawyers, Guns and Money" and "Roland, the Headless Thompson Gunner" serve up the usual cast of sicko Zevon characters - with humour and melodies that will stay in your head for days. Warren Zevon's music would be the perfect soundtrack for a Tarrantino or a Coen brothers' movie: it's very intelligent, very funny, alarming even - yet so eminently hummable!

Here is what critic Steven Stolder wrote about Zevon's music: Zevon achieved some fame, albeit not what his talent would have earned him had he written songs more like his mellower pal Jackson Browne and a little less like Jack the Ripper in a convertible. Amen to that!

Run, don't walk, to your nearest record store and get a couple of Warren Zevon discs. Warren is sadly no longer with us, having succumbed to cancer a few years ago. But his spirit lives on, humming, whistling, crying and howling: "Ahhhh....ooooohhhh, the werewolves of London"

blue gramps

2006-02-23T17:00:00.000-08:00

Well, my gorgeous grandson was born on Valentine's Day. Mom and baby doing very well. Thanks to the magic of the internet, I've already seen loads of pictures and even a video. I'm not sure how this is hitting me emotionally yet, except in a pleasant way. It's a very mellow, warm feeling - somehow it's right that my 24 year old daughter should be a mom, just like it was right that her mom was 24 when we had her. With a loving partner - which my daughter is lucky to have - it's just the right age. In my not-so-modest opinion, too many women elect to wait too long. It's best to be young and have lots of energy for an infant and a toddler. I'm not sure I completely understand people who say they want kids but somehow at the age of 30, or even 35, they're "not ready". From my own experience I know that one is never ready, so there's no point in waiting. But hey, that's neither here nor there. The main thing is that little Elias is doing well. Till 120!

On a different note, tonight I'm off to play a gig with my blues band, The Blues Bandits (Kevin Manaugh on slide guitar and Stefan Molnar on harmonica) It's a funny thing: I wouldn't want to perform the blues three times a week but once or twice a month is fun. I got my mojo workin'....

daily constitutional

2006-02-13T18:00:00.000-08:00

Well, well, this dog thing has some unexpected upsides, I tells ya! At first, when Hugo was just a tiny little ball of fur, we hardly ever took him out for walks. These days, although he still does a lot of his business on his training pad, I take him out for a couple of walks a day. One long one in the morning (about an hour) and a shorter stroll in the aft. Then, later in the evening, my beloved spouse takes him out for a quickie run in the back yard. I can honestly say that I have seldom enjoyed winter as much as right now. Of course, we've been lucky - the snow cover is fairly light and we haven't had many of the bone crushing deep freezes that Toronto often gets during these winter months. This morning, for example, it was about minus 5 Celsius, only a very light breeze and Hugo and had a ball in the park. I let him run off the leash quite a bit even though it's always a struggle to get him back on (he'll sit down in the middle distance, chewing on a twig and will take a great deal of enticement to come all the way to me so that I can snap the leash on) But seeing him run and frolic and dash through the snow and the low bushes is such a joy - it rubs off on me willy nilly. After about ten minutes I smile and even laugh out loud as I observe the hound leap and slide on the path.

Of course, the other benefit is just as obvious. Since I have to spend a large portion of my day hunched over a keyboard or a guitar or music manuscript paper, it feels invigorating to grab a couple of good walks in the chill wind. And then there's the number one bonus: after a walk, Hugo will sleep for at least a couple of hours or even longer and when he is alert and awake he is a lot calmer. It remains to be seen whether I can keep this schedule up.

This Friday, I'm playing a rather unusual gig: it's a Russian ball. Apart from our usual swing numbers, we'll be required to play a bunch of bossas, waltzes, rock tunes and of course, the inevitable "Dark Eyes", "Midnight in Moscow" and "Katyusha". I know the dance floor will be rockin'! I am half looking forward to playing with a really crack band (Glenn Anderson on drums, Cheong Liu on bass, Doug Banwell on sax and Jarl Anderson on keys. The two Andersons are not related, AFAIK) and half dreading it, as I know this will be an exhausting night. The following day I have to report to the Rex at noon, to play with the vibrant and melodious violinist, Ed Vokurka.

And, fingers crossed, in a couple of weeks I'm starting a weekly residency in Oakville - every Thursday night at the Rude Native. I'll be playing mostly with the lovely and talented Ashley Wey but other people will occasionally sit in. I say fingers crossed because I never believe I have actually inked the deal until I start playing the gigs. In the restaurant business one never knows.

Walkin' the dog...you know I'm walking the dog...

blegg guilt

2006-02-08T00:10:00.000-08:00

OK, I'm suffering major guilt pangs for not having blogged for a long time. Here's the condensed version in no particular order:
1) very busy completing a CD project, release party at the beginning of April (details TBA)
2) producing a new client's CD
3) finishing the recording of a tune I know will be a major hit for Bette Midler (sitting in drawer since 1987) (the tune - not Bette)
4) listening to, and falling in love all over again with Buena Vista Social Club
5) obsessing about the Canadian political scene - and positively green with envy that some political bleggers blahg many times a DAY!!!!
6) writing articles for a couple of magazines (pro bono!)
7) trying to complete a bunch of smaller projects and never having time because of:
8) THE DOG! I walk him in the morning for at least 45 minutes, often longer. Then we come home, he goes to sleep for about three hours which is my work window. Then I feel compelled to play with him, so we play tug of war or catch in the living room (basically an excuse for me to cuddle with him) He is a cutie 80% of the time and a complete crazy terror the rest of the time. Also still nips and nibbles and bites (lightly) which is majorly annoying
9) on tenterhooks because I'm about to be grandpa any day now...(a friend called from Japan tonight at 11pm and I was sure it was my daughter announcing the arrival of my grandson but alas, not yet)
10) watched American Idol in total disbelief. Someone asked me at a gig last week: "Why aren't you more famous?" Hehehe....after watching AI tonight (or any night!! ), I know the answer.

the g word

2006-01-19T16:00:00.000-08:00

Some American publications have seized upon the fact that the Conservative leader, Steven Harper, who looks all but set to win the upcoming federal elections, ends his stump speeches with the phrase "God bless Canada". As an agnostic, I actually find that phrase charming and fresh. It's a sort of throwback to older, more naive times, when politicians could say things like that and simply be seen as patriotic. Today, when everything is viewed through the prism of irony, "God bless Canada" sounds either pathetic or vaguely threatening to liberal ears. I don't think it's either. I think it's just the man affirming that this is one of the greatest countries in the world and we wish to continue being blessed with its riches and opportunities into the future ("going forward" as nauseating corporate-speak would have it)

I came to this country a quarter of a century ago and I'll admit that to this day, when I hear - or sing - the national anthem, specifically the phrase "God keep our land glorious and free", I get choked up. I come from a place where glorious freedom was stomped into the ground by successive waves of fascists and communists. The fabulous freedoms that we take for granted here are not a given. They were fought for very hard and with a great loss of life. And so when someone says "God bless Canada", it sounds grand and fine and affirming. Even to these jaded agnostic, completely non-religious ears...

resolve

2006-01-07T11:00:00.000-08:00

My New Year resolutions really just amount to a fine-tuning of some plans and dreams. I am fairly happy with 2005. I managed to complete some interesting projects and to start some new ones. If that's what I can do in 2006 - I'm a happy camper. Therefore, I prefer to drop the "re" from resolutions and arrive at solutions. It's a more manageable situation to be in. I'm completing a CD right now with my band, Swing Noir. There is a whole other recording in my drawer that was done in Montreal, back in June 2004, with John Roney on piano and Zack Lober on bass. That will be a project for late 2006.

My daughter, Naomi Lea was here for a two week visit. Great fun was had by all, especially our little doggie Hugo, who welcomed Naomi to the fold with open paws. I drove Naomi down to Buffalo yesterday whence she boarded a flight to Baltimore and back to her stomping grounds in Reykjavik.

Tonight there's a gig in Newmarket at a club called Orleans - a nice place with a decent P.A. and actually run well as a jazz club. Not many of those left. Looking forward to that, though not to the drive up - complicated today by a dusting of snow we are now receiving.

Resolved: hog my blog and dig my gig

falling hugo

2006-01-01T10:48:00.000-08:00

s.a.d.

2005-12-29T13:30:00.000-08:00

S.A.D. stands for 'seasonal affective disorder" and if there ever was a time for anyone to feel it, it's right now in dreary Toronto. The temps have moderated and a lot of the snow has melted but for the last five days or so, the sun is nowhere to be seen. The clouds are low, a constant mist or rain or sleet in the air. Leafless trees outside my windowas bend in a cold breeze against a backdrop of a lead-grey sky. Filthy lumps of snow, remnants of snowbanks litter street corners. The day never really begins...it gets semi-bright around 8AM and dark again around 4PM, the intervening eight hours only a narrow window of gloom.

I don't suffer from S.A.D. - at least not in the clinical sense. I'm able to go about my business and get things done. I don't necessarily need to sleep 12 hours at a stretch and I don't brood about the darkness of my existence. Nevertheless, this weather does get you down and one can fully understand why some people are driven crazy by the near constant darkness and wetness. I dream of our September sojour in Southern California and my heart verily pines for the palm trees and mountains and margharitas on Santa Monica Pier.

It's at times like these when I think to myself: what the heck am I doing here, in this cold, inhospitable concrete jungle (as if the snow, sleet, rain, frost and gloom were not enough we now have rival gangs kill innocent bystanders in broad daylight)

Strangely enough, I hate Toronto summers even more than Toronto winters. In the winter, no matter how depressing the elements outside, the house is warm and cozy, a wonderfully human refuge from the cold. In the summers, there is no such respite. The streets are unbearably hot and sticky, the air unbreathable, the opressive humidity unavoidable. Air-conditioning helps a little bit, of course , but the city is overall even more insufferable than in the winters. There are only three beautiful months here: mid-May to mid-June, then
September and October

And they are so staggeringly beautiful that they almost make up for the other nine months of misery.

doggie and sounds

2005-12-19T17:30:00.000-08:00

Hugo was home for a couple of days and then relapsed. We had to take him to a vet on Saturday morning. He was listless, had no appetite and hardly wagged his little tail at all. The news is good, though - he's coming home tonight and the vet thinks another relapse is unlikely. We don't know for sure what's wrong but it's obviously something affecting his gut. Without going into detail, some of the symptoms are rather unpleasant to deal with.

When Hugo's at home, it's just like having an infant around, only his naps are shorter. A small puppy like that has to be watched all the time. He doesn't like being put in his crate. He just wants to run around and frolic with us throughout the apartment. When he's awake - which, when not sick, is almost all the time - there's not a whole lot that can be done. Of course, as he gets older, things will get a bit easier. As it is, we're trying to get him used to being alone for at least short stretches.

Musically, things are interesting: in January I'll be recording a demo of a couple of my originals with Jonathan Marks on violin, Fabrice Sicco on accordeon and Jeff Cardey on mandolin. This particular combo makes the music sound fabulous and weirdly different. These tunes were written for the horns and the strings/accordeon set-up gives it a gypsy/bluegrass flair. Nice stuff.

A bit later in the month I'll be recording a blues CD with my blues band, George & The Blues Bandits. Kevin Manaugh on slide guitar and Stefan Molnar on harmonica. We'll be recording blues standards and some of my original music. The hope is to get some low key, acoustic blues gigs out of it but the truth be told - it's just a lot of fun playing this music. The financial outlay is minimal, so there's little pressure.

Yet later in the year, I'll be releasing a new Swing Noir CD (possibly titled "Cafe Oriental" - but I'm still working on that one)

It has been a fairly good year music-wise and otherwise. May the vibe continue into 2006 and may I keep ticking off those NY resolutions!

i shot myself

2005-12-19T14:08:00.000-08:00

timing

2005-12-09T12:30:00.000-08:00

Here's my quandary: now and again I'll have a gig that is somewhat special. It may be a concert for a large audience, a prestigious venue or a new band line-up. I am eager to invite friends, family and colleagues to the event. But I have found that I consistently run into two problems. 1) The timing is never right: too close to Christmas, too close to March break, too hot, too cold, relatives over from Mongolia, sickness in the family, a wedding, too rainy, too snowy...and more. 2) No matter when I announce the event, I get a slew of excuses: either my concert is too far in the future ("let me know closer to the date, we'll do our best to be there") or it's too close to the date ("would love to come but already have plans, you really ought to let us know more in advance")

Without further ado I'll admit that I've been known to employ the very same tactics. We are all very busy with way to many events flooding our schedule. I don't know whether this dilemma of mine even has a solution. I just wish I could discover the secret of perfect timing!

seeing red

2005-12-08T16:00:00.000-08:00

The election is on January 23. Today, driving through my neighbourhood, I saw plenty of red Liberal election signs. Are these people not ashamed to put up a Liberal sign and vote for a party that is mired in scandal and corruption, that has embezzled millions of tax dollars, that has ridden roughshod over the electorate time and time again, broken promises, screwed up every file on the agenda and hung on to power through chicanery and unsavoury machinations?

As far as I know, most ridings have at least four candidates, some as many as eight: vote NDP, vote Conservative, vote Green, vote Communist, for chrissakes - but why on God's good earth would you vote for these crooks again? If someone can truly, truly help me understand it, I'd be grateful.

puppy pics

2005-12-08T13:27:00.000-08:00

a few more Hugo pics...still waiting to take him back home

doctor's office

2005-12-08T11:30:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I went to see a specialist. It had taken seven weeks to get the appointment. His office waiting room was cold and dank. The secretaries were unpleasant. I waited for 45 minutes to be called in. In fact, I was just about to get up and walk away (if you wait seven weeks for an appointment set for 9AM, doesn't it stand to reason that you should be seen right away?)

The actual office was colder than the waiting room. Literally no more than about 15 Celsius. The whole visit took about ten minutes. The doctor's questions were perfunctory. He didn't look into my file - until I asked him to do so. He didn't examine me or ask too many in-depth questions. His diagnosis was pretty much ready a minute after I walked through the door. He was professional and polite but cold and detached and obviously harried and uninterested (gee, that's a lot of adjectives! )

I went down to the parking lot, started my car and began the 40 minute drive home. I had learned nothing I couldn't have found out either from my own family physician or from the internet in the warmth and comfort of my home.

I am convinced that if a private system were allowed in Ontario and if I were permitted to pay the specialist $200 out of my own pocket, the office would be warm, the secretaries welcoming and the doctor attentive. I may have not come away with a more precise diagnosis but it would have been an all-round pleasant experience. As it was, it was a wasted mornig compounded by the aural insult of Rod Stewart's vile "jazz" renditions piped into the cold waiting room! Isn't OHIP bad enough? Do they have to throw Rod and his insipid "jazz" into the mix? Just asking....

mistake

2005-12-06T13:43:00.000-08:00

I was sprawled on my couch last night, channel hopping as is my wont after 11PM when my wife is usually asleep and I am sick and tired of the computer. I surfed onto the CBC news channel. I listen to CBC radio occasionally but hardly ever watch CBC TV - though they do have the odd interesting documentary sandwiched between David "Have You Hugged Any Trees Lately" Suzuki and Peter "Watch My Lips For Words Of Great Import" Mansbridge. There was an item on the news about the two Canadians kidnapped in Iraq. I don't want to deal with why anyone would want to go to Iraq or why anyone would be surprised that people get kidnapped in Iraq. I also don't want to deal with the smug Canadian dismissal of any effort to get Iraq back on its feet or the local champagne socialist pooh-pooing the Iraqi elections. Whatever. That's another argument. What I want to talk about is a the short clip of a friend of the victims who, when interviewed by the CBC reporter, said: "There must be some mistake! The people who kidnapped my friends must have made a mistake!!"

Do you understand what's going on here? What this person is saying, in effect is this: My friends hate the Americans as much as you do, good fellows! When you kidnap the American or the British infidel - now THAT I can understand, THAT is not a mistake! But kidnapping these peace loving, America hating Canadians - THAT is a mistake. So just please return them to safety and go on kidnapping those WHO DESERVE to be kidnapped!

This is the refuge of all appeasers: I am your friend!! I want to help you!! I want to negotiate with you!! I want to understand your grievance!! UNLIKE ALL THOSE OTHERS - they want to fight you, but not me! This has never worked and will never work. Even old Osama doesn't distinguish between and betwixt the Canadian infidel and the American infidel or even the Spanish infidel. Thinking that being the nice, cozy, indulgent Canadians will protect us is folly. And it's also arrogant. It's no mistake, buddy. You have no business thinking that "the others" deserve to be kidnapped more than these two Canadian do-gooders.

hugo

2005-12-03T10:34:00.000-08:00

We got a pet. A tiny puppy, a mini poodle and Aussie sheppard cross named Hugo. When we got him last week, he was very unresponsive and quiet. It turned out he had an infection and he's been treated in a pet hospital ever since. We go to visit him now and again and really, really miss him...he should be back home in a few days. Hugo is a champ!

sir paul

2005-11-21T17:00:00.000-08:00

Watching a rerun of the Ellen Degeners show, I espied Paul McCartney on the screen. I rushed to release the mute button. Paul was banging away at a piano, backed up by a very capable band (an estimated income of 40 mil a year will get you a good band). He was wearing a sweatshirt and sneakers. He looked jowly, a little haggard and sounded tired. The song was terrible. Much, much worse than his old sweet retro tune from Sergeant Pepper: "When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now..." He's not losing his hair but he will be 64 next year and, forgive me for saying this, he should quit. I was going to say "quit while he's ahead" but he's not ahead, he's behind. He's sounding like Linda. It just saddens me to no end to see and hear this guy who wrote some of the best ballads of the 20th century (Yesterday, Eleanor Rigby, Here, There and Everywhere, She's Leaving Home, The Long and Winding Road, For No One), hack away at some non-descript mid tempo rocker, with a raspy voice and an exhausted look in his eye.

Then there was the interview with Ellen. McCartney was, in a word, embarassing. He was flogging a kids' book - of all things. Ellen seemed totally over-awed to be speaking with him (who wouldn't be?) but he came across as dull. A boring old guy with very little to say and seemingly not too bright. Strangely enough, I remember hearing a radio interview with him in Britain, back in 1977 when he was in his mid 30's. His huge hit at the time was "Mull of Kintyre" - a pleasant enough ditty but shockingly hollow when compared to his best work. Anyway, even then, I recall being very disappointed in the inteview. No funny stories, no sparkling anecdotes, no depth, just a bunch of silly, evasive answers. Then, as now, McCartney seemed elusive and not very bright. Ringo is a far, far better interview subject: funny, self deprecating, an interesting fellow. The little I heard from George also had more depth. George was a serious guy who didn't need funny faces and out-of-place guffaws to get through an interview.

Yesterday, I watched another knight being inteviewed: Elton John was on Inside The Actors Studio with James Lipton. Elton played some of his old tunes - a massively talented man, now in his late 50's. He came across as confident, assertive and funny. When he played "Your Song" there wasn't a dry eye in the house. Still got it!

Sir Paul should consider retirement. Sorry, Paul, I love your tunes, man, but it's time to fade away.

shish tawoo

2005-11-18T18:00:00.000-08:00

Shish tawoo is the name of a dish I order when I visit "Jerusalem Restaurant" on Eglinton West for lunch. A skewer of marinated chicken with a generous portion of saffron rice and a tangy salad, lentil soup and a pita. A great deal at less than $8 (plus PST, GST and tip, of horse)

Now, this is what I don't get: I would think that a nice, reasonably priced lunch like that is a good opportunity to unwind. And yet today, as I am noshing on my delectable chicken, a middle aged gentleman to my right keeps answering his cell phone, which rings with an annoying, bubbling tone every three minutes. His hapless wife is sitting across from him, mute, staring past him, chewing on her pita. Two tables over, a young, doughy trailer park character in a Leafs sweatshirt sits listening to music on his headphones, while his mother - or perhaps older sister - reads the paper. They're waiting for their order to arrive and have run out of things to say, I guess. Right behind me, two elderly ladies are talking so loud, it really sounds like they're arguing - but perhaps they are just hard of hearing and consequently the whole restaurant (save for the headphones dude) can hear about the workplace adventures of a Colleen who was caught pilfering office supplies and has been served a reprimand...or something like that....could have been a Mary Ann caught kissing the boss...I can't remember.

The point is people's awful restaurant manners. Just come on in, smile at the wait staff, order your food, kick back, relax, enjoy your lunch and leave a good tip. Switch off the fricking cell phone, put away your headphones and try to converse at a decent decibel level. A restaurant I visited in Holland a few years ago had it right. They had a sign at the entrance that said: "Remember that all the really important people are impossible to reach". Not a single cell phone chime was heard!

rememberance

2005-11-11T13:00:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid in Prague, we lived in an unremarkable suburban house. The house was in the middle of a row of three such houses. The house south of us had a plaque on the ground floor, marking the spot where a 22 year old man was killed during the Prague uprising in May of 1945. I passed by that plaque every day. War was very real, very tangible, it was a part of our recent history and something we learned a great deal about in school.

Canada has a glorious war record, certainly far more glorious than the land of my birth. Ten percent of all Canadian soldiers died in the rancid mud of Europe in WW1 and Canadian soldiers were equally heroic in the campaign against Hitler's tyranny. Without the terrible sacrifices of those soldiers, many of whom came back wounded physically and scarred emotionally and many of whom paid the ultimate price and never returned - we simply would not have the freedom we have in this glorious country. I would not have the freedom to grumble and complain about our stupid politicians and the imbeciles who call into radio talk shows to rant about Rememberance Day glorifying imperialism would not have the freedom to do that! How clueless, how obtuse, how cruel can some people be.

Today, on the 11th day of the 11th month at the 11th hour, I stood up, sang "Oh Canada" and watched the moving ceremony on Parliament Hill. I watched the wrinkled, weatherd faces of all those old men who went to Europe a lifetime ago, in their late teens and early twenties, to fight a terror which was about to devour the civilized world. I stood as the lone piper played and I cried for all those young men who never made it back. I also cried for all the young men and women today who have forgotten, despite the impassioned plea made so long ago by Colonel John McCrae - read the last few lines and please, please never forget:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

dis'n'dat continued

2005-11-09T12:00:00.000-08:00

So, the month of November is upon us. I used to really dread the onset of winter - but no longer. Firstly, we have been lucky this year: warm fall days seem to be stretching way past their mid-October point. There has been plenty of sunshine and beautiful days to take a walk in the park, leaves rustling underfoot. Also, with age I seemed to have mellowed and no longer wish for a perpetual summer. In fact, summers can seem pretty brutal with their unbreathable air and humidity. Therefore, no weather complaints so far though some will invariably arise once the the snow starts flying and the northerlies begin to howl.

As mentioned previously, October was a terrible month work-wise. It has had a detrimental effect on my mood. I find it very difficult to motivate myself. Strangely - perhaps not so strangely - when I'm really busy and my plate is full to overflowing, I can still squeeze in more work and have no difficulty in multitasking and planning further projects. When work dies off and I have nothing but oodles of time on my hands, I grow lethargic and completely neglect all the projects I have on the back burner (arranging, writing, practicing and mostly - hustling) Fortunately, some nice gigs are coming up this month and December looks fairly promising, too, so there may be an end to the ennui.

I've been thinking very seriously about spending a couple of months in Prague - perhaps mid-January to mid-March. I'd like to explore performing possibilities there, write and just soak up the atmosphere of the city, enjoy it while the tourist hordes are absent. I made a preliminary list of people I should contact while there and the list is already about 30 names long. I figure - one dinner with each of these people every other day and my schedule is pretty much taken care of. An agent was suggested by a friend, plus I know quite a few people there in the music business, so getting at least a few gigs should be a cinch. Additionally, I'd like to spend at least three hours a day writing.

I am SO excited about the upcoming birth of my grandson in January. I'm over the moon and can't wait to see my daughters and my grandkid when I go to Iceland next, probably in March. While there, I am planning also to do another concert at the International House Cafe, which by now is alm0st a tradition. I'm hoping to be joined by Thorir Johansson on bass and Dan Cassidy on violin (webpage in Icelandic only)

I will now indulge my tastebuds with the fish risotto leftovers from last night...

dis'n'dat

2005-10-28T19:30:00.000-07:00

Long time no blog...October's been a *very* slow month. After the very pleasant and much needed flood of work that I experienced in the summer and early fall, and after the recording burnout of late September, this month has been marked by profound lazy-itis. Had a couple of decent gigs but nothing to get too excited about. Which means it's time to do what I dislike the most about the business: hit the pavement and get some fresh new bookings. Oy vey!

Last night I went out to see Warriors for Peace - a trio of young Toronto musicians that plays a rich combo of house, jazz, funk, D&B and mood music. The band is lead by Ron Brown, a.k.a "The Bubba", a superb local bassist. The main reason I went was my friend, Ashley Wey, a very talented pianist, originally from Victoria, B.C. who's been making quite a name for herself here in Toronto. Although I met Ashley a few months ago and we've chatted a few times, we have not played together yet and last night was the first time I actually heard her play at any length. Good stuff!

My Czech band, Music on the Corner got together last night for a sushi dinner and a chat. We're trying to figure out a good promotion strategy for this band. We now have three CD's out but feel that our profile in the Czech/Slovak community here in Ontario is nowhere near where it could be and should be. Check out a cut from the new CD here. (the tune is called "Komtesa")

Well, must rush to the studio, to put some finishing touches on the new Swing Noir CD. Toodles!

musicland funnies

2005-10-20T23:30:00.000-07:00

This is courtesy of Andrej Saradin of the Toronto Hot 5 Jazzmakers who emailed it to me:
------------------

Pianists:
Pianists are intellectuals and know-it-alls. They studied theory, harmony and composition in college. Most are riddled with self-doubt They are often bald. They should have big hands, but often don't. They were social rejects as adolescents. They go home after the gig and play with their computers. Usually easy-going, pianists have a special love-hate relationship with singers. If you try to talk to the piano player during a break, he will sometimes condescend.

Bass Players:
Bassists are not terribly smart. The best bassists come to terms with their limitations by playing simple lines and rarely soloing. During the better musical moments, a bassist will pull his strings hard and grunt like an animal. Bass players are built big, with paws for hands, and they are always bent over awkwardly. If you talk to the bassist during a break, you will not be able to tell whether or not he's listening.

Drummers:
Drummers are radical. Specific personalities vary, but are always extreme. A drummer might be the funniest person in the world, or the most psychotic. Drummers are often moody because of the many jokes about them, most of which stem from the fact that they aren't really musicians. Don't make jokes about drummers while they are setting up - they may walk off the gig without any explaination. Most drummers are highly excitable; when excited, they play louder. If you decide to talk to the drummer during a break, tell him how well he is playing and make sure you don't mention Baby Dodds.

Clarinets and Saxophones:
Think they are the most important players on stage. Consequently, they are temperamental and territorial. They know all the George Lewis and Johnny Dodds licks but have their own sound, a mixture of Lewis and Dodds.They take exceptionally long solos, which reach a peak halfway through but they forget that there are other musicians waiting to take a solo and just don't stop. They practice quietly but audibly while other people are trying to play. Reed players sometimes forget to shower and are obsessed with their instruments - usually taking them to bed in preference to their spouses/ girl or boy friends. If you talk to a clarinetist/saxophonist during a break, they will usually blame their tone on their reeds.

Trumpeters:
Trumpet players are image-conscious and walk with a swagger. Trumpet players are very attractive to women, despite the strange indentation on their lips. Many of them sing - misguided critics compare them to either Louis Armstrong or Chet Baker depending whether they're black or white. They arrive at the session early, and you may get to witness the special trumpet game. The rules are: play as loud and as high as possible. The winner is the one who plays loudest and highest. If you talk to a trumpet player during a break, he might confess that his favorite player is Maynard Ferguson, the merciless God of loud-high trumpeting.

Guitarists/banjo players:
They are never very happy. Deep inside they want to be rock stars, but they're old and overweight. In protest, they wear their hair long, drink a lot, and play too loud. They hate piano players because they can hit ten notes at once, but they make up for it by playing as fast as they can. The more they drink, the higher they turn their amps. Then the drummer starts to play harder, and the trumpeter dips into his loud/high arsenal. Suddenly, the saxophonist's universe crumbles, because he is no longer the most important player on stage. He packs up his horn, nicks his best reed in haste, and storms out of the room. The pianist struggles to suppress a laugh. If you talk to a banjo/uitarist during the break he'll ask intimate questions about your 14-year-old sister.

Trombonists:
The trombone is known for its pleading, voice-like quality. "Listen," it seems to say in the male tenor range, "Why won't anybody hire me for a gig?" Trombonists like to play fast, because their notes become indistinguishable and thus immune to criticism. Most trombonists played trumpet in their early years, then decided they didn't want to walk around with a strange indentation on their lips. Now they hate trumpet players, who somehow get all the women despite this disfigurement. Trombonists are usually tall and lean, with forlorn faces. They don't eat much. They have to be very friendly, because nobody really needs a trombonist. Talk to a trombonist during a break and he'll ask you for a gig, try to sell you insurance, or offer to mow your lawn.

Tuba Players:
Tuba players are invariably short & stocky - normally weighing about 300 pounds. Their neck is permanently twisted - thanks to years of battling with their instrument. When they aren't sure of the chords of a tune, they will switch to string bass so that their mistakes will go unheard.

Vocalists:
Vocalists are whimsical creations of the all-powerful jazz gods. They are placed in sessions to test musicians' capacity for suffering. They are not of the jazz world, but enter it surreptitiously. Example: A young woman is playing minor roles in college musical theater. One day, a misguided campus newspaper critic describes her singing as "...jazzy." Viola! A star is born! Quickly she learns "My Funny Valentine," and "Summertime," Her training complete, she embarks on a campaign of musical terrorism. Musicians flee from the bandstand as she approaches. Those who must remain feel the full fury of the jazz universe. The vocalist will try to seduce you--and the rest of the audience-- by making eye contact, acknowledging your presence, even talking to you between tunes. DO NOT FALL INTO THIS TRAP! Look away, make your distaste obvious. Otherwise the musicians will avoid you during their breaks. Incidentally, if you talk to a vocalist during a break, she will introduce you to her "manager."

yom kippur meanderings

2005-10-14T01:30:00.000-07:00

I haven't been feeling too well. A twist on my usual digestion problems - acid reflux and a sensation of a lump in my throat. My doctor diagnosed esophagus inflammation, most likely caused by large doses of Vitamin C. Strange but not impossible. I stopped with the C (though taken along with the magic COLD-FX * and riding atop my annual flu shot, it has shielded me against the common cold for two years). The symptoms have improved somewhat, though the lump remains. It feels as if there's a pencil stuck in my throat, going right down, along the length of the gullet...

It was Yom Kippur yesterday. Although I don't fast (cannot fast because of my stomach condition) it is the one day on the Jewish calendar that I take seriously: no TV, no radio, no computer, memorial candle burning and 24 hours spent basically reading and seeking just a little bit of spirituality. Indeed, towards the end of the day, I whipped out the prayer book given to me by my uncle in 1963 and I read the Hebrew liturgy for the end of Yom Kippur. Never realized Hebrew had so many synonyms for "sin" and for the verb "repent". I didn't go to the synagogue - I don't like mixing with crowds and I certainly don't like any club that would have me as a member (hat-tip: Groucho Marx) I prefer my spirituality in the confines of my living room.

I also went for a walk along Eglinton Avenue and was filled with pride about living in this country and this city in particular. The stretch of Eglinton close to my house is a very Jewish area. It was grand to see many Jewish families strolling to and from the numerous synagogues on the strip. It was equally great to see the non-Jewish majority going about its business, enjoying the mild - though overcast - fall day, shopping, sitting in cafes. And it was tremendous to see a couple of bakeries open - for Bagel Jews such as myself: those of us who belong to the tribe but are not averse to a bagel on Yom Kippur or even Passover. There is a deep rooted tolerance here that I love and cherish. It is so deep rooted, in fact, that hardly anyone notices or calls it tolerance. They just call it Toronto day-to-day.

Because of my illness, and to a smaller degree because of some technical problems that might have come up, I had to cancel my appearance as the opening act for Jaromir Nohavica, the Czech folk star. I regret the cancellation which might have opened doors for me but ultimately I feel it was the right thing to do. Not only because of the illness but also because of Yom Kippur. It is possible to sanctify the day even when one is a Bagel Jew...
---
* I am not now, nor have I ever been, an employee of or an agent for ColdFX. ( I just think it's a bloody good product)

bobby

2005-10-10T16:00:00.000-07:00

Bobby - that's what all of his friends, contemporaries and - it seems - all the hangers-on, called him. Robert Zimmerman from Hibbins, Minnesota is a fascinating and in many ways infuriating character. Infuriating because he refuses to be pinned down, characterised, defined. He has always defined himself in any way that pleased him or served him.

Martin Scorsese's documentary, "No Direction Home" is a fantastic piece of film making. Apart from some mind boggling archival footage, there is a long face-to-face interview intercut throughout the movie, in which Dylan speaks bluntly and yet never reveals anything substantial. He doesn't speak about his parents. He speaks a little bit about his home town and about the music he listened to as a kid. He never smiles. His assertivness and his measured speech are striking. He never really explains anything beyond saying: "That's how I wanted it to be". A truly mesmerizing guy. I thought that it was Scorsese himself who interviewed Dylan for the movie but it turns out that the two actually never met. The interviewer is never shown in the film.

In the archival clips Dylan performs night after night with his electric band to boos and abuse from the crowd that wants to hear him strum his acoustic guitar and sing "protest" songs. There's Dylan mercilessly shredding hapless reporters who ask the most inane questions and have the most bizzare requests (one asks him to suck on his sunglasses) Always elusive, his performances always riveting. In his review, Roger Ebert likened Dylan's singing to a preacher's sermon - absolutely right on the money!

In the 60's Dylan was cast into the role of a spokesman for a generation but he never wanted to be one. He refused to follow the rules of accepted societal behaviour (becoming a "protest" singer) but then he refused to follow the rules of the radical left that had so eagerly adopted him. Dylan never followed anyone's rules. He remains an enigmatic genius till this day. And, at the age of 64, he still looks and sounds as cool and as hip as he did in the early 60's. No one boos him now!

No Direction Home is a truly outstanding document

burnout

2005-10-06T16:00:00.000-07:00

A good few years ago I remember visiting a friend of mine, a very successful movie composer. I was (still am) in awe of his talent and accomplishments. We had a cup of tea, chatted about this and that, then we went up to his study. The room was absolutely chock full of scores, music books, CD's, vinyl records, there was a piano and even some recording equipment. Cassette tapes and loose music sheets were piled up three feet high on every possible surface. At the time, although I was already doing music full time, I was not busy at all and basically scrounging for gigs and teaching jobs. I told my friend how much I envied the fact his life was this full of music. I'll never forget his reaction: with a large gesture, he swept a mass of sheet music and cassettes off his desk, scattering them in all directions. Then he looked at me and said: "I can't wait to retire and be rid of all this crap!" I couldn't believe what I was hearing! I thought it was sacrilege to speak of this wonderous vocation of music this way, especially for someone as successful.

Well, here we are, about a decade later, and while I would never utter anything as sweeping as my friend that day, I can say that I am pretty burnt out right about now. For the last four weeks - just after coming back from L.A. - I've been holed up in one recording stuio or another, while Toronto is having the sunniest and warmest autumn on record. I've been working on a couple of my own projects as well as doing production work for a couple of clients. The endless cycle of music is starting to get to me: recording bed tracks and overdubs, listening to click tracks, making production decisions, cutting and pasting violin solos, polishing up harmonies, writing horn arrangements - all great work but at this point it's all blending into one stream of unmelodious cacophony and I just want to scream: STOP!!!

In a few days, my current project will be mastered and then I'm taking a two week break away from any and all microphones (aside from a few small gigs) I long to reconnect with the place inside of me that motivated me to get into this business in the first place. I'd like to practice, write a little bit, spend time outdoors, gee, I probably need to take up a hobby. The problem with hobbies is that I am really only interested in three things: music, reading and writing. Fishing or building model cars holds no allure for me. Neither does stamp collecting. And I'm sure that were I to write every day as much as I record, I'd be pretty burnt out very soon. So that leaves reading. My good friend, Lynn MacDonald has lent me Bill Crow's "Birdland to Broadway". I hope the good weather lasts a while yet, so I can spend a few days sitting on a park bench, reading about Bill's exploits in the Big Apple back in the day!

P.S.
I just got my copy of the "No Direction Home" DVD - the Martin Scorsese film about Bob Dylan. I saw some of it on PBS and it's absolutely fascinating. Looking forward!

la la land - part 3 - views

2005-09-21T03:00:00.000-07:00

Views - as in "the view from here is fabulous" - not "in my view, you're full of it"

California, not that anyone needs reminding, is a beautiful spot. For my money, one of the most gorgeous pieces of real estate anywhere. I love the constant presence of the ocean and the mountain profiles on the horizon. The ocean moderates the temperature and when you're withing a few miles of a beach, it's never too hot. Cross the mountains and the heat increases but it's dry desert heat, nothing as oppressive as July in Southern Ontario.

But if talking about music is like dancing about architecture (I always thought that this was a Zappa quote - turns out it's actually Steve Martin or perhaps Elvis Costello??) - then talking about scenery is like strumming a tuba (WHA'?? )

Have a look at these pictures and see a rested George with wife and friends in the paradise of Southern California

la la land - part 2 - driving

2005-09-16T11:30:00.000-07:00

Most of my time in SoCal was spent in the greater L.A. area. We lived in San Pedro (not far from Long Beach, where the great Queen Mary is anchored) and commuted almost daily to various parts of the city. The commute was in a very comfortable, brand new Dodge Caravan van. I am not a great van fan here at home but there is no doubt that it's a great touring vehicle to have.

To get from San Pedro to - for example - Silverlake, where my good buddy Maurice lives, we would take the 110 freeway north and then the 101 Hollywood freeway north-west (for some pretty scary freeway pictures, look here) The trip would usually take between 30 - 45 minutes, depending on the time of day. And here's the kicker: although L.A. is 2.5 times the size of Toronto and although many of the freeways frequently move very slowly, I did not find the commute any worse than, say, driving from mid-town Toronto to Mississauga.

There are visibly more cars on the road in L.A. (obviously, since there are many more people!) But the overall delays are more of the slow moving variety, rather than the complete stop-go-stop-go kind we seem to have here. There are car pool lanes on many (not all) freeways, which means that if there's more than one person in the car, you can slide into the car pool lane and cruise along comfortably. Also, unbelievable as it may seem - I found L.A. drivers on the whole much more patient and courteous than Toronto drivers. People would slow down or stop and let you go in front of them, there wasn't as much tailgating and not nearly as much honking. I do keep in mind that as a tourist, I was in no rush to get anywhere and therefore saw the congestion as a minor inconvenience, rather than as a heart attack inducing catastrophe.

Then there's the parking. In all my ten days in the greater L.A. area, I never once, not once, had any problem with finding either free or very cheap ($5) parking. Even on the very busy and tourist-infected Hollywood Boulevard, we were able to sneak into a side street and find a comfortable, two story (therefore shaded) parking lot for five bucks - unlimited time. Since I came back to Toronto, I've already gotten one $30 parking ticket for parking on a completely abandoned residential street ("no parking between 8AM - midnight", "parking on the left side of the street midnight - 3AM", "parking on the right side of the street 3AM - 8AM", "no parking for persons of Central European descent", "parking for permit holders only in February and November from 8AM - 8:10AM" and "pet parking only") I was also forced to turn back and drive back home on a sunny Sunday afternoon when unable to find any parking whatsoever at Harbourfront - unless willing to re-mortgage my house for 1 hour worth of parking, 0.5 km away from where I wanted to go.

In San Pedro, a neighbour greeted us one morning in that typical, American way: "Where you guys from?" When told we were from Toronto he said: "Ah, the Great White North...do you guys still have that major parking problem up there?" God's honest truth, that's what he said!

la la land - part 1 - jazz legend

2005-09-13T17:15:00.000-07:00

Just back from Southern California, the land of the ocean breeze, ice cold frappes, jammed freeways, ubiquitous cell phones-iPods-PalmPilots-Blackberries and other gizmos that prove the maxim: "He, who dies with the most toys, wins!" My wife and I spent 10 days there, mostly in L.A. but with absolutely fantastic side trips to Santa Barbara and San Diego. Our lodgings were south of L.A., in the suburb of San Pedro - too beautiful to even be called a suburb under which moniker the monstrous high rises of Scarborough spring to mind! It's a lovely piece or real estate down there and in future bloggature I want to touch upon a few highlights of this trip. This particular entry is mostly about THE highlight for me, which was seeing Jack Sheldon in concert.

I saw Jack at the Sweet & Hot Jazz Festival. This shindig is held annually at the Marriott Hotel at LAX and, as the name suggests, it mostly features trad bands, Dixieland bands and some R&B. All the artists were top notch and it was really difficult to pick and choose. I was lucky enough to get a guest pass from my good friend, Maurice Gainen, a well known sax player and producer on the L.A. scene, who played at the fest with The Hues Corporation (mostly known as a disco band from the 70's but they played some gritty R&B at the festival) The guest pass allowed me to weave in and out of all and any of the rooms at my leisure.

The hotel was chock full of elderly jazz lovers and assorted hangers on. Apart from great music emanating from every crevice, nook, cranny and hall on the ground floor and the basement, the festival also featured some stores that sold overpriced jazz merchandise, such as caps (got me one that says "jazz" in bold gold letters on an orange background, doesn't get much gaudier than that, eh?), jazzy ties with saxophones or guitars on them, cool porkpie hats (couldn't find my size) and other assorted bric-a-brac. Tucked away in the very far corner of the basement was a room presided over by a gentleman in his 80's or perhaps even 90's, who had on display the most amazing collection of jazz books I'd ever seen. I spent about an hour there browsing, driving my wife to the edge of insanity (a glass of chilled Chardonnay brought her back!) and I ended up buying a book about Django Reinhardt that I hadn't seen before. It's a British publication, has all sorts of never before seen photos in it, as well as a CD and fairly lame looking transcriptions of some of Django's hits. Or perhaps it's my reading that's lame....Yeah, that's it...!

Jack Sheldon's show was supposed to start at 8:30 in one of the medium sized rooms and around 7:45, there was already a solid line-up (just as an aside, just after Jack, Howard Alden played the same room, WOW! - trust me on this, jazz guitarists do NOT get any better than Howard) We were able to squeeze into the back of the room - standing room only - just as Jack was starting his first tune. His show lasted for 45 minutes and I was transfixed the whole time. He covered a lot of familiar ground ("Caravan", "Don't Get Around Much Anymore") but he played AND sang with so much flash, such ease, such incredibly developed sense of style and timing - it's simply amazing. It was truly awe-inspiring to be in the presence, only a few feet away from this trumpet legend. His solos were fleet-footed flights of fancy, 16th notes in the very highest registers knocked off with ridiculous ease, his melodies were sure footed, yet never, ever boring. His singing is amazing: even if he didn't play a single note on the trumpet, he would be a top jazz artists based on his singing abilities alone. A contemporary of Chet Baker but with a much more flashy style, Jack Sheldon is a true living legend, what more can I say.....His back up band was superb, of course (pno, drums, bass) but unfortunately, I don't rememeber the names of the musicians (perhaps they are on the Sweet and Hot website)

After the show, I spied Jack talking to some older lady and I approached him and asked him if he'd mind posing for a picture with me. When I told him I was from Toronto, he lit up and regaled me with a couple of stories of his gigs in our city.

Oh, and one more thing must be mentioned: Jack's stage patter is hilarious - but completely unprintable. The guy's monologues are a steady stream of blue repartie, too blue for anyone under 70 to use without seeming like a lech. Jack pulls it off and is funny as hell! And judging from my short conversation with him - a very gracious, nice guy too. Here's to many more years of your artistry, Jack!

rattlesnake

2005-08-24T18:00:00.000-07:00

Went to the Rattlesnake Point Conservation Area this morning. A lovely place, less than 45 minutes west of Toronto (of course, if you're carelss enough to take the 401 back, the trip back takes twice as long because of the abominable, endless construction work) There are great hiking trails in the park and stunning views across the Nassagaweya Canyon. The place - at least mid-week - is marvelously quiet and I found my one hour there quite inspiring. I hiked for about 30 minutes, then sat down in a shady spot and practiced my guitar for a little bit. The brilliant sunny day and the breeze made me play better. I'll go again tomorrow if I have time and then definitely one more time later in the fall. The turning leaves and the colours will be stunning.

chick schtick

2005-08-21T14:45:00.000-07:00

To my mind, there are very few musical genres that have absolutely nothing to recommend them. Even though I don't like rock music, I recognize there are rock artists who have something to say. I'd say that popular musicians can be divided into two basic groups: those that have very little to say but have a gift for melody and/or style and those who lack a strong melody component but have lots to say. Naturally, there is lots of overlap between the two groups: Gordon Lightfoot has a knack for a strong tune and writes a good lyric. The Beatles were mostly about melody but they did have a few songs that were interesting lyrically - no Cole Porter but nevertheless quite striking: "A Day in the Life" comes to mind. In the present day, to take two Canadian examples, Ron Sexsmith and Rufus Wainwright are two songwriters with a strong melodic gift and, esepcially in Sexsmith's case, craft intelligent, meaningful lyrics.

At the other end of the spectrum, there is the light weight pop of a Britney Spears and her ilk and rap/hip-hop. I don't listen to enough of either to pass any kind of an informed judgement but it seems to me that the Britneys and the Christina Aguilleras are muscular, all purpose entertainers, singers and dancers. From what I've heard, their bands are excellent and the production impeccable. And it would be foolish to dismiss the rap scene even though I never listen to it and own no CD's. Obviously, some of the rap/hip-hop artists know how to weave their way through the beat with intelligent improvised lyrics. No art form which can be improvised with ease and elegance can be easy to do.

The only contemporary music I truly cannot stand is the "sad girl at a piano" phenomenon. I won't name any names but there are plenty of them out there - and I most definitely do not mean Norah Jones or Diana Krall both of whom are very accomplished artists. I mean the sorrowful looking chick who plays about three chords on the piano with the range of expression of a 10 year old, choking on mournful badly written lyrics, accompanied by a ponderous band at a languid tempo (note that most of these bands will have a percussionist with congas) Their videos are usually shot in grainy black and white, trying to evoke the existential dispair of a film noir. The lyrics are always meandering, fairly bursting with hot air. The girl at the piano is full of earnest self-importance, as if imparting to the world the truths of a Socrates with the harmonic gravitas of a Mozart.

"PUH-LEEEEZE". Get a life. Get away from your laptop. Take some piano lessons. Learn more than three chords. Travel. Fall in love. Experience loss. Get married and have a kid. Gamble. Read. Whatever you do cease and desist from writing songs until you have some experience to fall back on. And even that may not help: it's all very well to want to expose your profound existential suffering to the world but it's much better done by someone with talent.

What do I know? It's obvious that chick schtick sells - otherwise the airwaves wouldn't be full of it and I'd have one less thing to complain about. Ta-ta!!

publikk tranzzit

2005-08-17T19:20:00.000-07:00

Yikes....I took the #32 Eglinton West bus home tonight. It wasn't a particularly hot evening but the bus was stuffy and stinky. Wads of gum, wrappers, discarded papers everywhere. Not crowded but full enough to feel uncomfortable. Total avoidance of eye contact by absolutely everybody. On my right, a young woman with a silly smile plastered on her face commenced eating a foul smelling egg sandwich as soon as we jerked out of the station. On my left a lanky, tall dude with a white bandana on his head began pawing and licking his bespactacled girlfriend. Didn't stop for the whole ten minute duration of the ride. Across the isle from me, a fairly chunky chick, dirty feet in flip-flops, stared at a book (didn't turn the page once) And so on...everybody on the bus either totally exhausted looking, or dirty, or weird or a combination of all three. The bus itself was a rickety, noisy old specimen from the 70's, farting black smoke all over Eglinton Avenue.

I don't like public transit anywhere but if this is a sample of what PT is like in T.O., it was a real eye opener. When I came to Canada, one of the very first things I did was buy a car. Not much of a car but it got me around and afforded me a sense of freedom that was priceless. I still feel the same way about my car today - even with gas at $1.00 a litre. I would gladly pay $2.00 a litre to stay away from public transit in this city. Anyone can buy a beater for about a grand. Add another grand for insurance and another grand for gas - if the car lasts only a year, you're looking at about 3 grand (no reason why it couldn't last two years, though - plus, it's possible to spend way less than a hundred a month on gas if you don't need to cover the distances that I do) A metropass (a pass that will get you around the system) costs $1,200 a year. Without a metropass, you're looking at much more if you use transit every day! Subtract that from the three grand and the total cost of freedom is $1,800. Plus no waiting for a bus in minus twenty weather and inhaling people's sniffles on stuffy, nauseating subway cars and antiquated buses. I mean - that alone is worth the eighteen bills, wouldn't you agree?

Coincidentally - my hunch is that both our esteemed mayor and the Dear Leader of the NDP transport their do-gooder, socialist butts in air conditioned cars.

P.S.
oops, I could be wrong there....the Mayor's website rhapsodises about him being a champion of public transit

days off

2005-08-05T17:00:00.000-07:00

Summer continues apace. More over-30 degree days than ever before. More humidity and smog. More "heat alerts" (what's that supposed to mean? It's July, dude, it's just HOT)

I had three days off this week and decided to do something I really want to do every summer but for some stupid reason never get around to doing: go out and swim in a lake. I remember how I loved swinmming in lakes and ponds and creeks when I was a kid growing up in Czechoslovakia and I also totally loved going to the beach in Tel Aviv when I lived there in the seventies. I don't particularly like to bake in the midday sun but the smell of suntan lotion, combined with the smell of fresh water and sand is something I really dig. The problem is that many of Toronto beaches are closed. The ones that are open are either not easily accessible (the island beaches) or I just plain don't trust them to be clean. So I decided to test three different spots on my days off.

Monday I drove to the Heart Lake Conservation Area in Brampton. Great place! I guess it gets crowded on weekends but this Monday morning there was only the lifeguard and me. A bit later on, two or three young moms came ambling in with their toddlers. The roped-off area of Heart Lake is really more of a wading pool than a lake and the lifeguards get nervous if you swim beyond the rope but still, it was really refreshing! The changing area/washrooms leave a lot to be desired, though.

On Tuesday I drove all the way out to Port Hope - about an hour's drive from Toronto. Man, I LOVE Port Hope!! What a charming little town. If I had any way to make a living in a pretty town such as P.H., I'd buy a house there in a heartbeat. I got there around 11AM and went into their very slick looking tourist office downtown to ask directions to the beach. The beach I went to is small but absolutely superb! Once again, at 11AM, there were very few people there. In fact, I was the only one who actually went into the water at first. Lake Ontario is cold even this late in the season but swimming there is wonderful. The sand stretches out many meters into the shallow water. I must have gone in at least fifty, sixty yards and the water still only reached my waist. Their changing room is small but relatively clean. Then, on my way home, I stopped at the Indulgence Cafe for lunch. They had a rooftop patio, I ordered a glass of Chardonnay (as if I know what I'm talking about) and I felt like a tourist in Cannes or Nice. Came home, showered and felt like a new man - until the jackhammering and drilling on the construction site just beneath my window resumed. Oh boy! Give me Port Hope!

My third outing on Wednesday was a bust. I didn't feel like driving too far this time and remembered a conservation area in Stoufville that I used to take my daughters to. Unfortunately, I got there only to find out that the place - though still open - looks dillapidated and their little pond was no longer there. I drove around Stoufville and Markham for a while but only gave a half-hearted effort to finding another place to swim. I probably could have bought a map and looked something up but instead I just gave up, came home, made myself a prosciutto sandwich and listened to the jackhammers outside. A bust of a day.

Nevertheless, one thing is clear: there is wonderful life beyond this computer and beyond hustling for gigs. I am determined to go swimming at least five or six more times this summer and I wouldn't be at all surprised if I find myself on that fine little beach in Port Hope.

more chet

2005-07-22T14:00:00.000-07:00

As an addition to my Chet Baker post from yesterday, here is what Mike Zwerin says about his playing:

And here is some more poignant writing by Mr. Zwerin on the subject of Chet Baker, "the Dostoyevski of jazz"

chet

2005-07-21T17:00:00.000-07:00

I've been revisiting the music of one of my favourite musicians - Chet Baker. An enigmatic figure, drug-addled, often unpredictable and aloof, Baker remains a phenomenon 17 years after his death. During his life he was criticized as a Miles Davis imitator and his talent was underestimated in silly and unfair comparisons to Dizzy Gillespie or Clifford Brown. The fact is that Chet Baker possesses something exceedingly rare: a voice of his own. And I don't just mean "voice" as in actual "vocal", though he is also a unique and talented singer.
I mean that there is an unmistakable signature sound in his playing, apparent from the very first note he blows. In that sense what he does is similar to what B. B. King has achieved as a bluesman. There are people with more technique but B.B. plays a single note and you know it's him. That is an unbelievably difficult task for a musician to achieve. I go to jams and concerts and often see a bunch of performers on any given instrument - guitar, trumpet, sax - that sound like clones. That is never the case with Chet. He was always his own man and his sound - both vocally and on the trumpet - is his unique stamp on the world.

I defy anyone not to be moved by the wistful lyricism, the world-weary sadness of "My Funny Valentine" or
"I Fall in Love too Easily". At the same time, he could swing like nobody's business when playing with Gerry Mulligan and later in life with Stan Getz. Listen to Chet and enrich your life. It's too bad that his own should have been so tragic and so short.

melting

2005-07-14T11:45:00.000-07:00

My God, it's HOT ....check out the minimum temperatures for Toronto on the Environment Canada website. Not the max! The minimum - i.e., the coolest temps in a 24 hour cycle. Yessiree Bob, it gets down to 24 degrees roundabout dawn and that's as cool as we get in these parts. During the day it's bake time in 33, 34, 35 degrees C (around 100 F). Not counting the humidex, of course. Did the guy who invented A/C get a Nobel prize? I sure hope so. I cannot imagine what people do without A/C in their apts and cars. Oh, well, only a couple of months till first frost. I read somewhere that Montreal (Toronto can't be far behind) has the largest seasonal swings of any major city in the world. From +35 in the summer to -30 (or less) in winter. That's it for today, I'm going to have another tall glass of cool lemonade!

sign of the times

2005-07-12T13:00:00.000-07:00

Here's a banner courtesy of Mustafa Kurtuldu from London! (found on Harry's Place blog) Perhaps not much less naive than the "Make Poverty History" platitude but nevertheless a serious call to arms. Whereas "Make Poverty History" asks our governments to pony up more tax dollars, this banner simply asks us to recognize our reality and to fight attempts at obscuring it. Resist the usual suspects' blathering about root causes and indulging in affluence induced self-flagelation. Recognize this menace for what it is and fight it whichever way you can: being prepared and not living in denial is a good start!

squeaks

2005-07-07T14:00:00.000-07:00

I went to a jam session the other night. Not to play, just to say hi to a drummer friend of mine. OK, I don't get it. I just don't get it at all. The leader would call a tune, then count it in - at breakneck tempo. The head was barely recognizable. Then the guys would take turns soloing. Their technique was fine. But man, it was all speed and no ideas! The guitarist sounded like he was playing some random scales...the sax player was squeaking and squaking and honking and screeching. The trumpet player...I don't know how to describe it. I don't know much about trumpet playing but I know that most trumpet players compete in reaching for very high notes. This dude obviously had his technique down because he could play those piercing high notes. But it wasn't music!! It was all like wounded elephant grunts and coyote barks and seagull screams, notes running up and down, chasing each other like some derranged dogs chasing their tails. Then the solos were done, the band would run through the unrecognizable head again and on to the next tune, same as the first. I will say this: the rhythm section was very solid. My friend is a superb drummer and the bass player was very good, too.

Now, before I get flamed for this let me say again: I am not calling into question that these dudes could play. What I am saying is that the result was unpleasant and unmusical. I firmly believe in the validity of the old Eddie Condon dictum: "As it enters the ear, does it come in like broken glass or does it come in like honey?" This stuff was definitely broken glass!

In the car, on my way home, I listened to the smoothest, most polished, most profound vocal version of "Round Midnight", sung by Ann Hampton Callaway - with a divine trumpet solo by Wynton Marsalis and it entered my ear like honey and stayed in my soul, soft and soothing like satin.

summertime

2005-07-03T10:00:00.000-07:00

Living is too easy, I guess....writing juices all dried up. All I want to do is sit in a cafe, sip an ice capuccino and watch the pretty girls stroll by in their light dresses and flip flops. Work has been steady and somewhat demanding, with six-set Saturdays at the Distillery and a series of new Sunday house gigs beginning.

Richard Whiteman and I were discussing the differences between various kinds of gigs. We agreed that we didn't mind getting paid less for what we percieve to be "career gigs" but would like to get more for "wallpaper" gigs (a term I learned from Jake Chisholm) The problem is, I think, that you never know where the career gigs will materialize. I've had house gigs which I was convinced would lead to great things, yet they fizzled out like flat club soda. And I had low paying gigs which I was loath to do yet they turned out to be pleasant, rewarding and sometimes led to great contacts and fine work in the future.

I have taken to grabbing my digital camera and lugging it with me everywhere. I like to photograph simple, everyday street scenes and people going about their business. The transformation of Toronto at this time of year from a dull, grey burgh to an almost Mediterranian atmosphere, with full patios and overflowing cafes is just amazing. We all know that here the freezing winds are always just around the corner and so we soak up the hot stuff while we can.

Fish are jumping....

regulation

2005-06-18T09:45:00.000-07:00

I oppose government regulation of radio and TV. I think that the CRTC is crock, CanCon rules should be thrown in the garbage and governemnt grants should be abolished, effective immediately.

These grants and rules are predicated on the premise that a) artists form the core, the soul of a nation and b) artists are divinely entitled to government crutches in order for their societal function to be realized. I don't have a problem with proposition a) above. It is fairly clear from historical precedent that Shakespeare and Shaw are central to British/English culture, as are Moliere and Balzac to the French, Goethe and Beethoven to the German and Tolstoy and Tchaikovski to the Russian. None of these gentlemen were recipients of the equivalent of a Canada Council grant and none were beneficiaries of Russian/German/French radio content rules.

A nation will create the kind of culture that it deserves, that it needs and that reflects it. There have been profound artists and thinkers in every nation on earth and I see no reason for governments to make cultural decisions with my money. I don't need to be told who should and who should not be played on radio or shown on TV, based on their nationality. I want my music, my films, my visual art, my plays to be GOOD, not to be CANADIAN. If they happen to be Canadian AND good - I rejoice. But if they happen to be American, or Australian AND good - I rejoice also. I derive phenomenal pleasure from Oscar Peterson's playing - the fact of him being Canadian is of zero relevance to me. On the other hand, the system of grants, loans and playlist restrictions has created the anomaly of occasionally playing and promoting people who have no artistic merit but whom the government (local, provincial and federal) deemed worthy.

The objection is raised that many a local artist has been helped, even lifted out of obscurity by various grants and with the help of CanCon rules. My answer to that is simply: so what? Artists, just like anyone else, are not born with a special privilege to be assisted by tax money. You may scoff at this idea or call me callous - but art is a business. If you don't find a buyer, you starve. Not for nothing do we often use the epithet "starving artist". I do not WANT the artists to starve and I wish everyone, myself included, the greatest possible success. All I am saying is that success should not be subsidized by tax dollars and should not be circumscribed and dictated by content rules. We have great artists in this country who would be just as great if no such rules and no such grants existed.

Finally, a personal note: I applied for a local grant once in my life. I did not get it, vowed never to apply again and still dislike myself for having tried. Artists - more than anyone else - should forge an independent path and not line up to feed at the public trough.

digi bust

2005-06-08T09:00:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I waxed poetic here about the peerless service of cable giant Rogers. Well, ok, peerless is too strong a word but the service did turn out to be quite good despite my trepidations. The problem, as I see it now, is not the service but the product. Rogers is not a broadcaster, of course, and so cannot be blamed for this.

Having installed the digital system, I was offered a dizzying choice of about 70 additional channels. There were soccer channels and lacrosse channels and short film channels and documentary channels. There were many radio channels, too, with any kind of music one could wish for - from 24/7 swing to roots rock. But my main reason for getting digital TV was to experience COOL-TV (the jazz channel) and FOX news. Both turned out to be a huge disappointment.

COOL-TV consisted of endless reruns of the Ed Sullivan show and screenings of inane Hollywood musicals. Neither had much jazz content. In the case of the musicals, I'd argue there was none - unless the flick in question was The Glen Miller Story or some such. As for Sullivan - there was the occasional jazz artist but they were few and far between. Old footage of the Montreal Jazz Festival was also often on offer - some real gems could be gleaned there, for sure. Finally, occasionally there was excellent jazz or blues content such as Scorsese's Blues History series and rare 1930's film clips of people like Fats Waller and Louis Jordan which were superb. But it simply was not enough for me to want to hang on to this channel. It's not that it didn't try hard enough - it's perhaps that jazz does not need a TV channel: CD's, radio and live concerts are all I need for satisfactory jazz consuption.

FOX News was a total letdown. The anchors are hair is bigger than on CNN, their teeth whiter, their voice louder. I have long ago written CNN off as repetitive, boring and often maudlin. FOX is all of that and more. Of course, I was interested in hearing a conservative perspective on the news and FOX definitely provides that. It's just that I don't like my opinion pre-chewed. I already know where I stand politically and don't need boufant coiffed anchors to confirm my views. In fact, perversly, it's more fun to watch a champagne socialist channel such as the CBC because what would TV be if you couldn't yell back at it? At least Mansbridge doesn't wear a wig! I will give this to FOX, though: their Sunday news panel is superb and of course, some of their non-news programming, such as The Simpsons and House are top shelf.

And so I disconnected my digibox and I'm back to my regular boring 60 cable channels. History TV is there, which I watch often, CBC to get my bile up and exercise my debating skills (between myself and the TV set, of course), and let's not forget The Shopping Bags on the Woman's Channel. I love those two ditzy Vancouver chicks....I don't care if they're comparing nail polish or sock material. They are FUN!

small "l"

2005-06-06T16:45:00.000-07:00

I am annoyed at the hijacking of the word "liberal" by modern usage. Somehow the word, based on the Latin root for "liberty", "freedom" has come to mean - especially in a North American context - "left leaning". I do not like either small "l" nor capital "L" liberals, though I do like the liberals who used to be called Whigs in Ye Olde Englande. According to one website's definiton "the Whig party adhered, at least in theory, to the following principles: they were advocates of personal freedom, maintaining that the king governed at the people's consent and that sovereignty rested, ultimately, with the people"

People who call themselves liberal - and Liberal - today (again, in the North American context) do not seem to share the enthusiasm for the will of the people: to wit - the Liberal government of Canada gets defeated on a succession of confidence motions by a majority of the House of Commons (there to represent "the will of the people"). The government conveniently ignores these motions and stretches out the waiting game until such time when it has bribed and cajoled enough MP's to survive a vote in the House.

But perhaps it could be said that such politcal games would be played by all political parties and had the shoe been on the other foot, the Tories would have employed similar tactics. Quite possible, though I think it's high time we put this to a test.

However, the characteristic that annoys me the most about liberals and Liberals is their propensity for pesimism, sarcasm and analysis to paralysis. A liberal will always search for root causes, will always try to reason and persuade using convoluted legalese, will always see the glass as half empty, will always employ sarcasm and irony instead of a short, realistic appraisal. Some scribe by the name of Peter Scowen (of the Toronto Star - a newspaper I avoid except on Sundays when there's nothing else to read) wrote - with what I percieved to be dripping sarcasm - in this Sunday's edition about things which have been "declared not to be a magic pill" (here's an abbreviated list):

*hypnosis
*the 9/11 commission report
*anti-depressants
*viagra
*iraqi elections

I would venture to say that all of the above have proven to be extremely usueful and in some instances (such as Viagra and anti-depressants) they are indeed a magic pill. In other instances (hypnosis, Iraqi elections) they are a helpful tool and a significant step forward. But it is the habit of the liberal to scoff and chuckle. Very seldom does he/she propose a better alternative - other than searching for yet more root causes and debating the subject at yet greater and more paralysing length. Commissions are established, conclusions often ignored. Fault breathlessly assigned. (and you'd better believe it's always the fault the Americans!)

I wish we could call these people something else than liberals. Use "socialist" or "leftist" or "statist" or even simply "urban intellectual". It would be nice if "liberal" could again mean someone who primarily believes in liberty, justice and honor and not someone who needs a thesaurus to convey simple notions and who always, always thinks that he/she knows best!

have guitar, will travel

2005-05-31T15:00:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was extremely hectic and at the same time highly rewarding. First a few words about the actual schedule.

Friday morning: drove to Windsor. Checked into a nice motel, relaxed for a few hours, then played a show with Amy Rivard at the somewhat faded but still fabulous Top Hat Club in downtown Windsor. The very stage I was on had once been treaded on by no less a luminary than Count Basie and his orchestra. In the trio with me were Kevin Grenier on piano and Keith Malinowski on bass. Both superb musicians, a real joy to work with. Amy sang her heart out and entertained the crowd. A real pro! An additional word about the musicians: both guys wore sharp suits and I think the trio rose to the occasion of playing in such a storied club. Kudos to Amy for organizing this gig, introducing me to her family and to two great musicians. Keith is based in Detroit and so I could truthfully say that the band was comprised of musicians from three countries. After the show I was somewhat wound up and could only sleep for a few hours before heading out to Tim Horton's for an early morning coffee and toasted bagel.

Saturday: After a four hour drive back to Toronto and a quick bite to eat, I had my wife drive me to a gig at the Royal Botanical Gardens in Burlington. This was a trio gig with Jonathan Marks on violin and Fabrice Sicco on accordion. We played some lovely French waltzes and the usual swing suspects, such as All of Me and Bye, Bye Blues, which lend themselves well to this format. The violin and the accordion most certainly lend a romantic, Gallic appeal to the music which the audience picks up on immediately.

Later that evening, after Jonathan gave me a ride home, I had to drive out yet again: this time to play a private party in Oakville with Brandon Walker on tenor sax. Fortunately, this was only a one set deal and I was back home around 11PM. By the time I hit the sack that night I was squeezed out drier than a lemon. Almost a thousand km's and three gigs in 24 hours.

Early Sunday afternoon: I headed down to the Distillery District to play a four hour solo gig. The Distillery was packed with visitors, as the Jazz Festival was on. I wrote about this part of town in one of my earlier entries here - suffice it to say that I like it down there a lot. Toronto needs more places like the Distillery District, which is a magnet for musicians and artists and feels integral to the community.

To crown the four day gig fest, last night (Monday), I accompanied Amy once again. This time at her CD release party at the Top O' the Senator . I won't wax poetic for too long but playing on the very same stage where I saw Diana Krall, Mose Allison and many other of my favourite musicians perform was a deep experience for me. The band cooked, with Anthony Panacci on keys and Doug Banwell on alto and flute and Amy was her usual perky and professional self.

It's easy to become jaded in this business. You do three to four gigs a week, week in, week out - they do tend to blend together more than a little. I still love what I do every bit as much as I did when I started performing all those moons ago but when you've played Ain't Misbehavin' in pretty much every key (except for F# and B!!) for the three hundreth time at a gathering of overfed accountants in Kmart suits, well, it just doesn't have the same kick it did the first time around. And when you've been playing other composers' tunes night in, night out, while your own are waiting to be published and dsitributed, well, some bitterness does creep in. BUT: playing at the Senator last night, it all melted away and once again - as periodically happens, thank God - things fell into place and I knew, really knew down deep, why I do what I do. So thank you, Amy, for getting the Sen booking. It was magic!

reality knocking

2005-05-26T18:00:00.000-07:00

Why is it called "mid-life" crisis? The anxiety that grips you when creeping thoughts of loves lost, dreams unfullfilled, hopes crushed and women untasted are so frequent they have become a looped back-projection of your life? My question is, why "mid" life? Assuming an average male life span of 75, your mid-life crisis, along with mid-life success and mid-life contentment should happen when you're around 37! Admittedly, I was dealing with various crises at the age of 37 but the death of hope and a nagging ennui were not among them.

One starts out with a feeling that everything is possible, goes through stages of diminishing possibility to arrive at the reality of "some things possible, most not possible". To me, that's what mid-life crisis is all about. It's the arrival of reality. Just like in Canada winter is the reality and summer is the dream, so in life
all- encompassing hope is the dream and mid-life crisis is reality. Therefore, the word "crisis" is a misnomer.
A crisis has a solution, almost by definition. A crisis is really a gate to further possibility. But what I'm talking about are the icy fingers of reality:

a) when shiny young faces, eager contestants and pitchy voices seem outrageously irrelevant
b) when no one but you and your world weary, aging friends understand how serious a political crisis is
c) when a hot lasagne is much more enticing than hot lovemaking
d) when indigestion is the main topic of conversation -

you know reality has arrived, mon ami!

short uncle sam visit

2005-05-19T08:45:00.000-07:00

I drove down to Buffalo last night to pick up my daughter and her boyfrined. They had flown into New York from Iceland and then on to Buffalo via JetBlue. I bought her JetBlue tickets after I found out that a direct N.Y.C. - Toronto flight cost three times (yes, that's correct: THREE TIMES) as much as a N.Y.C. - Buffalo flight. If the difference were a hundred bucks, I wouldn't have bothered with the drive down. But for this kind of a "price differential" (as car salesmen like to say when they "service" their customer) - I would have been a fool not to drive.

The immigration check going in is pretty rigorous: not impolite but certainly thorough and aggressive. Everything after the immigration check is a breeze and a pleasure. Customer service is invariably excellent, smiles abound and "no problem, hon" is the most frequently heard catchphrase. As I was waiting for my daughter to emerge from the gate, I asked one of the passing passangers which flight she was coming from. She stopped, smiled and told me before waving and walking on. Not twenty seconds later, a lady approached me, again with a beaming smile, and said: "I could not help but overhear you asking about the JetBlue flight - my daughter is coming in from Kennedy on that flight and she just called me to say they're deplaning". I thanked her and two minutes later my daughter and her boyfriend were running towards me.

Whenever I go to the States, I always get the same feeling: people are more polite, customer service is incomparably better and most of all, most folks seem to just plain enjoy life! There is some of the same attitude in small towns across Canada (thought not as effusive) but definitely none in stuck-up, rushed, sour, holier-than-thou Toronto. I cannot count how many people in this city I've talked to who feel they are somehow "superior" to the Americans. I have never understood what that superiority was about. We may be building an opera house and have marginally less snow than Buffalo but what else? Paul Martin as Prime Minister? Dalton McGuinty as premier? Is that what we feel superior about? The sense of community is all but gone here. Our waterfront is horrible. Our transit is rapidly going to seed and road rage, sidewalk rage and mall rage are all the rage. If there are grounds for any kind of feelings of superiority - I can't see them. I, for one, love visiting the U.S., despite the post 9/11 border rigor.

roy in the sunshine

2005-05-18T03:00:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it! I can't believe I've waited this long! I can't believe I've waited this long to get a CD player for my car!! I've resisted and mumbled excuses, fixing the car, buffing the car, spoiling this 15 year old brat like a 15 year old brat. 250K clicks and still runs fine. But until today it only had the original Honda stereo system with decent speakers and a cassette player. So, finally, this morning I took it the car audio people round the corner - Belrose Car Audio (when they get a webiste, I'll publish it here because they're great) - and for much less than I had recently paid for minor brake work, they put a spanking new Alpine system in my dashboard. The operation was painless and took all of 25 minutes. I passed my time pleasantly, reading the Toronto Sun's coverage of our new Minister of Social Development, Belinda Stronach, a.k.a. B.S.

I paid up, hopped into my car and slipped in a CD. It was one of my own CD's so I didn't get too, too excited. But then I ran home, grabbed a Roy Orbison compilation (well, I also grabbed jazz favourites Stan Getz, Chet Baker and Kenny Burrell in case you're wondering whether I'd parked my jazz snobbery at the door!) and ran back down to the car.

All I can say is this: if you haven't experienced a gorgoeus, sunny spring day, driving with the sunroof open and "Only The Lonely" blasting on your speakers - you haven't lived. I was able to hum along to OTL but when "Walk On" came on (get the hankies ready), I cried. I mean, come on:

Walk on, don't turn around
Walk on, to higher ground
Take the love we shared together
Keep it in your heart forever
Don't forget me
Oh baby walk on....

(and now THE KICKER!)

If you ever loved me, baby, WALK ON

The last words sung in Roy's signature operatic high tenor, punctuated by the equally characteristic
ba-ba-ba-bum of tympani and strings. The amazing thing about Roy Orbison's ballads is that they have pathos but are never pathetic. No matter how seemingly overblown the arrangement, Roy's keening voice and heart-torn pleas always ring true. If you listen at full volume, with sunroof open, digging every single db out of your new system....I gotta tell you, it's pretty blissful.

Even made me forget about our political bombshell from yesterday. Belinda Stronach and the screwy machinations of the Liberal Party are but insignificant ephemera. Sunny days in the spring and Roy Orbison on a new car CD player are what the good stuff is made of.

quote from cicero

2005-05-17T19:30:00.000-07:00

And since I started quoting Marcus Tulius Cicero in my last entry, here's another Cicero speech fragment - very pertinent to the Belinda affair:

"A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and he carries his banners openly. But the traitor moves among those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor appears not traitor, he speaks in the accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their garments, and he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of a city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to be feared"

Mike Kohler used this quote on another blog and I couldn't help but use it here too. The ancients knew it well: There's nothing new under the sun!

quo usque tandem, belinda

2005-05-17T16:40:00.000-07:00

How much longer must we endure the farce of our Liberal government? How much longer will these clowns abuse our patience and our money? How many more Belinda Stronach incidents can we take?
For those of you who don't live the Great White Waste of Time, a.k.a. cA-nA-dA, here is a short synopsis: the governing party is called the Liberals (probably because they steal taxpayer money very liberally) They have been implicated in numerous huge scandals, none bigger than the money laundering schemes and brazen thievery, now investigated by Judge Gomery (see one of my previous posts) Mainly because of this scandal, the government is now teetering on the brink of collapse. They need every vote they can muster in order to pass the upcoming vote of confidence. So what do they do? First of all, they delay the vote as long as possible to make sure that cancer stricken Conservative MP's are unable to attend (and anyone who wants to pretend this is not the case should go immediately back on their medication) Then they try to woo a few Conservative MP's from Atlantic Canada, essentially claiming that if their government falls, the Atlantic region will wither and die (read: it will receive a few billion less in federal money, collected mostly in Ontario and Alberta) If I were an Atlantic Canadian this would offend me enough not to vote Liberal ever again - this claim amounts to no less than a declaration of dependence, as if the Atlantic provinces were unable to function without Uncle Ottawa's constant propping up! Now, the cherry on top: the Libranos have managed to entice a Conservative MP, Belinda Stronach [but try THIS Belinda for a WAY better website], to cross the floor in exchange for a cabinet position. Belinda, in her usual profoundly principled manner, immediately accepted the generous offer. That the Libranos have no principles does not surprise me. But I am surprised at the brazen chutzpa exhibited by an MP who only a few short months ago campaigned FOR THE LEADERSHIP of the Conservative Party, no less and then squeaked in during the last election by a very slim margin. What the heck is she thinking? If I were a voter in Newmarket (Belinda's riding), I know what I'd be thinking: baby, you'd better look for a safe riding next time around because in these parts, you're toast!

And so the saga continues. It now seems unlikely that the Conservatives will have enough votes on Thursday to bring down the government. I am not unduly worried, though, because the nauseating stench emanating from the Gomery inquiry will eventually turn enough stomachs to force an election fairly soon.

I am worried, though, about Stephen Haraper and his ability to survive Belinda's stab in the back. He is basically a decent guy, I think, but someone who is stodgy and wooden and not able to arouse any kind of passion in voters. I don't mind, my passions are aroused enough by the nefarious machinations of the Liberals and I would vote Conservative if Mickey Mouse was their party leader. At this point in time, I'd vote Green before I'd vote Liberal. What is astounding to me is that is that our masses of Ontario champagne socialists don't get it: there is a perfectly untainted party on their side of the street (the NDP) which they could vote for, or the above mentioned Greens. But NOOOOOOO.....Ontarians will continue voting Liberal till hell freezes over (judging by temperatures today, this could happen soon, though!)

Quo usque tandem, Belinda et Liberalae, abutere patientia nostra??

my mind is on vacation

2005-05-14T21:00:00.000-07:00

Paraphrasing the title of the great Mose Allison tune, I regret to report that I have not been able to think about anything in a cohesive enough manner to blog about it. I am preoccupied chiefly with three things these days and I will certainly get around to writing about at least one of them: a) aging and its associated fears b) getting back to meaningful songwriting and c) the filth and stink emanating from the current government...let me add d) the indifference with which c) is treated in this country/province/city - and it is astounding. We are at the precipice of the most profound constitutional crisis in this country's history and people either don't know or don't care or endorse the crooks. Oh yeah, sorry, there's also e) - the IIHF tournament. Yes, I'm talking hockey!! The most exciting hockey to be seen anywhere on the planet. And TSN is broadcasting all the Candian games. And just like the constitutional crisis - it's all under the radar of most blase, indifferent T.O. denizens. Wake up, people and tune in to TSN tomorrow morning for the final. Guess who's in it? Canada vs the Czech Rep (wish I could watch it but I'll be strumming my gtr and vocalizing at the Distillery)
Later
GG

vive la difference

2005-05-06T16:25:00.000-07:00

Why is it that those who yearn to differ from the norm end by being the most conformist? You will not see a more same-y looking crowd than a herd of teenagers, each simultaneously pining to be special and to blend in with the in-crowd. Pierced belly buttons and tattoos abound, all symbols of a desperate desire to "be different". The need to rebel is expressed as the most monotonous conformity. At the same time, the kid who really *is* different is the one who practices piano five hours a day and becomes a concert musicians or the one who excells in math or any other specific field of endeavour; the point being - it's not the rebeliousness that creates the unique individual but rather hard work which actually follows accepted norms.

Later in life, the herd instinct is expressed through fashion - be it platform shoes or skinny ties, mutton chop sideburns or bell bottom pants. Many people desire to be "in", then express the opinion that they are *special*, therefore "out".

Forget about the politically correct, nauseating mantra about everyone being special. The only thing that will make you special is talent and hard work. I don't think Einstein worried too much about the brand of his shoes.