Car Bomb Relay

Posted on May 23, 2005 by Jim

No… this isn’t about the tragedies that take place on a nearly daily basis in the Middle East. Please shift your frame of reference.

When I was growing up a “shot” was what you got in your arm. I didn’t like it. I was afraid of it. I am told that this is common, and it didn’t mean that I was a “wuss”. Somewhere along life’s path, a “shot” became an injection, and maybe about the same time I lost my fear.

Then, somewhat later, I learned that a “shot” was an ounce and half of whisky, usually consumed as a pre-cursor to a beer (this combination known as a “boiler maker”), or dropped into a beer with a shot glass when it was known as a “depth charge”.

It was considered a “working class” drink… something that had a whiff of dirty finger nails, tired bones & mill towns.

In recent decades the “shot” has evolved into a “mini-cocktail”… complete with fancy names: lemon drop, B-52, sex on the beach, to name but a few. All sorts of ingredients have been transistorized into tiny servings and then tossed back in a single gulp.

And culturally we have moved the “shot” from the dark neighborhood joints of coal mining towns, to the upscale saloons of College towns and the au courant establishments of wealthy suburbia.

The “shot” has become part emblematic of a celebratory excursion of the moment, and part vehicle for a quick and tasty path to inebriation. The latter element being crucial the nearer we are to the campuses.

I have tended bar for a number of years… the recipes for these micro concoctions come and go… that’s fine. Personally? I have been known to enjoy a martini or two, and as a evening lengthens, I sometimes sip some of Scotland’s best… or Kentucky’s… Shots? Nah, it just ain’t me.

No matter… I was a spectator recently to an “event” at my second “office”, the exquisite Ash Creek Saloon. Two teams of five contestants each lined up on opposing sides of the bar… Stalwarts on the “business” side of the bar coming from the ranks of the Ash Creek staff (aided by two serious friends of the staff… including Red, the architect of this escapade)… and the “friendly opposition” being recruited from some regulars, plus a “stranger” who was dragooned into the contest.

Five behind the bar, against five on the patron side. Each soul standing with a half pint of Guinness into which a hot glass containing Baily’s and Jameson has been submerged. This appealing libation is called a “car bomb”.

Then at the appointed signal (I, as an impartial observer, whose integrity was not to be doubted, acted as the official starter)… a mere “go”… then each of the lead contestants shot the “car bomb” and upon conclusion the glass was slammed in dramatic fashion, which was the signal for contestant #2 to launch his or her shot…

You know… a relay. The slam of the glass was like the “passing of the baton”.

Anchoring the Ash Creek team was one James Doyle, and that spelled doom for the “visiting team”. Geeze. He could have been a quarter of a glass down & he would have won. But when he got the “baton” he was even, and when he shot that car bomb, it turned into the equivalent of Secretariat winning the Derby by 21 lengths.

Stunning. It made Big Mike’s effort asthe opposing anchor’s effort look like a leisurely sip of Earl Grey. How did James do that? That shot simply evaporated.

Well… never mind. I never question nature’s mysteries like where the elephants go to die, or how did James Doyle dispose of a half pint of Guinness (augmented by Baily’s & Jameson) faster than you could blink an eye. I don’t know… maybe he doesn’t know that multiple gulping is permitted on this planet.

I gotta shake my head. I gotta smile… and while you’re there, I guess my tumbler of Wild Turkey is looking a mite low…

Posted in The Ash Creek Bourbon & Conversation Corner | Leave a comment

Artists & Groups

Posted on May 13, 2005 by Jim

 

OK…

Let’s get the formalities over with.  My List of the Best Groups and Artists will not be a pure ranking as both Rolling Stone & Zack has done… admirable efforts on both parts.  I won’t even come close to listing 100… not by a mile, sorry.  But I will try to give a mostly literate exposition on those included herein.

Ranking them into a “top 100”?  It just ain’t me.

Next… I really have to tip my hat to Zack who has acquired and impressive knowledge of music that extends over decades and music trends.  I am envious.  You will note from my listing that I suffer from Arrested Development (I think that might actually be the name of a group; but in my case it refers to the fact that I didn’t reach puberty ’til the age of 34).

“My Music” saturation took place from just before entering college to just after leaving it.  I continue to love music, particularly from that era… and there are tunes that catch my ear today from the newer groups and artists… I am less attached to them and not as familiar with their body of work or performance… so in most cases, for me, they are the music equivalent of a “one night stand”.  Sorry.

So… for my purposes the list below is purely personal and is not an attempt to create a true hierarchy.  I have organized my list as follows… there is a Number 1, then a group of “Biggies” with no numeric ranking, followed by a group of “Premiums”, similarly with no numeric ranking, and then a special category of “Sure They’re Great”; but I simply don’t care for them all that much, regardless of how great they were or are.

I will have a few comments on the other side…

 

THE GROUPS & ARTISTS

Number One.

The Rolling Stones. The first record I owned was Flower Drum Song.  OK, I loved Broadway stage productions, and still do… shoot me.  I ignored popular music for years, in much the same way that I turned my back to the other “teen age” things that my peers were involved in.  It was finally in 1966 when I discovered two things… girls (and that be Ellen) and rock music (and that be the Rolling Stones).  I listened to the Stones for the first time over at Gary Moss’.  My first two rock albums were Aftermath and High Tide & Green Grass.

Ellen and the Stones…it was a good year… I was lucky on both accounts.

Back then you more or less made a choice between loving the Stones or the Beatles… in much the same way growing up in New Haven you made a choice for pizza between Pepe’s or Sally’s.

For some reason I rejected the more polished image of the Beatles for the more rustic edgy look of the Stones.  But more important I preferred their music… more bluesy.  I also preferred Jagger’s rich vocal to the pretty harmonies of the Beatles.

Their body of work is tremendous…and at this point you can pick songs from five different decades and applaud their continued musicianship.  Satisfaction was an anthem for a generation… but from their earlier book I loved the dark Paint it Black with Brian Jones picking up the sitar (which if memory serves preceded George Harrison doing the same thing), or Under My Thumb.  I think I could listen to those two songs back to back into eternity.

Gimme Shelter is a song that both Zack and I have singled out as their best.

But don’t forget this… they put on outstanding concerts… over five decades… they have never stopped being a live band (although I have never seen them).  Next, Jagger and Richard wrote some impressive music.  Next, they knew what songs to cover… and they knocked the shit out of those songs.  Next, they are great musicians.  Jones was terrific, followed by Mick Taylor and then Ron Wood on guitar… all first rate.  Charlie Watts has to be the most under rated drummer in the business.  Wyman was more than capable and his bass riff on Satisfaction gives me chills.  And Keith Richard is a living monument to how far you can go on drugs and expensive cognac.

The Biggies

The Who. I was lucky to have seen The Who pre-Tommy, Tommy & post Tommy.  What a group, what a sound generated by just three musicians (only to be surpassed by the Cream live).  I don’t think I will ever see a drummer hit the skins as hard as Keith Moon.  The album Who’s Next maybe be the most complete and perfect rock album ever made.

Cream. I had the chance to see them on their farewell tour.  My gosh, I hesitate using the label because there was a group known as T-Rex… but the Cream was the Tyrannosaurus Rex of their brief day.  Nobody, and I mean nobody could match them.  Clapton, who is God, on guitar; Ginger Baker on drums… his drum kit looked like a redoubt; and the best bass player on the planet in Jack Bruce.  He also sported choir quality tenor vocals.  Crossroads has to be the finest live recording ever made.

Traffic. Without Dave Mason their sound was more economical, with him they added a dimension that mirrored what happened when Neil Young was added to CSN… they got a guitar, a vocal and another songwriter.  Still the group will be remembered as a show piece for Steve Winwood.  Is there an instrument he couldn’t play?  The John Barleycorn Must Die album is superior stuff, sans Mr. Mason.

John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers. The alumni of this band reads like a Who’s Who of musicians.  Let’s begin with guitar legends like Eric Clapton, Peter Green and Mick Taylor… on Bass we’ll put John McVie and on drums Mick Fleetwood.  His bands always featured talented musicians who really could play.  Their playlist was a combination of covers, which they handled almost without equal, and Mayall originals.  I have always enjoyed the “music” behind Mayall’s tunes… some of the subject matter and lyrics didn’t hit the mark for me.  You know the “blues” should be about women who did us wrong & not environmental issues like dirty water.  Still his bands always cooked… and my goodness, the guy is a legend.

Kinks. As much as I loved the Stones, it is this group that I am sorry that I have missed seeing live.  I understand that Ray Davies was famous for coming on stage after consuming copious quantities of Jack Daniels or Chivas Regal and then performing thru an alcoholic haze.  Be that as it may, they were a terrific group from the get go… You Really Got Me, All Day and All of the Night and Tired of Waiting For You were great songs; but their niche developed in social commentary… Dedicated Follower of Fashion and Well Respected Man and then Victoria on their opus Arthur — Or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire.

The Animals. If Gary Moss was the person who introduced me to the Stones, it was Art Riccio who introduced me to the Animals.  And I include them in this august group of “Biggies” because of Eric Burden and his monster treatment of It’s My Life, Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood and the ultimate slow song of my era House of the Rising Sun.  Burden’s later effort in War, or as a cheerleader for Jimi Hendrix do not diminish his work with the original Animals.  They performed at Union the year before I got there. Shame.

B.B. King. What a voice, rich, round & silky.  He had great emotion in his renditions and marvelous vocal phrasing.  And, by the by, he could play a little guitar here and there.  I have seen him play at Fillmore East and most recently at the Stamford Palace; but it was seeing him at Union that was the best.  In between sets I summoned the courage to go back stage to shake his hand.  And what a hand it is… it completely encompassed mine.  I put it right up there with shaking Johnny Unitas’ hand. And the thrill is not gone!

Police. This is a group from my “post college” days.  Don’t ask me when I first heard them, or what I first heard them play. But this became evident… I thought that Sting was a good vocalist, and I liked every song I listened to.  It’s that simple.  So what if I can’t tell you who the other band members are, or anything else about them.  Message in the Bottle is a monster track.

Simon and Garfunkel. I think that Paul Simon is a brilliant songwriter… a talent that extended beyond his association with Art Garfunkel.  But the music written for their “group” that featured the high parts for Garfunkel is extraordinary. Bridge Over Troubled Water and For Emily, Whenever I May Find Her are masterpieces for Garfunkel’s clear voice.  In their collection of work I don’t think there has ever been better vocal harmonies.  And in terms of “poetry” for my time there is a marvelous line in Sounds of Silence: “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls and the tenement halls.”

Billy Joel. I think it was about a year ago that I caught a Billy Joel concert on the tube.  It might have been with Elton John or with another piano player who was going to perform his classical music.  No matter.  But here comes Joel on stage, and he brings a humongus 3 ring binder with his music & proceeds to sit down at the piano and play thru some of his tunes.  He would leaf thru the book, and then on a whim he would say… “oh, here’s a good one…” In reality there was never a bad one… and without hesitation you can pick favorites that span eras of his musical log.  Zack and I both pick Scenes From an Italian Restaurant… and I have a huge sentimental weakness for his Lullaby… it’s the song I danced to with Shaina at her Bat Mitzvah.

James Taylor. His voice is so good it’s scary.  And I don’t think he has dropped an inch in quality in 35+ years.  His music has always soothed my spirit, and treat of treats I will finally get a chance to see him live.  I just picked up tickets for his gig at Jones Beach this summer.  And this is not really important… he looked good when he was young with long hair… and he looks good today mostly bald… and the smile is just the same!

Dire Straits. Sultan of Swing… Sultan of Swing… Sultan of Swing. If for no other reason, I think I would put this group here.  It is one of my favorite tunes… and it emerged in my post-college days.  Mark Knopfler is the only name connected to band that means anything to me… he is the song writer and I believe the lead guitar and vocalist. I love the throaty sound to his voice and the more I listened to their music, the more I liked their sound… to a point where a week does not go by when I don’t listen to the Money For Nothing album.  Every song save Twisting by the Pool a winner.

Joe Cocker. This is a late entry.  I have been listening to Joe Cocker Ultimate Collection over and over again.  The tracks are ordered chronologically and I am struck by the quality of each layer of his music decade by decade.  His early music was backed by some of the finest session men of the day (from both sides of the Atlantic).  His later recordings I was mostly unfamiliar with ’til stumbling upon this CD.  And far from disappointed, I think he has added depth and richness to his material.  This guy is a star.

The Premiums

The Supremes. Or is it Diana Ross and The Supremes?  No matter.  I actually preferred the Four Tops to this group.  But this group had the pizazz.  They had the glitz.  The style.  The amazing gowns.  The hand gestures.  And Diana Ross’ dazzling smile.  But the music was good and so were their vocals.  Real good.  Classic Holland, Dozier & Holland tunes.  Smooth as silk, and as exciting as a sequined gown fitting close to the hip.

Crosby, Stills, Nash (Young). I think their first album (Mr. Young yet to join) was one of the best made.  This was the “ultimate” super group combining “star” players from the Buffalo Springfield, the Hollies and the Byrds.  Talented song writers, great vocalists and in Stills’ case, a Goddamned good musician.  Their harmonies were spot on and when Neil Young came on board he magnified their collective talents.  Monster group.

Rod Stewart. This is an artist of “Biggie” stature who did too much commercial quality stuff in his “in between” years.  Too bad.  Early Stewart was tremendous.  Check out his work with Jeff Beck and with the Faces.  His first two solo albums were huge quality… with #2 Every Picture Tells a Story being one of the best albums made.  At the other end of the time line stands the American Song Book series… two out of three which are sensational.  He can do it all… ballads, rockers & tunes… even wrote a song or two.

Madonna. She chooses good material, or she is given good material.  So what?  The same could be said for Frank Sinatra.  And big time presence and talent she has.  And maybe if I hadn’t seen videos of her she would be a footnote to this listing.  But I have seen her.  And my God can she move.  So here it is.  She knows and picks great music.  She interprets it like hell.  She moves in ways that stirs the soul.  And unless you are a persimmon, you know you want to take her to bed.  Now maybe if you’re a woman that doesn’t count.  Sorry.

U2 This group was huge long before they were on my radar.  There were probably years when they were the biggest grossing act on the planet.  My hat goes to them.  Beautiful Day is a wonderful song, sweeping theme and completely uplifting… and because of that song I started to pay attention to their other songs… my, what a log.  And while I know them the least of the artist/groups describes in these pages, I am no fool… I see a group of magnitude.  This is definitely a group of big time weight.

Sure They’re Great

The Beatles. What can I say? They made some truly great music spread across a spectacular variety of musical genres.  But I am a Stones guy, and praising the Beatles too much would be the equivalent of growing up in New Haven and rooting for Harvard.  You know, yes, it’s a great University… but fuck them!

Bob Dylan. I am going to create the “Dylan Scale”.  It measures the greatness of the music against vocal presentation.  And Dylan will set the standard of marvelous music (check out who covers him) with nasal nails-across-the-chalkboard vocals.  My apologies to Philip DeCostanzo.

The Band. I had their second album.  Yes, it was terrific.  And The Last Waltz was a tour de force.  But I include them here because Zack and Will think the world of them.  And both those boys (as does the group itself) deserve respect.

 

Alright.  It’s like this… I left alotta artists and groups off this piece and I am not going to list them here.  Maybe I just didn’t won’t to write about them.  So please, no letters asking why this or that person or group wasn’t put in. Just live with it… I’m not getting paid to do this.

OK… class is out.  Go listen, go breathe.  Walk by open windows & look both ways when you cross the street.

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You Gotta Giggle

Posted on May 3, 2005 by Jim

I just shake my head and laugh when I learn about stuff… simple stuff that other folks have known all along that some how had eluded my understanding…

Take that common instruction that Doctors give to us boys to “turn you head and cough”. For the ladies in the audience who are not in the know, this command is given while the Doctor places his fingers near our “pride and joy” and is meant to be a test for a hernia… well, that’s what they tell us anyway.

Now the coughing part I can sort of understand. The act of coughing can put a strain on your lower abdomen as muscles constrict. OK. It was the “turn your head” part that I could never figure out.

I guess I just attributed it to one of the mysteries of medicine. You know… the act of pivoting your head 90 degrees created a change in the vertical column of your spine which had an impact on the pelvis and the housing for our genitalia. It was the key feature in determining if we had a hernia or were prone to one.

So I thought…

I guess I was nearing 50 years of age when the mystery of this curious medical test was finally unwrapped. I forgot how I learned it… or who told me. The “turn your head” part was merely meant to have you not cough in the Doctor’s face.

Geeze… you gotta giggle.

Or an earlier revelation… there is a Jewish delicacy called gefilte fish. I will spare you the details on how this “delicacy” is made… suffice it to say that for practical purposes it is a “fish meatball” comprised of pike, carp & white fish. It is a popular dish to serve at Passover in the spring and on Rosh Hashanah in the fall. If the idea of this dish doesn’t sound appetizing, let me assure you the sight of it is worse. And if truth be told, I think that 75% of the Jews hate the dish.

Be that as it may, my Grandmother Mommie Soph made a superior gefilte fish (by the by, for those of us who love this dish we all have Mothers or Grandmothers who made the best… something that put us immediately at odds with our spouses and any other pretenders to the cooking craft).

Twice a year Mommie Soph would labor at producing an adequate quantity of gefilte fish to supply our extended family and then some. I am first to admit that there couldn’t have been a more finicky eater than me. The fact that I adored Mommie Soph’s gefilte fish is well known. Paul also rightly observed that the typical use of beet horseradish as a condiment was completely unnecessary for Mommie Soph’s fish… she peppered it so, that a simple bite would bring tears to your eyes and clear your sinuses.

I would look into the kitchen as she made jars of fish for this and that relative. To me it was like she was depleting the reserves of Fort Knox. And then there was the jar she was sending to the Povermans.

The Povermans?

How the hell do they rate? OK. The Povermans were long time friends of our family. They lived around the corner on McKinley St. David was a Doctor, married to Helen… two children, Judy who went to school with Lynn (and who I think had a crush on Paul at one point) and Buzzie who went to Hopkins with Paul and Alan. The Povermans were also sailors… they had a boat that slept 6 or 8… and it was on that boat that Paul would crush his leg just before graduating from Union College.

OK… back to the fish. Now, fine… the Povermans are dear friends, they lived around the corner, and all… but still it amazed me that they wanted Mommie Soph’s gefilte fish… I mean most Jews are repelled by it… but for someone who was gentile to actually like it demonstrated conclusively to me how excellent Mommie Soph’s version was… you know Q.E.D.

One day I was talking to Bessie about Mommie Soph’s gefilte fish, I guess I must have been 30 something when this conversation took place… how great it was… Bessie in fact took a stab at it one year; but let’s not kid around, it was good; but a shadow of what Mommie Soph made. And then I said… “look Bessie, if non-Jews like the Povermans could like Mommie Soph’s fish… then that had to say something.”

Then she looked at me and said, “What are you talking about?”

And I repeated… “If the Povermans, and there can’t be anyone more Episcopalian than them, liked gefilte fish…”

“Episcopalian? Are you nuts? They’re Jewish!”

I nearly fainted. I thought Bessie had to be pulling my leg. Even after both Paul and Lynn confirmed to me that they were Jewish… I thought that they were pulling my leg, too. It was a conspiracy. I had known the Povermans all my life… I knew better.

Man, you gotta giggle.

Other folks can giggle, too. Take the car I drive on most days. It is a red Chevy Sprint of indeterminate age. I acquired the car from Lynn and Alan when Zack reached driving age and would need a car for work. And as things turn and twist, the car that was meant for his use was turned over to me, and he got the better car (the safer car, as Ellen pointed out), and the car that was easier to drive (Zack not skilled in the stick shift arts).

Some 8 years later I am still driving the Sprint. It is being held together by bailing wire and glue. Suzy drives my “new” car… for somewhat the same reasons that Zack did.

For years I have referred to this car as my mercedes… (and in print mercedes is always with a lower case “m”). I tell folks that I got a great price on it because it didn’t have the hood ornament. It is my ambition to one day have a real Mercedes and have a bumper sticker made that says my other car is a Chevy Sprint.

Well… the rest of the world can laugh… I think there are more Dusenburgs on the road than Chevy Sprints!

Nevertheless, I have been the brunt of many a joke with regards to the mercedes. Folks at work always make light of it… But there are new folks that get “layered” into work here at Grapes, and who will get stories mid-stream so to speak.

And so it was Donna, who kept on hearing about the mercedes… and clearly she saw a beat up Chevy Sprint sitting in the parking lot of Grapes and simply thought that I left the Mercedes at home… and only used it for special occasions. We had been working together for several months… and it was no big deal… it’s not like we dwell on cars… so the incidental references to the mercedes caused no ruffles.

Then there is the day that Sandy makes light of the mercedes… and she knew the car… and when Donna finally learns about the true nature of the car they share a good laugh.

And when Sandy tells me that Donna thought that I really had a Mercedes I had a good laugh, too.

So armed with this amusing tale of “mistaken identity”, I decide to share my laugh with Barbara… a woman who I have worked with for five years…

I lay out the story… how Donna actually thought I had a Mercedes… and Barbara turns red in the face, gets this wonderful sheepish smile… and she says that this was news to her, too… that she thought I had a Mercedes, too and just kept it parked at home.

Oh well… I just gotta giggle.

Maybe it’s a sign of age? I think of myself sitting in a solarium, the sun streaming into the room, in a rocking chair, a blanket on my lap, maybe I just peed in my PJs… but somehow enjoying the simplicity of a good giggle… remembering what it was like to laugh at something that had an unexpected truth.

I like collecting this stuff… and I know that this can get out of hand… and perhaps this isn’t as amusing to you as it is to me.

But if you see me one day dribbling oat meal from the corners of my mouth… and if I have some stupid shit eating grin on my face… you’ll have an idea what I’m thinking about…

And it’s all good.

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Mr. Billy

Posted on May 2, 2005 by Jim

Look around… who can you trust with your ills? It ain’t your Doctor… that’s purely medical… and that’s not what I’m talking about. No.

And sometimes you can’t talk to your “significant other” either. Maybe that part pinches a bit… you know, you would think we could talk to someone who we are intimately connected to… but no, not always. We conceal our ills from those who we are closest to… maybe it hurts more to reveal a vulnerability? (it’s not their fault… it’s just the way it is).

So where is it safe? Where is it comfortable? Where can you go to be whole? Man, there are oodles of corner joints… places where there is a chair for us, faces familiar & lights low enough to obscure our presence and preserve our anonymity.

It is there, on this night, that Mr. Billy reigns supreme. On other nights it could have been Sean or Kelly patrolling the business side of the bar at Ash Creek Saloon.

One time I got to thinking, “Does Billy own a pair of pants?” I don’t think I have ever seen him working the bar, regardless of the season, in anything other than shorts. No matter. Billy is always there with a word, a smile, a thrust of a welcoming hand, a “howya doin’?”… and he is lightening quick to refill your glass with some of Kentucky’s finest.

To be there seems to be enough… a scritch and rub to your soul.

Trade places? I have been on Billy’s side. Many years. I like it better on this side. But I confess that sometimes I itch to go behind the bar again. To draw a beer, mix a Madras, chill the glasses for a perfectly built Martini… Oh yes, a brilliant Martini. Moving from one citizen to another, administering an elixir, providing a word or two, helping the wait staff, settling checks… not dropping a beat.

I do appreciate Billy’s work. I recognize his skill and “charm”. And more than anything else, I thank Billy for the respect and kindness he favours each of us, some in more need than others, and in particular I thank him for his smile and a wink to those who are suffering the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”… for it is the knowing smile and a wink that is infinitely more valuable than anything found in a glass.

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