Songs from West Side Astoria

Listen to the Album Here!!

Teymur Phell on Bass   and  Nat Janoff on Guitar

Recorded at Mantra Studios in Astoria, Queens

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What better way to celebrate than with the Allman Brothers at The Beacon Theater.   Here's a quick video of Junior Mack going Southbound.  The video is short because I wanted to watch the show! It is a bummer that Gregg Allman is feeling so bad but I hope he recovers quickly and gets strong soon so he and the Band can continue the great music!

Let Me Explain

Several years ago I was working with a pianist during a song gathering expedition.  I reached into my years' long collection and pulled out "Don't Explain" written and sung by Billie Holiday.  Don't Explain is a tortured tale of all consuming, all forgiving, unquestioning love.  My pianist refused to learn it.  "This is an awful song," he said, "I don't believe it."

I believe it. 

Don't Explain is a look inside the darkest longing.  That wake up in the middle of the night, cannot be alone, self-worthless part of our psyche.  Anything is better than that emptiness, including giving over to a completely worthless idea, no matter how painful. For some it is drugs or alcohol, for others it is human.

Yes, it is dark.  But hopefully light comes with the dawn rescuing us from that other place and we stand up again filled with life. Light has always rescued me from my own frailties and doubts.

My presentation of this song is different from Billie's, for I am different from her.  I know this darkness, she succumbed to it whereas I look for the light.  Poor, poor Billie.

Teymur Phell, who I am so proud to work with, heard a tango in the rhythm of this piece.  The tango, a controlled dance of passion, temper, and desire, suits me.    

Oh So Blue is My Favorite Color

 

 

Last summer I was fortunate to wander into a very cool little club, 55 Bar, over on Christopher Street. Three or four steps down from the street behind a mullioned door there is a low slung room strewn with café tables and with walls  covered in photos, album covers and posters of the greats, Robert Johnson, Miles, Anita O'day, Nina Simone, you name 'em.  My favorite is  Art Kanes's photo,  

A Great Day In Harlem, which brings the Jazz Pantheon together

for a one of a kind photo op. 

It was only 5 o'clock or so and Kirby, the bartender, was alone in the place setting up for the night.  Kirby was very welcoming and told me all about the 55 Bar's history and the great musicians who've played there over the years. While he was talking, in walks Nat Janoff, who was scheduled to play with his trio at seven.  They were both so friendly that I knew instantly what club was going to be my home spot for music.

I've been back many times, to hear Mike Stern , Leni Stern, Sweet Georgia Brown, Felix Pastorious, and like the casts of SNL the players of 55 Bar seem to form a troupe amongst themselves.  Nat has played with Felix, Mike Stern's bassist is Teymur Phell, who often plays with Nat, and who I have come to know as a incredible player.  It was only a month ago that I revealed to them I sing and we three, Teymor, Nat and I, are now meeting regularly to form a trio so we can add a new sound to the rich offerings of New York City. 

 

The video is only a peek into a rehearsal session. 

 Oh So Blue can also be found on my album with the late, very great Geoff Weeks on the piano,  but this is a totally different take on it. 

 Enjoy! 

Living in the Center of the Universe - Part Six

Sold the Pan Built a Fire 

When Em was a little girl I was able to give her a real violin.  It came by us in a wonderful way.  She had been wanting one when a musically artistic, intellectually gifted, and southern gentleman friend of mine happened to offer me a violin that had belonged to his son and which had been stored away in an attic, in of all places, Oxford, Mississippi.  With such a storied provenance the violin must be magical.  Em played that violin until her hands grew too big and she outgrew the idea of playing.  We then stored the pretty instrument in my closet.   

The violin was not for sale. 

Who then to pass the instrument to but young Master Sage, a beautiful boy who immediately drew the bow across the strings in a pleasing tone.  His home is filled

with music and musicians and love and I know that the violin will have a new and full life before it moves to the next.

*****

“How much for this piano?” “$2500 and not a penny less,” I told the old man as I sat down to play.  Okay, I’ll give you $5 for this blanket, No that’s $10, I don’t need to sell it and you’re the first customer of the day, I don’t want to give it away. Okay what about this little pile of things and the blanket for $10? So, you want to pay $10 for the blanket and all the other stuff for free?  Haha! Yes!  That’s why you call it a garage sale, to bargain!  Hand out, $10 in. Next! 

Unless family would come by and I would give them those things that could not be sold; Uncle Dan’s paintings, a wooden carving of Don Quixote that came from a trip to Madrid with my mother, some things Dad brought home from his travels, things that meant something to me but would not fit in the van. 

The mahogany table that my dad built for me I gave to my musical friends who I know will have their friends over, it will hold their wine and crayons and they will love it as a place of commune, conversation and family.     

The paper things I collected over the years filled several boxes and represented times of my life from birth until yesterday. My mother passed away in June of last year and the home that needed to be emptied out then was the same home I grew up in so there were additional files that Mom had kept for me.  My sister had put them and some special pieces aside for me when she and a few brothers cleaned out the family home in August.  I have not yet looked at the box but sight unseen they are unquestionably belongings to keep.  

But what will I do with those old tests?  Birthday cards piled up? Programs of shows I no longer remember? I could not imagine throwing these things into a garbage can to be toted to the landfill and stirred in with who know what forms of garbage.  I thought I could burn them in a bonfire.  File after file into the fire in a ritualistic letting go.  Could I do it? And where was I going to find a bonfire on short notice? 

The fabric of the Universe felt the ripple of need and the fire presented itself.  I was able to crash a party of cousins in Grandmom and Granddad’s backyard.  They gathered with beer, music and s’mores and I showed up with my box of stuff.  Bit by bit we laughed over pictures, the kids insisted on some things  I was to keep, I threw other stuff in without thought and with glee and my pile was whittled down to a slice of what it had been.  Into the pit my physical memories became ash but the memory itself is embedded in my mind.  Old drawings of Emily's, homework files, report cards, essays, poems, heartbreaks and hopes. 

The only photographable moment was when a torn Warhol poster of Marilyn burned alongside 50 year old newspapers of JFK’s assassination.  A visual I can still see but failed to capture.  I look now at what we brought to New York and realize much of it is the paper things of Emily’s.  They are her childhood memories and also then, mine. 

Isn’t that the thing about memories?  Do we need to remember everything?  Do we need to have reminders of the things in order to remember them?  Is it the things that we remember or is it the experience that we associate with them? 

I had thought of taking a photo of each object as it was sold but I was so crazy busy that that not only was that idea impossible but forgotten.  While writing this post I came across a photo of Emily holding an American Doll that Santa had dropped off in 2002.  My heart nearly cracked thinking that the doll was now in the home of a stranger. 
Those days are really over.   
We’ve really moved on.

Living in the Center of the Universe - Part Five

Going...

For Florida it was a very clear and cold morning with temperatures in the thirties.  It felt glorious.  After waking early and running around to finish up what I could  for the sale it felt like Springtime in New York.  Luckily for me the cold delayed the usual throng of garage sale enthusiasts.  I unlocked the door to find only two women standing in my driveway.  One of them handed me a dime she had found lying there.  A mother and her grown daughter, nice ladies.  Opening my home to them they  went to work in hopes of finding the bargains they needed.  They needed shelves and immediately bought all of mine.   

What do you do when the first sale of the day takes all of the places  on which all of your things are sitting?  I suppose I could’ve said wait until Saturday to get them but more people were coming in and it was a sale and I had cash in hand and they were nice about it and helped put the stuff on the shelves on the floor and on the counters and on the table and look at the dust behind the place where the shelves used to be, I need a broom quick  and more people were coming in and they were strangers in my home asking what this box from Spain cost and what about that platter that I bought at Crate and Barrel and that platter that I served Em’s first birthday cake on and a box of children’s books for $30 that cost hundreds over the course of a little girl learning how to read and love books and were in wonderful condition because isn’t that how you’re supposed to treat your books and more people were coming saying Hello We’ve missed you and I could give them no time because more people were coming and the bed was sold and dismantled and don’t worry we’ll figure out where we’ll sleep tonight, and buckets of clothes for a dollar each but wait that table cloth wasn’t supposed to be in there, but you said everything in that closet was a dollar and my son in Montana who lives on an elk ranch would love the embroidered elks. He Would? Okay take it, what about this stack of books for ten dollars?  Ten? Books?  They were great books but usually those are left for last and weigh a lot and okay go ahead Hey Em are you selling these art books? What? No!  But we already bought them! You did? Yes that’s why I’m guarding them, wait a minute those Narnia books are $10 by themselves, they are worthless open, I’m not going to fight you over my stuff, no, okay how about $20 but you said you bought them already...what? More people are pouring in the door. Take them and go. 

All day long for two days, what happened to that Blue bowl, did you sell it? No I didn’t . It’s gone. The big beautiful clay bowl my friend Mike crafted and I filled each year for family Easter dinner with rice, asparagus and mint salad? It’s gone.  Em your violin! Put it under the sheet You should put this somewhere safe it looks like personal letters from a family member What are you doing that was put away behind the barrier get out of there the things were topsy turvy Em’s coming home from the hospital dress, my grandad’s love letters, my Mother’s skirt from Panama how dare you open that, I could see it though you should put it somewhere safe like under this sheet where it was? I want to see this rug I’ll give you $20 for since it will only be outside at my house it’s a good rug roll it out on the driveway no I can’t do less than $60 it is wool no too much okay fine Just keep going decide sell sell price it Stack ‘em High Sell 'em Cheap here’s my card if it doesn’t all sell I’ll buy it and cart it off for you No time to feel keep going decide price sell decide sell decide keep sell.  

 I silently thanked that customer who unrolled the carpet on the driveway when the day was over and four of us gathered under a high Florida sky to eat lunch at dinnertime and hold on to the earth for a few moments.  Drifting away in listless cirrus rainbows amid the rustling of the palms a momentary reverie was broken by the arrival a friend I had missed dearly.  Even at this moment I ache knowing that I was not able to give her my Selfless attention since the spell was broken and I went back into work mode. 

 

Living in the Center of the Universe - Part Four

The Stuff of Life 

 

I knew I had a lot of stuff, but I did not realize just how Much Stuff.  Luckily the house had a large garage with double wide door.  The perimeter was lined with shelves filled with containers of stuff that would not fit inside the house.  For three days Em and I cleaned, purged, set aside and got ready for the sale. 

 

The ad had been placed on Craigslist:

 

 “Moving Sale. Must Liquidate (Doris Dr. New Smyrna Beach)

Leaving Florida for good and moving to 300sq ft apartment in New York City. If it doesn't fit we can't take it!  Nice furniture, antique Deco armoire, clean area carpets, Christmas collection, mirrors, knick knacks, great books, books shelves, beanie babies, American Girl dolls and clothing, estate sale finds, women's clothing, vintage and thrift clothing, size 9 women's shoes. Jamis 3-speed Bike, Vintage lamps. Ping pong table. Art. Entire series Patrick O'Brian Aubrey/Maturin. A lot of good things we’re letting go.

Friday 1/17 Saturday 1/18 8am-3pm
If it doesn't fit in the minivan we have to get rid of it.”

 

I read that ad now and still quiver.  I don’t know how we did it.  Em doesn’t know how we did it.  At one point she was almost in tears trying to deal with the momentous task before us, wondering if we could get it done while her heart was breaking saying goodbye to her precious things. But we kept moving. Moving. Cleaning. Tossing.  Wiping. Sweeping. Tossing.  Deciding. 

 

The ad was a mere image of what I was getting rid of.  Uncountable presents, travel souvenirs, memories, promises, former lives and lovers, and lives hoped for.   During my presale planning people who love me gave a lot of advice; “Be ruthless”, “Think hard about what you will keep”, “You have so much stuff, do you have any idea how you’re going to deal with all of it?” STOP! I know!! I haven’t been sleeping thinking of all this!   I have  looked at this from all angles, including within.  I am getting rid of things, yes, but things that I love, that have meaning to me.  I know you can’t Love love them but what they represent is far greater than what they are.

 

Em and I had both promised friends and family that we would make the circuit while we were in town and visit the people we missed and loved.  But there was no time. Time became a fog through which we worked.  It was the only way we could survive the week.  We were up against a hard deadline and kept at the plow.

 

There was one moment when I stole away with half a sandwich and sat to eat it while overlooking the beach.  I recall that half hour as a time of still thoughtlessness in the vast embrace of the calm ocean before me.

 

Onward.  Over those days we pulled out the items that we knew we were keeping.  Some of them were meaningless emotionally but we knew they would have more value in the city.  Other things were special things of my parents.  Priceless artifacts that meant something only to us, letters, photos, childhood mementos of my baby girl young woman that we tucked away in neat boxes and hid in a corner under a sheet.  This pile would grow larger as the weekend progressed. 

 

As we pulled items I cleaned the house that had been ignored in the year I had been away.  Inch by literal inch the house was being wiped clean of my presence and absence.

 

One of the most difficult chores was pricing each item.  How could I put a price on something that meant so much to me but was a bargain to a stranger? With a broad stroke I priced the big things, shelving, couches, lamps, cabinets, beds, the pieces that only served a purpose.  The personal items would be dealt with one by one.

8 a.m. Friday morning came early but we were ready.  Bring it on.