a Pushcart Prize nomination?
http://ocvictor.livejournal.com/606408.html
Honored, humbled, and…wow, the company I’m in…
Monthly Archives: November 2007
Duende? Not tonight…or last night, for that matter…
Well, the Duende show turned into a Tony solo show last night…due to a bartender at the Vernon who decided to be a hardass and who wasn’t informed about the fact that bars with entertainment licenses in MA are allowed to have performers under 21 if they don’t drink. She tossed Faro out unceremoniously without an apology or chance of appeal AFTER we’d set up all the equipment.
Bobby, the host, was mortified. I had talked to him about Faro’s age earlier when we set up the gig, of course, and we assumed the usual rules would apply (never had this problem anywhere else), but this was a new bartender and not amenable to discourse.
We consulted outside. My first reaction was to simply cancel — no Faro, no Tony — and if we had been anywhere else but a mile away from home, we would have. But Bobby’s assured us that we can get the situation remedied and come back in the future, so we mutually decided to not bail on the gig entirely and take care of the reading (which is slowly building steam) and the audience with me solo, while Faro and Capri and Missy and Chris went back home and hung out playing guitars and such.
In retrospect, I think it was the right decision for this gig and this gig alone because of the circumstances — but in the future, if someone books us and then has an issue at the gig itself, it’s a cancelled gig.
The old school audience got an old-school set — I skipped all the material we do as Duende (with the exception of “Chrysler” which I perform solo on “Americanized” and which was requested) and for most of the set I went WAY back for poems I haven’t done regularly in years:
Why I Killed The Buddha
Poem For Eddie (these two are from REALLY old chapbooks, and date back more than ten years)
Punk/Seafoam Green (I still do “Punk” often, but rarely include the companion piece anymore)
Jazz Under The Nazis
Chrysler
Light and Glass
First Letter Home
6AM, Hell’s Ditch, USA
Aunt Mary’s Family
Radioactive Artist (something I still do regularly, but a traditional closer)
Good times. At the Ship reading, you get paid “stripper style” — money in the belt, on the stage, between the man-boobs (or woman-boobs if that’s whatcha got) and it was a decent payday. Add in Bobby giving some money to Faro for gas and sorrow, and we ended up OK money wise when all was said and done.
It’s a shame we didn’t get to do the set we’d planned — we were going to do “Jim’s Fall” start to finish and then toss in some other stuff including some likely improv work — but all in all it was OK. I still feel bad about the mixup, but now this makes it IMPERATIVE that you come see us on December 14 at Storytellers, of course, where we’ll be doing the Worcester premiere of “Americanized” in its entirety with a few choice bits added.
Onward, Duende…
Duende tonight!!!
Come to Ze Ship, he said…the Ship at the Hotel Vernon, of course…and see the wonders of the world! Long Bar! Cheap, cold beer!! A Parrot!!!!
AND…of course, me ‘n’ Faro doin’ our thing.
Show up early, stay late, read poems, drink beers, and suchlike. Throw money at the stage (fer real, cause that’s how we get paid unless you buy our stuff). Wheeee!!! Avast, Esteban…!!! Belay that. I have no idea what I’m talking about. Come anyway!!!
Once again…
A fine and exciting night of poetry and music last night at GP Live.
Faro took on sole backup duties last night on both guitar and bass, and rocked the place. Some real standout performances including Adam (from behind the counter) ripping up an excellent rhythmic poem, dkeali_i doing his oracle piece and another fine cover by an Hawaiian poet whose name escapes me, and Michel’s harrowing addiction piece.
Faro and I had some fun with our parts of the show last night, opening the evening with an improv poem over a guitar line, doing “Americanized” to close the first half, and then (by request) creating an impromptu bass/vocal version of “Conspiracy” to end the night’s poetry, following which he laid down a massive solo of tapped harmonics and all that good stuff.
And, thanks to the mad skillz of John Powers ( johnpowers ), we Webcast the whole thing, which is likely to be a feature of the reading in the future. Video was saved. I’ll let you know if it becomes available. (It was a spur of the moment attempt, so we didn’t make a prior announcement of it — there weren’t a lot of viewers from what I understand, although I hear brags2bitches made it for most of the show.)
For her and anyone else who was listening/watching, I’d like to personally apologize for the octopus joke…but you should blame theryk for telling me the joke in the first place, so direct any real ire his way. I merely channel the Master.
Next week, it’s new poem night and a feature by Chris Chandler.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duende will be at the Ship (Hotel Vernon) in Worcester on Thursday! We’re planning a loose but interesting set — some old stuff (possibly even a full performance of the “Jim’s Fall” suite) — and perhaps more of the improv stuff we did last night, in prep for future recording…our next project is looming on the horizon, a CD of poems and music where we switch up the usual process and Faro takes the lead, writing a set of music I’ll then write poems to.
We’ll also be doing the full “Americanized” album, front to back, for only the second time live on December 14 when we feature at the Storytellers reading at the Village Arts Center in Worcester. Not to be missed.
At the moment, we’ve only got one other gig planned in the near future, but it’s gonna be good — February 18 as part of Richard Cambridge’s Poets’ Theater series at Club Passim in Cambridge, as a guest of urbanitus when he features there. We’ll be doing a short set, 20-30 minutes or so.
If anyone is interested in having us feature, let me know — we’re probably sticking close to home for the winter, but after that we’ll see what’s what. (NYC is definitely on the prospect list for winter “close to home” if anyone’s interested down there, by the way.)
More later, maybe…till then, happy trails…
Great Duende Pic…
Faro had this on his Myspace…it might be my favorite picture of the two of us.
Not bad, eh? Thank god he’s the eye candy in the act…
texts (next draft)
I finally got a “third hook” for this at Thanksgiving. Changed some lines, shifted emphasis, etc. Comments welcome and needed.
” In a 1971 magazine piece about women’s liberation, Mailer compared the dehumanization of technology to the effect of feminists, who he said were abolishing the “mystery, romance” and “blind, goat-kicking lust from sex,”
— from an Associated Press obituary of Norman Mailer, November 10, 2007
on the Friday night
before Norman Mailer died
at age 84
in a New York City hospital
a 17 year old boy was dragged
to a women’s poetry reading
in a bookstore
300 miles away
finding himself for the first time in his life
outnumbered and rendered
apparently irrelevant
by hundreds of women of all kinds
openly being
all kinds of
woman
all he could think of to do
was text a friend
a couple of times
first to say
lol they’re singing lesbo songs
then
after more time
and more poems
had passed
norming
what is maler
he
typed
wtf
i feel mad weird
some of these girlz
r manlier than me
did he really mean to say
i feel mad romance
mad blind
goat-kicking lust
or
some of
these girlz r
abolishing the mystery
Norman Mailer died a few hours later
unaware of all this
still pugnacious right down
to his failed kidneys
he who once stabbed his wife
loathed feminism
boxed everything
typed incessantly
thumbs flying
two weeks later
women at a holiday table
are sitting around discussing
the scars on their arms and fingers
gotten at work
on machine presses
from hot grease
and kitchen knives
all of them say
worker’s comp told them
the amount of money they were owed
for the wounds
depended entirely
on how pretty they were
before the cutting
and burning began
that boy got up
and left a world
of women behind
without hearing a thing
norman mailer
died with his last thoughts
twitching in his own blunt
fingers
poets
take their cut
at fashioning
new armies of the night
but not all of us
are prone to mutter
when something
is picking at our scars
some just get back up
their handsome faces set
pushing their bodies through
their hands open in spite of the script
but do not mistake that for acceptance
remember
these girlz r
mad
Upcoming shows
Just some notes to plan by…
Tuesday, Nov. 27: It’s the second of our “Music and Poetry Nights” at Gotpoetry Live in Providence, where we put together music with poetry. Faro’s stopping by as house bassist for the night, and folks are welcome to bring other instruments as well. The last one kicked butt.
Thursday, Nov. 29th: Duende will be the feature at the Kelly Square Slam Club, AKA the Hotel Vernon, AKA the Ship, in Kelly Square in Worcester. Bobby Gibbs runs this new and growing reading, and the Vernon’s got the coldest beer in Worcester. Come pay us stripper style, as is the custom here — toss money at us, or tuck it into Faro’s belt (mine’s too necessary to loosen enough to put money in).
Friday, Dec. 14: We’ll be featuring at Storytellers at the Village Arts Club in Worcester, doing the second full performance of “Americanized.” Come see the album in its entirety! Come see Faro do “Carol of the Bells” on the bass, solo, with all the parts!
Love to see you…c’mon down.
Orangeday
It’s an orange day
rage or warmth
could go either way
and that indigo
behind my eyes
is waiting to see what’s next
waiting to change
or remain the same
in the face of ambiguous blaze
there are people
(so I’m told)
who can steady themselves
with little effort
naming their colors
as they desire
such choice is a deity
I fear I’ll never be able
to worship
without a wet offering
on sun-hot stones reddening
then drying to brown
rust across the surface
of a mundane altar —
all I have to go on is that
the way I play on an orange day
leads me by the eyes
toward night or dawn
and I don’t ever know
what I’ll see because
I don’t know whether I’ll end there
Affluence and its discontents
you try to live a life
that will let you sleep
on a stormy night.
do whatever you will
to be comfortable
and something will still
poke into your back
through the mattress
as you lie awake at night
wondering,
what was that sound?
roll over,
slip your hand
under the pillow —
what’s there
and how long has it
been yours? where did it
come from?
do you think you’d use it
if you had to?
you’re positive
that someone’s looking for it.
you fear a lot
from both the haves
and have-nots,
but the most dangerous people
in any society
are the built-upons
and the used-to-haves.
so —
which are you?
are you either?
are you neither?
are you both?
are you a danger to anyone?
would everyone seeing you
agree? and —
what are you building?
what are you building it with?
who will you let through the door
when you’re done?
no matter the answers,
you’re always gonna wonder
about that sound.
lock up.
I will likely be unpleasant
for several days.
Every year, I get to read indignant letters about Thanksgiving on my various mailing lists and friends’ lists from my liberal and lefty friends regarding their disdain for the holiday because of the American genocide. I only hear about that disdain and concern then, of course, because November (and to some extent October, for Columbus Day) are the official designated months for Caring About The Native Plight, which is usually framed within some sort of reference to Sandy Creek, Wounded Knee, and a host of other historical tragedies. In tone, these letters and posts sound kinda like they’re lamenting the extinction of the dodo bird, except of course the dodo bird is actually extinct.
I also receive letters in my inbox from folks who exhort me to buy nothing today, consuming oil resources and cash money on electronic communications over boxes filled with heavy metals and toxins to urge me to save the environment through righteous non-consumption.
It’s cold in the Northeast today. I hope they have their heat off — all the way off.
I’m sorry if this comes off as mean-spirited and reactionary (trust me, o lefty brothers and sisters, I’m still Down For The Cause even if I call you occasionally on your inconsistencies). But flavor of the month bullshit makes me angry. It makes me sad and bitter.
It makes me crazy.
As a person with significant Native background, I just wanted to say that I had a great time yesterday among friends. In my eyes, what something is now may no longer reflect how it started. That’s how I treat Thanksgiving.
I know there were some folks on my friends’ list who posted about the Native genocide as a reason to not celebrate the holiday. That’s fine. I understand the impulse and honor the outrage — trust me when I say that I share it.
But I’m just curious as to the nature of outrage as I question why no one responded at all to my post a day or two ago about a current bit of Native oppression along the Texas/Mexico border:
http://radioactiveart.livejournal.com/659075.html
It’s not just about the past. It’s about the here and now, too.
With respect,
T
thanksgiving morning
it’s dark
have a happy
be grateful
go back to bed
imagine the eyes
sleeping nearby
still dark
Hey —
nerak_g is sitting next to me working on her setlist for tonight at Gotpoetry Live.
Don’t let her hard work go to waste! Come to Reflections Cafe tonight in Providence tonight for the show!!
Maybe Paul Simon will lend me his turkey suit.
OK — full Bruce post
The show was incredible.
I posted the setlist in my previous post, so I won’t include this here; go there if you want to see it.
In general: band was TIGHT, tighter than I’ve ever seen them. Even the relatively simple arrangements of songs from “Darkness” sparkled, and the complex work of the “Born To Run” and especially the “E Street Shuffle” songs were handled beautifully.
Sound at the Garden was perfect.
Spare stage set up, no obstructed views, big screens for closeups (of course).
Bruce, Nils and Steve traded lots of hot guitar leads and duels, more than I’ve ever seen. Nils did a lot of slide work, even jumping onto a pedal steel for one song. Bruce’s blues solo at the beginning of “Kitty’s Back” was extended and amazing by anyone’s standards; in later years he hasn’t showcased his lead ability as much as he can, but old Bruce fans know what he’s capable of — pre E-Street, he played in a hard metal band called Steel Mill and had a nickname of “Alvin Lee by the sea.” He showed off that blues-rock prowess last night in ways I’d never seen, with less of his sometimes dissonant and chaotic style that I think has led a lot of conventional rock guitar aficionados to overlook his skill.
The Big Man (Clarence Clemons on sax for the uninitiated) moves slower than he used to due to a pair of hip replacements, but sounded undiminished and in fine form.
The new material was perfect — “Magic” in particular was great, as was “Gypsy Biker,” and “Girls in their Summer Clothes” was the right opener for the extended encore.
A non-stop 2 and 1/2 hour show with minimal stage patter (no Bruce storytelling, which I really didn’t miss, as much as I like it when he does it usually).
Emotionally, it drilled me. Hard. The old stuff made me tear up with joy, and new stuff was terrific. Loved his treatment of “Reason to Believe” from “Nebraska” which included a John Lee Hooker/Canned Heat simmer from the band under his vocals and harmonica; he spoke/sang the last verse thru the distorted bullet mike for the harp which lent a Tom Waits flavor to it. And local boy Peter Wolf joined in for “Tenth Avenue Freezeout” clad head to toe in black leather, waving a bottle of red wine.
And now for “The Rising” — well, I had a hard time with that.
It’s a triggering song for me (interestingly, “Lonesome Day” didn’t get me as much — maybe because it was early in the set) because of its heavy association with 9/11, and even though it’s an uplifting song of healing, it brought up a lot of things, including an insulting and dismissive conversation some years ago with someone who couldn’t understand why that album meant so much to so many people. I sat down and I didn’t get to my feet until partway through the song because I thought I might not be able to stand, I was crying so hard. But I made it, which is after all the point.
After that, “The Last To Die” worked well to take me into anger from the sadness (“who’ll be the last to die from our mistake” indeed), and “Badlands” brought it all home and lifted me up again.
Catharsis — it’s what’s for breakfast, lunch and dinner sometimes.
Anything I wish I’d heard? Sure — nothing from “Devils and Dust;” no “Rosalita” and nothing from “The River.” But no complaints.
I needed this badly. Thanks again to drgeorge for taking me, and to you for bearing with me.
Bruce, quick report
More later, but here’s the setlist for anyone who cares:
Radio Nowhere
Night
Lonesome Day
Gypsy Biker
Magic
Reason to Believe
Darkness on the Edge of Town
Candy’s Room
She’s the One
Livin’ in the Future
This Hard Land
4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)
The E Street Shuffle
Working on the Highway
Devil’s Arcade
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands
encore:
Girls in Their Summer Clothes
Tenth Avenue Freezeout
Kitty’s Back
Born to Run
American Land
A transcendent show…easily the best Bruce show ever, and that’s saying a lot and puts it automatically in the running for the best concert ever (I still think my first Who concert with Keith Moon probably beats it, but that’s the only close contender). I cried through much of it, most notably through “The Rising” — triggering, cathartic.
Hearing three songs from “E Street Shuffle” was amazing, as was the “Night/Darkness/Candy’s Room/She’s
the One” sequence. “Kitty’s Back” was the clincher here — I’d never seen it live.
I have more to say, but will process later and get back to you.
Thanks, Skip…for everything.
Dark Matter 