Almost Heaven...

Part I

With no disrespect to residents of West Virginia, John Denver may have gotten it wrong. It was about 1am on Wed[/Thur], about half way through James McMurtry's set [the third act of the night that I reached nirvana - that I fully realized where I was and why. It could have been partly the lack of sleep or partial dehydration, but it was definitely the searing electric guitar going over, under, around and through every level of intensity in that small room and hitting every nerve.

I was in Austin, the Continental Club, doing simply what one was meant to do - slip over the edge of consciousness into a meditation, where the laws of physics no longer apply. And if some higher power should decide at that moment that my time here has concluded, rest assured a sweet ride is awaiting outside to provide the ultimate transportation !




Saturday -

We arrived in Austin for the second time in consecutive years, and basically picked up right where we left off. With the exception of a monolithic condo complex that had stolen the parking lot of our favorite morning launch pad - austin java, things looked pretty much the same. Cathy and I were both ragged from a long and tough New England winter and job pressures, so our planning was not up to its usual snuff making scheduling and my hopes of making it a productive trip questionable. Cathy had done her job well though, and we were here. In Austin, at least from a visitors perspective, there always seems to be a conflict between relaxation and choosing from the full menu of entertainment, cultural, and commercial venues. I kept trying to remember this was supposed to be a vacation - but the city was calling.

A short ride later we were settling into our perch on the 15th floor overlooking downtown Austin and the water. Friend and food awaited.





When we go to New Orleans we always make our first stop The Gumbo Shop to get a quick fix on the local cuisine. Fortunately Austin has our friend and consummate host Donna, who generously offered us a wonderful lunch greeting of homemade etouffee - a perfectly delicious start ! Our first evening found us too tired after a full travel day to look for unplanned entertainment. The amusement for the evening came when we went downstairs at the hotel to have desert and walked into a Boston University Alumni hockey tournament gathering in the bar area which saw Boston pull off a dramatic come from behind win. So far we had traveled 1700 miles to watch hometown hockey - Boston is EVERYWHERE !




BU Hockey Video - Final 3 minutes

Sunday -

Texas has a long rich history, and we decided to spend our first full day picking up where we left off last trip. We wanted to see the next battle site following the Alamo, where the troops of Col. Fannin were also defeated and massacred by Santa Ana at Goliad, a 2 hour ride south. What we hadn't expected was the bonus history lesson on the Spanish era of Texas and to find that this town claimed the birth of cattle ranching in Texas.

The Mission Espiritu Santo, below, records some of the Spanish legacy.




Goliad - Mission Espiritu Santo




I'm not sure why angels painted in the the 18th century look like Elvis - but I decided to cover my bets by singing 3 Hound Dogs and 1 Love me Tender later as a self-prescribed penance.

We finished the afternoon of Easter Sunday with a meal at The Hanging Tree restaurant - NO, really - I'm not kidding !




The Hanging Tree - THE CART WAR OAK


This concluded our brief history lesson and provided additional depth and understanding to our growing knowledge of Texas. Next it was time to get back to Austin in time for our our scheduled evening music event !

So, that concludes the first 24 hours of our trip - still a whole week to go, but that was too much to fathom at the time, we were still getting our feet on the ground. When thinking toward a second consecutive vacation to the same location I was doubtful the second visit could offer the same level of excitement, enthusiasm, or experience as last year's overwhelming awakening, but again Austin rewarded us with more that our fair share of new offerings and old treats and still left us wanting more !

It should prove more logical and interesting if I provide further information on the musical, artistic, and other points of interest on our visit in separate posts, so please stay tuned for more.

Miracles Happen - "Yes They Can"

A Metaphor For Hope

Thursday, January 15, I arrived home to the ironic juxtaposition of 2 news stories. One, the unexpected and heroically successful avoidance of near tragedy as a crippled aircraft landed safely, and the anticipated performance of George W. Bush's presidential farewell speech. I could not help but consider, as I watched the reporting that evening, how lucky the passengers were to have such an experienced and clear thinking pilot, Chesley 'Sully' Sullenberger III, in the face of such grave danger ["is there any other kind?"], and speculate what if things had been different. Suppose, mixing our metaphorical news stories for the sake of contrast, our President had been at the controls at that fateful moment. Without wishing to make light of a very serious incident let's explore the possibilities.

A plane full of passengers sits in anticipation on a cold New York runway headed for a warmer welcome a few hours away in South Carolina. The plane begins its routine lift off and suddenly routine turns to crisis with a loud noise - birds have unexpectedly entered the jet engines resulting in flames and total loss of power. Our pilot unaware of the crisis or how to deal with it continues on the normal flight path banking sharply to the left. The passengers seeing the flames report to the aging flight attendant named Mc...something that the engines are in flames - he dismisses our concern and replies that the "condition of the engines is fundamentally sound." Another member of the crew reports to the Vice... I mean Co Pilot that we are losing altitude, his confident assesment is that we are "in the last throws of ascent."

The pilot, lacking the flying skills to avoid the George Washington Bridge collides with the span destroying it and further damaging the aircraft. Fearing the appearance of weakness he blames the passengers for the impending disaster and arranges quarters at Riker's Island for their detention. Sensing the need for the appearance of leadership, he declares war on New Jersey. Situation under control - what a leader !

As the plane decends quickly we can hear the distant voice of Air Traffic Controller Blagojevich reciting Kipling to offer an air of calm to the situation. Someone suggests a bailout, but amid confusion and disagreement it is too late. On a wing and some well placed Faith Based Initiative the plane settles in the hudson River among a crazy quilt rescue fleet of utility vessels. Cold water is rising quickly - time for survival is short. Our ever vigilant CoPilot, still keen eyed for geese, shoots a ferry captain in the face with his shotgun. Despite the odds crew and passengers are rescued.

Later, our fearless pilot gives a press conference under a banner reading "Mission Accomplished" detailing the success of the flight and his masterful skills at the controls. Seen through his eyes [the only legitimate perspective] its been pretty much smooth sailing and a grand ride - we should all be thankful.

As I reflect on this twist of plot I realize that in a very real way we were all on that plane on that day . Today Sunday January 18, 2009 we are all standing on those thankfully bouyant wings in the Hudson in a foot of freezing water awaiting our rescue. Today's screen images reflect our new captain arriving by train not ferry, and our plane pulled from the icey waters quite bruised but still in tact - as are we.

I Have Seen The Gates Of Heaven !

1315 Congress St. is indeed Paradise ! I have been to Austin, and aside from New Orleans no place (I've been) comes close ! After seeing Alejandro Escovedo and Jon Dee Graham on back to back nights at The Continental Club nothing here on earth can be the same again !

...and if you think the '60/'70's are dead - just go to Gruene Hall in New Braunfels, Tx [where we saw another of my favorite bands The Gourds !] . It ALL comes together there [I wrote this short poetic observation down while on the premises...]

Bikers, hippies, and brides to be, Hardwood, neon, boots and beachwear / dancing to surrealist fruit namesakes and beerbottle bounty





I am SO grateful to all the Texans for their hospitality and to our incomparable hostess Donna for EVERYTHING - and of course my spouse for putting up with me always - and to SG for bringing all the pieces together. One of my BEST experiences EVER !

More details soon...

Richard Brautigan

January 1935 – September 1984


Brautigan, along with Dylan (Bob not Thomas) and soon Kerouac, Ginsberg, Miles Davis and Warhol gave me the roadmap I had been missing. The years 1968-1971 were like a door had been opened and I was kicked through it.

To a kid who did not get a proper grounding in reading or much other acedemic underpinning, someone like Brautigan was just the thing to learn not only that reading could be fun, but that there were forms I could read, and understand, and that one did not need to be a Rhodes Scholar to write, express yourself, and get published. I was smart enough, however, to know the difference between pop art and more serious artistic forms - but it was usually the former that led me to the latter.

Trout Fishing in America, his best known work, was an experimental novel published in 1967. At that time, for me, a book was a book. They all looked the same and were structured the same, and for me certainly all equally unapproachable. On some level I knew there was more to writing but me and alot of other people had yet to see it. Then, suddenly there was Trout Fishing. In my favorite chapter "The Hunchback Trout" the creek is likend to 12, 845 phonebooths and he, the fisherman, is a telephone repairman - and when he cooks the trout later its hump tastes "sweet as the kisses of Esmeralda." Each 1 to 6 page chapter was another beautiful metaphoric journey - and I could finish the book in a day.

Then came books of poetry with titles like Rommel Drives Deep Into Egypt and Loading Mercury with A Pitchfork each with its cache of jewel-like poems falling somewhere between haiku and heaven.

About the same time came malls and the first chain bookstores "Waldens" followed by some more eclectic independent suburban bookstores, making these books available to anyone to browse or buy. No more sterile libraries hiding faceless books on endless shelves shrouded in the mystery of Melvil Dewey's daunting decimal classification system in casketlike drawers of cards.

Brautigan's star faded along with the '60's subculture and the '70's brought more new style writers like Tom Robbins, Douglas Adams, and more published poetry joined his books in the growing Poetry sections of the bookstores. But my original (now out of print) Brautigan books (with their $1.95 and $2.95) prices still occupy very hallowed space in my collection - and my heart, as does Richard, who much like Kerouac and others found life a tough hand to play.











Sample 1:Bio

Sample 2:Poems

Sample 3:Trout Fishing In America

Wellfleet, Ma Cape Cod

Most folks reeturning from a relaxing Cape Cod vacation probably would have posted a nice scenic beach photo to honor the occasion, but not me. I chose the front doors of a church in process of restoration. The former Catholic church, now named Wellfleet Preservation Hall when finished will be used to facilitate music, dance, and other artistic and community gatherings.

Perhaps the perfect transformation, in my opinion, for a Catholic church.



More Info:Wellfleet Preservation Hall

Kerouac

On The Road

If they had let (or even made) us read this book in high school I might have learned how to read and certainly how to think, perhaps even write, long before I found these true directions on my own. But it was a different time. In 63-64 this book was only 7 years old and the world had yet to feel the full impact of this book (the midwest being even further behind) and Kerouac was not taken seriously as a writer then either.

Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger (published 6 years before On The Road) was about the most daring thing they let us attempt and it was dry and a bit less obvious to my yet untrained mind. Cars, alienation, jazz, seeking truth on a different path could have been just what the literary doctor ordered. Oh well... the times were what they were and lacking resources (there were no internet/Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, Borders, TV/Radio talk shows, no cable, satelite, FM, NPR or PBS) I had to get there on my own about 10 years later.

This is the 50th anniversary of the book's publishing, and in Kerouac's home town of Lowell, Ma. the original scroll manuscript of On the Road - yes, 120 ft of unparagraphed documentary - is on display, and I took the opportunity to make the pilgrimage to the holy grail of modern popular literature. While I don't unconditionally revere either the book or its author, I do believe that the book is an important social and literary documentary of the time. In addition it stands the test of time in story and character, it remains a 'right of passage' to young readers especially those who are seeking a less traditional path, and is certainly a pathway to a larger movement both literary and social known as the The Beats. Strip away the pop iconography associated with the movement and you still have a very large legacy of artistic and political achievement.

There is nothing I can say regarding the book or the author that hasn't been said previously. To a kid from the midwest lacking identity, direction, role models, or even much imagination I could have experienced, perhaps, what Bob Dylan did "I realized there were others out there like me". If you haven't read On The Road or any of Kerouac's work, or taken some time to investigate the Beats I would recommend even a brief look - if you have, I would recommend a revisit.


Sample 1:Steve Allen Show

Sample 2:Jazz

Sample 3:On The Road and Dharma Bums