Tag music

When there were wolves in Wales #ChristmasClassics

JT Twissel 15 Comments

The last on my list of beloved Christmas stories is Dylan’s Thomas’ A Child’s Christmas in Wales, a piece that is best appreciated when read aloud. Below by the unforgettable Richard Burton who I was lucky to see perform on stage many, many years ago.

In case you don’t have the time to listen, Thomas paints a picture of a seaside village where there was always snow at Christmas (but no reindeer), where young boys pelted cats with snowballs unless there was something more exciting … like a fire at the Prothero’s. Where there were always uncles … “breathing like dolphins” … and postmen with roses for noses as they delivered packages. Where there were always the useful presents and the useless presents. Where young boys left footprints in the snow so huge that the villagers would surely think hippos had invaded. Back when there were “wolves in Wales.” (of course, there haven’t been wolves in Wales since the days of King Arthur but such is a child’s imagination!)

My favorite ornament

When and where I was a child, there was rarely snow at Christmas. My family lived too far from relatives to find uncles snoring like dolphins in the living room or aunties sneaking a few too many sips of the cooking sherry and breaking out in song. And we had only a few traditions: My sister and I always made chocolate fudge. She had self-control but I always ate too much and got sick to my stomach. Mother always made dates stuffed with walnuts and rolled in powdered sugar for our guests: Friends and neighbors who were also far from, or estranged, from family. But they generally arrived with bags of chips and take out pizzas, drank all the alcohol in the house and then left behind those dates.

And then, too exhausted to make a proper sit-down meal, we’d end the evening next to the fire, eating popcorn and listening to records. This song I always associate with Christmas Eve. I mean, who doesn’t?

My father was the grandchild of Norwegian immigrants. Their Santa equivalent is called Julenisse and he’s either a gnome or an elf or a troll and where do gnomes and trolls live? Deep in the woods or deep underground with all of those wolves who used to roam Wales!

Happy Christmas!

Don’t grieve me, I’m not gone

JT Twissel 21 Comments

I’ve seen two of the former Beatles in concert: Paul McCartney probably in the mid eighties and George Harrison a few years later. The McCartney concert was meant to wow with a laser light show and a fast paced presentation of old and new songs. In some concerts there are quiet moments when the performer speaks to the audience in an attempt to connect but we left feeling no closer to McCartney than before. Perhaps he was having an off night. Who knows.

On the other hand, the Harrison concert was all about connecting. We felt like a friend we’d known a long time had invited us into his heart once again. I think the only Beatle-related songs he sang were While My Guitar Gently Weeps (which he changed to While My Guitar Gently Smiles so as not to offend his audience) and Something. Sadly many folks who came expecting a Beatles concert left or took a breather when Ravi Shankar joined him for a few lively ragas. What dolts. But George took it well.

Flash forward to the end of November, 2001. I’d just parked my car at work when I heard the announcement on the radio that George Harrison, formerly of the Beatles had died. I wanted to cry, to blubber like a baby, and then run back home to bed with the covers over my head. And then, a rainbow appeared in front of me, spanning the San Francisco Bay. Not a wispy here and gone rainbow but a solid arch. Directly underneath this rainbow a bird sang from the top of a spare and leafless tree. I must have sat in the car for five minutes or perhaps an eternity or perhaps just the blink of an eye … mesmerized by the sight.

Do not grieve me, I am not gone.

Anyway, that was a long, long time ago.

Okay young whippersnappers …

JT Twissel 21 Comments

[Note: this is a political diatribe not aimed at my readers and so I will understand if you wish to skip this post]

Not all people over sixty were hippies. I know many older people who are actively protesting against the current attempt at tyranny who’ve never been on a commune in their lives. Who’ve never gone to Haight Ashbury and worn flowers in the hair; who’ve never rocked out to a Grateful Dead concert and dropped acid. The young whippersnappers who are dissing older protesters by calling them “Elderly White Hippies” are in for a big surprise. Don’t tell them though. They won’t believe you.

Image from BlueSky

Nor were all hippies white although I will concede that the majority of the self-described hippies I met way back when were the children of white or whitish upper middle class professionals. For some of them, being a hippie was just a phase (I fall into that category). And after a few vagabond years, they settled into what could be described as normal lives. But many “hippies” turned their experiences on communes into lives devoted to socially and environmentally aware living. Many did great things. For sure, we changed the world although not as much as we’d naively hoped.

And so, if you’re over a certain age, sing along with me. Even if you’re not, someday, if you’re lucky, you will be. Might as well get prepared for the dissing of the young and clueless whippersnappers.

THEY SAY WE’RE OLD AND WE DON’T VOTE

They say we’re old and we don’t vote
All we do is sleep and watch TV
They don’t know the risk they take
For dissing one’s elders never turns out great.

My granny after a few vodkas and after being dissed – watch out!

Although it’s true, we may smoke pot,
At least I’m sure of all the things we got
We’ve got the time, to organize.
We’ve got the patience, to see it through.
And if they think we’re scared, then they don’t know,
about the Four Dead in Ohio.

Let them say our hair’s too gray
We don’t care. What we’ve got, they cannot take away
So, put your wrinkled hand in mine
There ain’t no hill or mountain we can’t climb.

Apologies to Sonny and Cher

Life was easier in a training bra

JT Twissel 38 Comments

I was in the middle of debating my doubtful parents over the necessity for a training bra (I didn’t need one but I desperately wanted one) when the movie A Hard Days Night finally reached one of the two movie theaters in my hometown of Reno Nevada. The Granada sat on the edge of the Truckee River about two blocks down from the Mapes Hotel which I’ve written about before. Back then, an easy two mile walk from my house on the end of Washington Street.

The Granada, Reno Nevada

The Granada always had a double feature on Saturdays and, once you bought your ticket, you could stay all day. And we did. I don’t remember who I first saw the movie with. Probably my neighbor, Lee Lee (who actually needed a bra and planned to marry George Harrison) but I do remember the second feature. It was Romeo and Juliet starring Rudolph Nureyev and Dame Margot Fontaine. As a budding ballerina I loved watching Nureyev fly across the stage again and again but I can’t say the same for rest of the audience. They took advantage of the break between showings of A Hard Days Night to smoke in the bathrooms.

Yesterday I noticed that A Hard Day’s Night had been added to the roster of “Classics” on HBO Max. Ouch. Did I dare stream a favorite from my training bra days whilst strapped in my 34 D “over the shoulder boulder holders”? Would the movie maintain its magic after … don’t say it … fifty plus years? Did I dare find out?

Of course, you know I did. I guess I needed a diversion from the precipice of Civil War on which we Californians now stand. Would I do it again? Noooooo. This is a movie whose primary purpose was to cement Beatle stereotypes: Paul as cute and charming, John as rebellious and snarky, George as cool and mysterious, and Ringo as goofy and lovable. I now know too much about those four human beings (doesn’t everyone?) because, watching the movie in my over the shoulder boulder holders, John seems insecure and painfully self-conscious while Paul seems cocky and smug. George was already so thin and fragile looking that my heart wept for him. The only one who after all these years still seemed the same was Ringo, below in arguably the best scene in the movie.

At the end of the clip, Ringo watches the four young “deserters” hanging out on the edge of the river perhaps thinking back to the time when he was young and carefree. Before he got trapped by overwhelming fame. Have you ever watched a film you loved as a kid and been disappointed? Or worse, saddened? Do you think DT will rest after he destroys LA? Or is this just the beginning?

The cacophony of joy

JT Twissel 10 Comments

If you were lucky your school experience included band practice. Ah, the joy of walking into a room full of ten year olds all playing newly rented instruments enthusiastically though very badly as the teacher struggles to gain control. I can still see my band teacher’s face. Kids can tell when teachers are enjoying themselves and Mr. H, despite his exasperated sighs (he also taught drama), delighted in the chaos and clatter of the brass, the off-key tooting of woodwinds, the premature banging of cymbals but … above all else … the seductive fantasy that if we just tried hard enough and kept at it by the end of the year we would be making beautiful music together.

I can’t remember what instrument I abused back then. Probably the clarinet. I’d already given up on the piano because, after five years of weekly lessons, I still hadn’t mastered the Hanon Studies and my teacher was old school. If you couldn’t master the Hanon Studies, you didn’t deserve to enjoy playing the piano. She was Russian and only stood about four feet tall but … it was four feet of grizzle.

From Bing Images

Earlier this year I volunteered to help a non-profit (MUST) whose mission is to bring music programs to elementary and preschool kids. Introducing music as early as possible in a child’s life has many benefits for both the child and society but the pandemic closed most of these organizations down. Now they are trying to reemerge. My suggestion was to post interviews of their staff beginning with their charismatic founder, Meg Madden. Beyond that, I have not a clue. Any suggestions?

Meanwhile Penito and child are still growing. The mother is three feet tall and comes up to my waist! (yes, I’m all legs)

No flowers yet though.

The People’s Prince

JT Twissel 10 Comments

Prince Kuhio, 1871-1922

Jonah Kuhio Kalanianaole was Hawaii’s last royal prince. Although he never sat on a throne, his birthday, March 26th, is cause for celebration in the islands.

Without Prince Kuhio, Hawaiians would have most likely suffered the same fate as Native Americans, forced assimilation into a culture with little respect for the earth; their traditions and language in jeopardy of disappearing forever. Or worse, watching as cherished rituals were reduced to comic stereotypes.

Kuhio was the nephew of Queen Lili’oukalani.  After she was overthrown, he was briefly arrested for treason and then fled to South Africa where he joined the British Army and fought the Boers. When he finally returned to the islands he did so with a mission: to promote and preserve the Hawaiian culture. Eight times he was elected to the US Congress where he helped secure rights for native Hawaiians.  Rights like, being able to homestead on the lands of your ancestors.

Music is very important to Hawaiians and so for the week leading up to the Prince Kuhio festival, local television stations broadcast events held at schools and cultural centers throughout the islands. Not the kind of music you hear in Tiki bars and shopping centers but traditional songs sung in ancient Hawaiian. 

The parade, which kicked off the final day of celebration, began with the traditional blowing of Pu shells to the north, south, east and west. Then came the members of the Royal Order of Kamehameha (descendants of Hawaiian royalty) either walking on foot or driven in convertibles (all Mustangs for some strange reason).  I noticed that many of them had red hair and fair skin.  Hummm.

A great, great, great grand nephew of King Kamehameha?

Many schools marched in the parade, some singing and some dancing. There were hula dancers, both young and old, drummers, horseback riders and even one dragon.

These kids got to ride on a trolley!

After the parade, people gathered in Kapiolani Park near Diamond Head for a celebration that included song and dance and food from a flotilla of food trucks.  All in all, a perfect day and a joyful celebration for a great man.  Happy Prince Kuhio Day!

Please don’t let me be misunderstood

JT Twissel 20 Comments

I just watched the movie Layer Cake, a gritty blood bath in which every other word is “motherfucker” and every character is a con artist who gets shot to shit. The movie ends with Joe Cocker’s rendition of “I’m Just a Soul Whose Intentions Are Good” probably because the movie opens with the protagonist (Daniel Craig) telling us how he’s going to change his evil ways and get out of the drug trade. Poor guy just ends up getting in deeper and deeper until he becomes the frosting on the cake (a metaphor for killing your way to the top of a mob and not for getting some extra special reward).  

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One of the many dead bodies in Layer Cake

I don’t know what message viewers are supposed to take away from this movie other than drugs are bad and drug dealers are unreliable (really? whod’ve thunk?), but that song sent me running for a Google window. Does that ever happen to you? You hear a song and suddenly have to know everything about it. Who wrote it? Why? And then, of course, you have to blog about it because your followers have nothing better with their time than to read what you write about a song. I really do live a blogger’s fantasyland, don’t I? I need an intervention.

Anyway, if you’re still with me, over the years this song has hit the charts in a number of different genres – rap, soul, blues and, of course, rock and roll.  It’s also been featured in countless movies besides Layer Cake, most notably Kill Bill and The Birdman.

The story of the song’s inception is a sad but probably familiar one to anyone in the arts or entertainment world. A musician of only moderate repute named Horace Ott wrote the original chorus line and melody after a “falling out” with his girlfriend. She took his plea for leniency to her partners and from it they created a song, apparently with jazz singer Nina Simone in mind.That was back in the early sixties when record companies owned the artists and Ott, not being in the proper union, was not included on the original credits. That must have stung. Here’s Simone’s rendition:

Her spin on the song is how it was intended. A plea for leniency. Unfortunately the record did not “chart” as they say and the song went widely unknown until a certain British group virtually made it their own.  You know who, of course, unless you’re really, really young!

Eric Burden’s “soul with a bit of rock and roll” rendition hit Number 3 on the charts and the song was subsequently recorded by a gazillion others including: The Moody Blues, Elvis Costello, Cyndi Lauper, King Kong &D’Jungle Girls, Mike Batt, Trevor Rabin No Mercy, John Legend, Lou Rawls, New Buffalo and many more.  Don’t ask me who some of those folks are because I don’t know.  I did recognize this guy, who generally writes his own songs:

Cat Steven’s plea for leniency and understanding takes on a universal feeling, as if he’s asking the whole world not to be so quick to judge each other.  It’s a good message.