Monday, November 22, 2004
1969 Flashback
A scene from 1969 flashed back on me yesterday as I was playing my marina gig. It was summer in Long Island. We were visiting some old college roommates who had graduated a year ahead of us. I took a terrifying ride on the back of a swift motorcycle through insanely random traffic patterns. I could only see through my periphery as I clung to my old roomie's back like a flatworm.We arrived at a place called the Planting Fields and Arboretum. I think it was Old Westbury but forgive me if my memory is incorrect. It was 1969 after all! It was a beautiful but mild day and the place was blanketed with picnickers and hippies doing their various "things." The one memory that replays itself with unusual frequency and clarity for me is that of a young man sitting by himself on a blanket with an acoustic guitar. He was singing "I shot my baby, down by the river..." Or is that the other way around? To be truthful, my memory plays it both ways but that is so typical of how my memory of even my own lyrics works. I'm so brain damaged. I'm sure that's a function of having been terrorized by Sister Mary Confusing threatening to fail me if I couldn't recite something from the Catholic poetry book. I remember tearing off and eating the corners of many of the pages in that book. What up with that, Doc?
But, as usual, I digress. What struck me most about the singer in the park was his total abandon, his complete commitment to the song, his groundedness as he was completely unaffected by passersby, dogs who wondered by, sniffed his strings and threatened to pee on him, Frisbee marathons, and an atmosphere redolent of patchouli and burning hemp. He merged his song with his environment and he was blissed on it.
I had many moments like that yesterday as I played down by the river, geographically speaking, that is. I never played that song. The boat condo sales group, who was paying me to be background music, kept turning me down as I showed them how to control my master gain. I could hear them, even through my in-ear monitors, pitching $87,000 boat condos. Eventually they moved under their own tent and turned me back up.
Behind me, a giant forklift slid cabin cruisers off a fourth story shelf and plunked them in the water. Giant toys in the Gulf Coast bathtub. Their owners dined on fried this and barbecued that at tables to my immediate right in the little riverside restaurant that is soon to be flattened when the present marina is demolished for the new one to rise. This patio crowd loved me and tipped me and made requests while the people who paid me kept telling me I was great but turn it down just a tad. The going is tough when you're not sure if you heard your own last sales pitch embellishment. These guys were good and had a terrific product for people who had way too much money. Strangely, there doesn't seem to be any shortage of those folks around here. I almost wish I had a boat just so I could take advantage of all they were offering. For the modest monthly condo fee you got your fish cleaned for free, your gas at cost and your deli sandwiches at cost. You could order your basket lunch in advance of your arrival at the marina and find it neatly stored on your yacht which would be gassed up and waiting in the water by the time you parked the Hummer. Tipping is to be prohibited. I wish kayaking had such amenities. Now there's a business opportunity for somebody who owns waterfront.
Did I digress once again? Get used to it. I thoroughly enjoyed myself under a tent, on the lawn with the intercoastal waterway to my left. A flock of pelicans hung in and listened to every note. I didn't scare them away and the patio crowd continued to surprise me with smiles and clapping and tips. The ladies who run the restaurant want me back to play for them and we chatted and mourned the impending loss of this fun little place and the fact that they'll be cut off from their favorite kayaking spots and island camp. My best moments were when I was able to feel as grounded as I do in yoga class and feel my spirit move across the lawn and patio and boat yard and waterway on my songs. That scene from 1969 now merges with this one in my memory. The aroma yesterday was of bay water, fish filet and beer but everything else was the same.
posted by Bud @ 10:08 AM
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