This is guitarist Jim McLaughlin. Thankfully, he can play anything. I'm going to make him sing a LOT. With this, we are off to the races -- trading guitar lessons for voice lessons.
The good news is that I'm farther along than I think I am with the guitar, which is kind of a relief. It's not nearly enough, of course -- so I'm still way frustrated. I can't think about any of that, though, or I'll quit. I have to do stuff to make it fun and take my mind off of how far off the mark I think I am. Stuff like writing songs and working up new ideas and practicing while I channel surf. Mindless, meditative stuff. Stuff that will distract me, keep some other part of me bouncing around.
The good news with James is that he can actually sing and he's got an ear so he can sing harmony. (Sweet victory!) The rest of 2016 will be colorful and interesting...!
Here's the latest fingerpicking pattern.
I don't care how long it takes me to learn how to play guitar. I don't care if I figure it out by the time I'm 90 years old. I'll be an old lady and I will be bringing the heat and I won't care at all.
i know that september 3rd is "freddie king day" in texas, but i thought i'd start celebrating early.
anyone that says aside from jimi hendrix and vernon reid, black rock guitarists don't really exist isn't paying attention. freddie king died way too soon. maybe if he'd lived through the 80s, more people would know who he is.
i absolutely drop-dead love this song. it's so heavy and righteous and free, in all the right ways. after listening to freddie king play guitar all afternoon, it's hard to take in the fluff that passes for rock and roll these days -- even if it's on somebody else's radio.
everybody's got their favorite jimi. there's jimi with the perm and the ruffled shirts, fresh from london, humping his guitar when he solos and lighting it on fire and all that rot. and then there's jimi as black hippie with the headband around his afro, all tight pants and empassioned bravado. jimi -- always a mesmerizing visage regardless of which one you're casually observing.
this is my favorite jimi: steeped in the blues, blacker than thou, doing funky dance steps in a hard-touring chitlin circuit r&b outfit. (too bad there's no footage with him when he was with little richard...) i love this jimi especially because so many seem to have forgotten how bluesy he was, how close he was to those roots.
this is the oldest known film clip of jimi, in a live performance of the song shotgun with junior walker and the all stars. you can't miss him. he's in the back on the left, totally in step with his upside-down backwards guitar.
here's the question of the moment: does the-one-and-only guitarist/rock and roll icon jimi hendrix have a sex tape?
evidently, we'll find out today. porn giant vivid entertainment is releasing 45 minutes of grainy 40 year old footage that contains what they're describing as jimi hendrix having his way with not one but two brunettes, on a special website. the jimi hendrix estate says its a hoax. (and why wouldn't they?) so does jimi's longtime girlfriend kathy etchingham, whose remark about the man in question on the video -- "his nose is too broad" -- made one friend of mine say, maybe she doesn't remember how black jimi actually looked. heh.
she also said he was "too shy" to do something like this. well, maybe he had those moments with her -- but he certainly wasn't "too shy" to let two girls backstage inbetween shows to work him up enough to make a plaster of his junk.
clearly, cynthia plaster caster says it is jimi. and truth be told, so does the plaster cast mold that she and her assistant made of his erect, um, instrument. interestingly enough, pamela des barres, who romped around with everyone back in the day, says that's jimi.
what's disturbing is how much money this company is probably going to make from this video. what could be more exploitative than taking advantage of a famous dead person and wrecking a name and a reputation that they can't defend?
here's the real kicker: what if those brunettes step forward and authenticate the video? where are they? i wonder what they'll look like, if they're still alive? they're probably church-going grandmas by now.
can you imagine, sitting down and explaining what you were doing in that video to your kids and your grandkids?
i don't know if there's lots of porn out there of famous people. but i know for sure that there will never be an end to the people who will stand up and say that they have access to that porn, and for X amount of money, they'll gladly let you see it. the porn that marilyn monroe supposedly did as a starlet was a total hoax -- but now that the information has circled the globe that she's a porn star, who's going to believe that she's not?
and that's the real harm that's being done to mr. hendrix.
i'm reading a bio on sister rosetta tharpe called shout sister, shout! that's really changing the way i see her as a rock and roll prototype and the way i see myself as a musician and performer.
look at how amazingly cool she is!
wierdly enough, she and i are a lot alike. we both grew up as members of the pentecostal church, in the sanctified church, otherwise known as C.O.G.I.C. we both had our first moments as vocalists and performers there -- although the image of her as a 5 year old standing on a piano and wielding a guitar is pretty stultifying. she's very much a holly roller and not surprisingly, she's a showgirl, a real comedienne and entertainer, a flashy, schmaltzy frontperson that believes in entertaining the audience. the photo to the left is pretty cool but in my favorite images of her, she's got on a long elegant glittery gown, she's wearing beautiful jewelry, she's flawlessly made up and gorgeous, and she's got a bonafide electric rock and roll guitar -- not some folksy, quiet, acoustic number.
i must say, i for one have never understood the urge to not dress up when appearing onstage. i'm the one that dresses up to get to the gig, so i can dress up all over again. any excuse to wear a gown of some sort -- even if it's denim -- and i'm probably going to take it.
in the videos i've seen, she's slinging her guitar with an authority and ease that's positively ballsy. and of course, absolutely unheard of, then and now. she's not a quiet strumming wallflower. everything about her is loud, from her amped up guitars to her over-the-top showmanship. and i love loud.
this is really inspiring me to dig in and continue to learn how to play guitar. but looking at the video clip below and watching her go at it is enough to make anyone want to plug in and rock out.
guitar-slinging blackgrrls have always been -- and continue to be -- legion. there are a lot of us out there to inspire me. (memphis minnie, anyone?)
somewhere inside of the past week, i had a callback for a reoccurring role on All My Children, i committed to another guitar class at NYC Guitar School (Blues Guitar Basics) and i started work on Ed Durante's indie shoot, Jake Gets Paid.
all in all, not a bad way to end the first three months of the year.
now here's a little something you'll really like: the one and only ornette coleman in italy performing at some festival for national television, circa 1974. (wow. you really can find anything on youtube.com!) it's almost absurd, how young and lean and how hungry to "do their art and make their mark" everyone looks. and yes, of course -- that's james "blood" ulmer on guitar with a dark wide-brimmed hat on, refusing to look up.
blood can't stand having his picture taken -- and he doesn't like video cameras at all. once when we were in poland, he stopped playing towards the middle of a show until everyone cleared away all the cameras. and there were a lot of them.
i can’t remember when the song layla sank into my consciousness.
i was a proper church-going little girl, i was in the deep, deep south and hee-haw was on tv every week. i was surrounded by cousins and sweet dirt and sky, and the sun was always shining, even when it rained. everything was drenched in twang and rock and gospel. i remember a little battery operated transistor radio in my bedroom that had a strap on one side of it. i remember lying on my stomach, playing with my paper dolls with that radio right next to my head, listening to the allman brothers.
no one told me that what i was listening to was for white people, that i was supposed to be at the r&b end of the table because i was black and that’s what black people listened to. i instinctively knew that table was mine and i could sit whereever i wanted. later, much later, in college and even in my early time in nyc—when i was supposed to be surrounded by smart cool talented individuals—i can distinctly remember them (black and white) balking when i said which butthole surfers record i preferred or how much i liked bands like husker du and captain beefheart and the pixies or how i loved mudhoney way more than nirvana for that supermuff but cobain wrote catchier songs or how i was going to go see john doe somewhere downtown the next night. the question hung in the air like pastel colored streamers at a mexican prom: how did i know so much about rock? rarely ever would anyone ever actually ask. (too bad.)
“you’re an anomaly,” some white someone told me once.
“oh really,” i said flatly. i couldn’t believe that he meant that as a compliment. but he did. “maybe i’m the norm,” i casually suggested. “either way,” i continued, “how would you know?” (and no, that's not all i said. not by a long shot.) i'm probably always going to remember how his face changed as that one sank in.
that whole blipster thing is just one more stupid chapter in a continuing bizarre racist saga of “how to sell music to america” that some yahoo set up when they figured out how to make money off of records back in the day. now that they’ve come up with a name for The Only Black Person At The Show, they can patronize with some degree of accuracy and still be completely off the mark.
but i digress.
i think duke ellington was dead-on correct when he said there’s only two kinds of music—good and bad. unknowingly, the song layla set it off for me. or was it freeform fm radio? i don’t know.
i never thought much of eric clapton as a vocalist or as a guitarist (yes, he’s great—no, he’s not a deity) but i did love derek and the dominos. the more i listened to the music, the more i wanted to know more about where all of that passion and feeling and desperation came from. i heard snippets of stories here and there. and what happened to the drummer sounded like a wierd urban legend. but then i found this layla book and had it all explained to me, in such lurid detail that i could almost feel their collective exhaustion after some drug addled binge in the english countryside.
all of that 70’s excess—the heroin, the alcohol, the ferraris that were paid for in cash, the hookers that duane allman had imported from macon for their sessions in miami—that’s in there. but the love story at the core of it all is compelling stuff. and ultimately, the way clapton takes his feeling and pain and makes art is effing brilliant.
but it's the never-ending twang of that slide guitar that embraces something inside of me -- that something that knew sacred steel in a traditional church setting before elmore james made his presence felt and then duane allman turned it into something else. my southern ways are still there. they're completely intact and ever-present. thank Jesus.
oh. and duane and greg look like some hayseeds i went to school with, for real—which made me love them even more and miss the south of my childhood.
i don’t want to meet eric clapton. i want to meet bobby whitlock.
yesterday, after many fitful dreams and sleepless nights, i wrote the beginnings of a song about red ryder -- and i think it might be good. but i can't tell from here. it just won't leave me alone -- and neither will warren. i can't imagine going back to austin and not seeing him again. that's really going to break my heart.
i'm going a little nuts because i cleaned up my apartment so thoroughly that i can't find this blank book that i filled with bits and pieces of songs that i was sketching out. (and that's not all i can't find...) i have to find it. all i can think is, it's in here somewhere. if everything was a complete mess, this wouldn't be a problem -- and that book would be right where i left it. so much for spring cleaning. (well. at least i didn't leave it at my parent's house in ATL.)
i'm losing my winter weight, finally -- not because i'm working out, either. it's because i'm drinking water all day and not eating late at night. (well. actually, i think this contraption might be helping me, too.)
freakin' bar chords are tearing my fingers up. i can't remember when i had a manicure but this is ridiculous. i have the hands of a day laborer -- and i don't like it. one thing's for sure: when i finally learn how to play guitar really well, i'm going to be one arrogant bastard. God help me -- i'm actually planning that last detail. (ha.)
talk about "escape from new york" for real: my friend wants me to show him austin, texas (the nation's capital!) -- so he can finally see what i've been going on about. we're planning a 5 day visit. his idea, not mine. i'm not sure the austin i remember and love is still there. i guess we'll both have to find that one out when we visit my friends this spring.
sorry i didn't post any pithy remarks about black history month in february. i'm usually so good about that stuff. the thing is, i don't walk around thinking about what a wonderfully uppity negress i am. to quote zora neale hurston, i'm too busy sharpening my oyster knife. actually, i don't think anybody spends a whole lot of time dwelling on their race or gender unless something happens that draws their attention to it. and if you're black, something is happening all the time. the difficulty is to not meditate on it.
when my blackness isn't brought to the forefront of my daily goings on, i'm thinking stuff like, i can't believe that i need four sets of boot trees or i'm almost out of vitamins or i'm not going to make it to jef lee johnson's show at the jazz standard next week or boy, do i love lobster bisque or i should call my grandma tomorrow. until something happens, i'm just another person, reaching for enough miracle whip for my sandwich. believe me -- the stupid things that can happen to people of color even in a place that's supposed to be as cool as nyc can turn anyone into a militant/activist. and in that regard, brothers and sisters, there's a little malcolm x (or a little betty shabazz) in each of us, no matter where we are in the world.
so here's a little cheat sheet of what's going on in my black world:
i need (yes, need!) three box sets: another one in the bob dylan bootleg series, willie dixon on chess and the layla and other assorted love songs 25th anniversary re-issue. listening to a lot of charlie christian and johnny cash these days, and i'm learning how to play bar chords and power chords.
i love playing guitar so much, i've already picked out my next one: a beautiful scaled down A & L parlor guitar, in a strange shade of blue.
believe it or not, i found a restaurant in east harlem called creole that serves real honest-to-goodness bona fide alligator etoufee.
congratulate me: i've finally perfected my ultra-southern sour-cream chocolate cake.
i think i'll bake one and take it to abdul at a. bistro in brooklyn. i miss my african chef.
i'm reading odimumba kwamdela these days. (if you've never heard of him, i highly recommend the semi-fictional novel/underground classic niggers, this is canada.)
FedEx/Kinko's audition yesterday. A&E promo audition today. Guitar lesson tonight. New York Lotto callback tomorrow. a day spa visit somewhere in this action-packed weekend of fingerpicking and songwriting. two weeks and counting with that fluidity bar. and all i can really think about (aside from the next guitar i want) is hanging my newly rewired old-lady chandelier in my kitchen...
my friend ralph says that this video is what made him want to play the guitar. after repeated viewings, i can definitely understand why. at the moment, there are other things that are compelling me to keep learning and playing but i have to admit -- the longer i watched this, the more inspired i felt.
who knows? if i had seen this as a kid, i probably would never have picked up that clarinet...
