The Rattle Bag: Collecting the bits & pieces

The Big, Red Spaceship Car & the Time Rift

December 10, 2009 · Leave a Comment

usa_2009_dodge_grandcaravan_van_4_x_exfrdrvr75_xOver the past week, I feel like I’ve aged 10 years. When my wife and I went out looking for a new car, I was thinking of the sporty Subaru WRX, or maybe the bold Toyota FJ Cruiser.

We came home with a Dodge Caravan: 17 inch wheels, inferno red, nine speakers, I was ready to roll.

And what was our first road trip? Turtleback Zoo!

As we cruised down the road I wondered why my office mates gave me such a hard time when I tried to show it off.

“I remember those days,” one groaned.

“I just got free myself,” said another. “I couldn’t wait to get out of that thing.”

“But it’s got the sports suspension,” I countered.

That gave everyone a good laugh.

Luckily, my wife and I suffer from the same delusion and we were totally happy with our purchase.

“Put on Dan Zanes,” said my son.

Dan Zanes, good idea, I thought to myself as I hit play and started the folk music sing-along.

How could anyone not think this minivan was cool?

“Comfy back there?” I asked as the minivan that my son named “Big Red Spaceship Car” floated along. This was certainly a new phase in my life.

The time shift caused by purchasing a minivan was not unlike the effect caused in the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” when the scene jumps from young boy George Bailey to a fully grown Bailey in a fedora.

Viewers first meet him as an adult holding a suitcase. This scene perfectly illustrates why I love my minivan.

Just like the jumbo suitcase that wide-eyed George Bailey intended to buy, the minivan represents possibilities.

Family trips to Colorado to see Owen’s grandparents, Florida to see my cousin…the same cousin I teased for buying a minivan not so long ago!

My mind switched to thinking of him. We always had fun camping together as kids.

I should take the family camping with the minivan I thought as I took off my fedora and put it on the passenger seat.

Yes, I was wearing a fedora, and yes, I was driving in the right lane.

I do feel older in my new minivan, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

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How is enlightenment like a fish sandwich?

December 8, 2009 · Leave a Comment

And then he stepped outside and it was still raining…

It was a unique morning and he didn’t know what to expect from the rest of the day. But that probably meant the rain was fine, and it fit his hazy mood. How is one supposed to feel after achieving enlightenment?

There was a glide to his step, not to be confused with the kind of glide that might come with self-confidence, it felt more like how he typically experienced his morning commute—almost on autopilot.

The surprise sting of hot coffee on his tongue subtly confirmed that, yes, another day was underway. He was already at the office standing in front of the water cooler about two hours after his grand realization. A life’s worth of searching had come to an end earlier this morning. He had come to the end of the universe and saw what’s beyond it.

On the surface, he seemed a sensible man, reliable and steady to his coworkers. Truth be told, he was a restless searcher toiling away each waking hour with no idea what he was working toward.

“The search for the missing center,” that was the subtitle of his book, a book he’d been working on for more than 20 years. He had no clue what that meant. He just knew that he needed to keep on writing.

That is, until this morning when a toe strangled by a blanket almost led to his death.

Sounds strange, doesn’t it? That a man could die from a having a blanket rapped around his toe in his sleep? But it can happen.

If his blanket hadn’t cut off the circulation to his toe, if the pain and confusion to which he awoke didn’t send him into a state of shock (and we all know that shock can be deadly) his wife would have never uttered the words that led to his epiphany.

Up to this point, even though he had a nice home, loving family and two relatively new cars in the driveway, he saw his life as Shakespearean and in some ways, tragic. Failed efforts to love those around him kept him up nights. He did his best to burn the candle at both ends. He marked his path with the clues left by other artists that came before him.

Vincent VanGogh saw the world as extreme. John Lennon saw the world as lonely. Diane Arbus knocked against ideas of beauty.

As he lay there sipping water his wife—who could run mental circles around him—wanted to relieve his suffering. She searched Web MD on her iPhone, gave him blankets and water. And also, as a side-note, she put all of the Shakespearian drama of his life into perspective.

The framework for his life was set by his heroes. His path was lit ablaze by his personal quests. From what he had seen, all artists propel themselves through life like this, raging against the night until they’ve made a big enough spectacle of themselves to light the way for the next in line.

As far as he knew, none of them ever managed to get their burning questions answered.

But now here he was, sipping water in bed with the circulation returning to his toe, and his wife, almost in an offhand manner had just blurted out his answer, THE answer to life the universe and everything.

The missing center he spent the last 20 years documenting in his book was at last, filled in. A lifetime of searching was finished. His own actions made more sense to him now, so did the actions of those around him.

He was glad. For a second, he felt overwhelmed, but then, underwhelmed.

He took her iPhone and dialed his friend.

“I feel like I’m John Cleese in the middle of a Monty Python skit,” he said to his friend who was in his car, about to start his morning commute. “I feel like I’ve come to the end of the universe and someone has just handed me a fish sandwich.”

In his best Cleese impersonation, “Is that what I came all the way here for? A fish sandwich?”

“Yes, here you go.”

His friend chimed in.

“Well, I hope it gave you peace,” said his friend. “I’m all for a feeling of peace.”

It did feel peaceful, but with a twist of befuddlement.

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Interview with Rosanne Cash…

December 7, 2009 · Leave a Comment

An interview I did in 2006…

Rosanne Cash was born in 1956 to her father, singer, Johnny Cash and Vivian Liberto. Her parents separated in the early 60s and Rosanne was raised by her mom in California. After high school, she joined her father on the road.

Rosanne wasn’t sure that she wanted to follow in her dad’s footsteps. Celebrity has been a constant companion in her life, a companion she’s been wary of…

She traveled and worked as a secretary before testing out the waters of her own music career by writing songs. But Rosanne didn’t want to be the star singing them.

In 1978 she recorded her first album, “Rosanne Cash.”  She said it took her another 10 years (and a number of hits) before she started to feel comfortable in her own shoes.

Being comfortable, or more likely throwing caution to the wind, brought her critical success in 2006 when she released “Black Cadillac.”

On this album, the reluctantly public artist opened up to her muse and to her fans in an effort to deal with grief after the loss of her mother, stepmother (June Carter Cash), stepsister and father.

Me: Early on, you were considering being a songwriter for other people as opposed to writing for yourself. Why was that?

Rosanne: The idea of being a performer didn’t appeal to me that much. I just didn’t need that much attention (laughs). But it became very satisfying to perform my own songs. I am happy that it turned out the way that it did.

Me: Do you think, because of the fame in your life when you were growing up and then the fame in your adult life, that there have been a lot of misconceptions about you?

Rosanne: Misconceptions? Yes. Misconceptions are definitively equated with fame. They are sort of the same thing. If you are famous you are going to be misinterpreted. But I don’t care. I don’t pay attention to it. I don’t do it because of what the public thinks. I do it because I am a working artist.

Me: Do you think your fans have a more accurate perception of you?

Rosanne: I don’t know. I don’t know what other people think. It’s not my business.

Me: You have opened up a lot of personal issues on your album “Black Cadillac.” Was that hard to do?

Rosanne: It wasn’t hard to write the songs. They are not a diary. Nobody knows what the actual truth was but me. I certainly didn’t employ a fact checker to come in at the end of the songs and make sure that every detail was true. There is poetic license taken. But having said that, of course there are documented details from my life. I had a moment of clutching before the record came out, thinking did I really want to put this out? But I think that is the best kind of art. It’s personal, but it’s also universal. I am certainly not the first person to experience these things.

Me: How does it feel to perform the songs?

Rosanne: It feels great. It changes depending on where I am and what the audience brings to it. But there is a lot of liberation in performing these songs. And they are songs –there’s music. It’s not as if I am getting up and reading from a diary.

Me: Now that the record has been out a while, what do you think of it?

Rosanne: I think it’s my best work. As soon as the first track starts, it’s in your face, but it’s also very skillful.

Me: It’s delicate and aggressive at the same time?

Rosanne: That is a good way to put it. I feel that way too. It’s a combination of gentleness and aggression.

Me: You’ve said that some of the songs on the album wouldn’t let you sleep. Which songs were those?

Rosanne: Probably the earliest ones, “World Unseen,” “God is in the Roses,” “I Was Watching You.”  Those songs were obsessions while I was writing them.

Me: You also said that some of the songs “couldn’t go back to the ether.” That’s a great image. It reminded me of how Paul McCartney said “Yesterday” came to him.

Rosanne: He dreamed it…

Me: Yes, is that how songs come to you?

Rosanne: Yeah, the best ones. Some of them I could patch together with just my skill and experience of 30 years as a songwriter.  But the best ones come from somewhere else. You feel like you are a vehicle for the songs. Sometimes I think that what Heaven is, is a place with more beautiful music than we could ever compose. We just catch a glimpse of the edge of it in our peripheral vision and that is the song that we write. There is always that perfect song that I can’t get to, that I can’t write, that I want so badly.

Me: If that is Heaven, then what would hell be?

Rosanne: (Laughing) We create that everyday. Don’t we?

Me: Is there a favorite part of the writing process for you?

Rosanne: When it’s done… that moment when I know it’s going to work and I have broken through the wall. That is my favorite part.

Me: Has your relationship to music changed over the last 30 years?

Rosanne: Yes, it’s gotten better, deeper… like somebody that I have been married to and have learned to know better, but who still constantly surprises me. I love it more than ever.

Me: What’s on the horizon for you?

Rosanne: I am finishing another book and then I am going to start recording again in the next few months, I imagine.

Me: What is the book about?

Rosanne: It’s nonfiction. I hesitate to say memoir, but it kind of is…

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senryu

December 6, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Bird on the telephone wire

–so content–

I think I’ll stay in today.

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senryu

December 4, 2009 · 2 Comments

turning the sun into a steering wheel –

he follows the birds

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An interview with Tony Bennett

December 3, 2009 · Leave a Comment

‘The Good Life’, thanks to a good family

In Tony Bennett’s mind, there are a few key ingredients that make his life a good life. While singing and painting vie for the number two spot in his heart, neither would have been possible without the help of family.

This family bond can be seen on stage these days as Bennett’s daughter Antonia performs with him. They are set to hit the stage at the Wellmont Theatre on Dec. 4.

“I’m surrounded by my family,” he says. “I get great inspiration from my wife, Susan. My two sons work with me. My daughter, Johanna, is an actress. My daughter, Antonia, performs with me. Antonia is a very good performer and the audience loves her.”

But it was a rocky road with plenty of ups and downs that led Bennett to the harmonious life he has now.

He was born Anthony Dominick Benedetto in 1926. The son of a grocer grew up in Astoria, Queens, N.Y. He lived through the Great Depression and served in World War II. But he says it was thanks to his family that the tough times weren’t tougher.

Little Anthony made a name for himself early on as a singer. In 1936, he earned a high profile gig performing for Mayor Fiorello La Guardia at the opening of the Triborough Bridge. He was only 10 years old.

That same year, illness took his father away from him.

His mom became a seamstress to keep money coming into the household.

At 16, Bennett dropped out of high school so he could work full-time and help his mom support the family.

Thanks to extended family banding together, Bennett has plenty of warm memories from those hard times.  Weekly family pot luck dinners were greatly appreciated.

“We couldn’t wait until Sunday to be with all the relatives,” he told AARP magazine. “It was a warm and wonderful feeling. I realized, this is natural, the way it’s supposed to be. There was never a touch of loneliness, never a thought of what’s going to happen to me? It’s funny that, in the middle of deep poverty, it was the warmest time of my life.”

In 1944, Bennett was drafted into the Army. World War II’s Battle of  the Bulge was yet another rough patch for Bennett. But fate had something else in store for him. As the bombs were falling around Bennett, superiors called for a retreat. He thought he was retreating to save his life. In reality, his superiors pulled him from the front lines for a little rest and regrouping at a Bob Hope show.

Bennett was one of the GIs who got to sing on stage during that show. It was another moment in time that stood out in his mind. But it wasn’t until after the war that Bennett would make an impression on Hope.

In 1950, Hope had come to see Pearl Bailey in Greenwich Village. Bennett was also on the bill. At that point, Hope was so impressed with Bennett that he put him into his stage show. In an interview with Terry Gross on NPR, Bennett said that it was Hope’s suggestion that he change his stage name to Tony Bennett.

The fifties were an exciting time for Bennett. In 1951, he had his first hit, “Because of You.” The hits kept coming with “Cold, Cold Heart,” “Rags to Riches,” “Stranger in Paradise,” “There’ll Be No Teardrops Tonight” and “Cinnamon Sinner.”

Hope helped him get underway, but there was yet another famous entertainer that watched over him.  In the 50s, after a string of hits, Bennett used his star status to go back stage and meet a singer he adored, Frank Sinatra.

Sinatra had a reputation as being tough and unapproachable, but he took a shine to Bennett. He virtually took Bennett under his wing. The advice Sinatra gave him guides Bennett to this day.

Over the years, Sinatra lobbied for Bennett and sent his own fans to Bennett’s shows. He put fans in the seats, as Bennett says. As far as the advice Sinatra gave him: choose good songs, Sinatra said, and if you’re nervous, let that be your bond with your audience.

If you’re nervous, that means you care and if the audience sees you care, they’ll root for you, Sinatra told Bennett.

What makes for a good song?

“A good song has to have a perfect melody with good harmony, and very intelligent lyrics,” Bennett says.

But, in his estimation, there aren’t too many of those being written today.

“Most current songs are forgettable. They are hyped by big corporations that say these new songs are better but within 4-5 weeks the songs are completely forgotten,” he says. “Years ago the audience told radio stations what to play and the record companies would service them, but that is not true today.”

If anyone could tell the difference between what’s a fad and what is quality, it would have to be Bennett. He has remained a viable commercial artist for more than six decades. His own work has fallen in and out of favor over that span, but he’s always managed to bounce back.

In the late 70s came Bennett’s nadir. Once again, it  was his family that came to the rescue. The good life had come crashing down around him. The hits had long since stopped flowing. Bennett found himself addicted to drugs and without a record label. Money was getting tight.

He called on his two sons for help. They took the reigns,  managed his career, his money, his band and planned a comeback. It worked like clockwork.

By the middle of the 80s, Bennett was re-signed to Columbia Records and was making guest appearances on hit TV shows. In the 90s, he won over the MTV crowd with his performance on the show “MTV Unplugged.”

In this decade alone he has won five Grammy awards, most recently for his 2006 album, “For Once in My Life,” according to the AllMusic Blog.

For ticket information, call 973-783-9500.

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senryu

December 1, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Moonlight at the gate;

like the bluebird on the ground,

I glow out of place.

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November 29, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Not singing:

Staring out the window

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Poem: Every Even⎯ing Has Its Singing

November 28, 2009 · 4 Comments

Every evening has its singing—
Its necessary silence;
Unexpected chill.

Every evening has its turning—
Its closing or finishing;
Its covering up.

Every evening has its warm familiar comfort
Just before fading music leads into the fall…

(Dreams like scars are curving inward at the soul
as a single spider sits on a recessed mountain range.)

Every evening has its turning star;
And its disappearance—
Its plans for the wounded animal in the woods.

Every evening has its favorite magazine or book,
Its lamp just out of reach.

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The Poet

November 27, 2009 · 2 Comments

Mitch’s friend Bob felt sorry for him at the bar, even a little embarrassed for him when he spent $40 on a massage from a 20-year-old. It didn’t get any better when Bob questioned him. Mitch said it was the first time he was touched by a woman in over a year. So Bob did his best to project over the music and keep Mitch company while he bought waitresses in tight shorts $30 shots.

At last call Bob and Mitch went out into the cold and said goodbye as each turned to his own pickup truck. It was an unlucky night for Bob.

When Mitch pulled into his driveway the lights were on and his wife was waiting. He walked in, took off his shoes, and sat on the couch. Using just the right amount of pressure Susan rubbed his back, like she did every night for the last 20 years. She then made him some tea and handed him his pen. No one ever met Susan.

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