Going down hard/the aging of the Boomers: Part Four – that’s the trouble…
There is of course that first realization that age has crept up on you. The recognition varies from person to person. Sometimes in subtle ways, as when you bend over to pick something up off the floor and it takes you longer to straighten up. Or it might be that moment which occurs to all, the first time you gaze into the bathroom mirror and you look behind you to see who that old person is.
But the real tell-tale sign is when you hear about the death of close friends or associates. Not just once a year like when you were in your forties or fifties, but four of five times a year.
I was privileged to know John Collins, the last guitar player with Nat King Cole. We were friends. John came out to hear me play quite often when I was living in LA and that was a big honor. Before he retired I went to hear him as often as possible. His playing was an enchantment.
One day we were hanging around and John had just gotten the word that his dear friend Harry ‘Sweets’ Edison, the great trumpet player known for his work with Count Basie, had just died. John was staring off as we drank a coffee at the Beverly Center.
“You okay John?” Collins looked at me with his mischievous smile and said, “Yeah, Artie, I’m okay. It’s just the dues you pay for hanging around longer.”
Now there’s some philosophical insight: the price paid for continuing your life while those around you that you care about check out. John lived well into his eighties before he passed away.
That’s one of the problems with getting older. Boomers are an emotional breed. We were raised on hot rods, milk-shakes, true love at the Drive-in theater, innocent folk guitars, and basically an un-frenzied life that did not include computers, cell phones, virtual realities, internet mumbo-jumbo and the accompanying stress factors which plague our society today.
When President Kennedy was assassinated we knew that the end was near: that the unhurried pace of life was soon to be exchanged for the hectic nothingness of competition and the accumulation of ‘stuff’ –the grand distraction from reality.
But that’s Okay, we rode it out for all it was worth. Now, as we loom around our seventieth year on the face of this planet, we pine for the past, the way things were.
That’s the problem of which there is no solution. So when one of our comrades fades away, it affects us to the max. There are too few left to reminisce about life in the slow lane.
( Art Johnson/ Monaco - copyright 2014)
Ezra Pound
A GIRL
by: Ezra Pound (1885-1972)
THE tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast--
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child -- so high -- you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
by: Ezra Pound (1885-1972)
THE tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast--
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.
Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child -- so high -- you are,
And all this is folly to the world.
One of the 20th century's most influential voices in American and English literature, Ezra Pound was born in the small mining town of Hailey, Idaho
In 1907, after finishing college, Pound accepted a teaching job at Indiana's Wabash College. But the fit between the artistic, somewhat bohemian poet and the formal institution was less than perfect, and Pound soon left.
His next move proved to be more daring. In 1908, with just $80 in his pocket, he set sail for Europe, and landed in Venice brimming with confidence that he would soon make a name for himself in the world of poetry. With his own money, Pound paid for the publication of his first book of poems, "A Lume Spento."
Despite the fact that the work did not create the kind of fireworks he had hoped for, it did open some important doors for him. In late 1908, Pound traveled to London, where he befriended the influential writer and editor Ford Madox Ford, as well as William Butler Yeats. His friendship with Yeats in particular was a close one, and Pound eventually took a job as the writer's secretary, and later served as best man at his wedding.
Success Abroad
In 1909, Pound found the kind of success as a writer that he had wanted. Over the next year, he produced three books, "Personae," "Exultations" and "The Spirit of Romance," the last one based on the lectures he had given in London. All three books were warmly received. Wrote one reviewer: Pound "is that rare thing among modern poets, a scholar."
In 1912, Pound helped create a movement that he and others called "Imagism," which signaled a new literary direction for the poet. At the core of Imagism, was a push to set a more direct course with language, shedding the sentiment that had so wholly shaped Victorian and Romantic poetry.
Literature's Best Friend
Pound's influence extended in other directions. He had an incredible eye for talent and tirelessly promoted writers whose works he felt demanded attention. He introduced the world to up-and-coming poets like Robert Frost and D.H. Lawrence, and was T.S. Eliot's editor. In fact, it was Pound who edited Eliot's "The Waste Land," which many consider to be one of the greatest poems produced during the modernist era.
Over the years, Pound and Eliot would become great friends. Early in his career, when Eliot abandoned his graduate studies in philosophy at Oxford, it was Pound who wrote the young poet's parents to break the news to them.
Pound's lineup of friends also included the Irish novelist James Joyce, whom he helped introduce to publishers and find landing spots in magazines for several of the stories in "The Dubliners" and "A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man." During Joyce's leanest years, Pound helped him with money and even, it is said, helped secure for him an old pair of shoes to wear.
Outraged by the carnage of World War I, Pound lost faith in England and blamed the war on usury and international capitalism. He moved to Italy in 1924, and throughout the 1930s and 1940s embraced Benito Mussolini's fascism, expressed support for Adolf Hitler and wrote for publications owned by the British fascist Oswald Mosley. During World War II he was paid by the Italian government to make hundreds of radio broadcasts criticizing the United States, Franklin D. Roosevelt and Jews, as a result of which he was arrested by American forces in Italy in 1945 on charges of treason. He spent months in detention in a U.S. military camp in Pisa, including three weeks in a six-by-six-foot outdoor steel cage that he said triggered a mental breakdown, "when the raft broke and the waters went over me". Deemed unfit to stand trial, he was incarcerated in St. Elizabeths psychiatric hospital in Washington, D.C., for over 12 years.
Sheet of toilet paper showing start of Canto LXXXIV, c. May 1945 |
Later in his life, Pound analyzed what he judged to be his own failings as a writer attributable to his adherence to ideological fallacies. Allen Ginsberg states that, in a private conversation in 1967, Pound told the young poet, "my poems don't make sense." He went on to supposedly call himself a "moron", to characterize his writing as "stupid and ignorant", "a mess". Ginsberg reassured Pound that he "had shown us the way", but Pound refused to be mollified:
'Any good I've done has been spoiled by bad intentions – the preoccupation with irrelevant and stupid things,' [he] replied. Then very slowly, with emphasis, surely conscious of Ginsberg's being Jewish: 'But the worst mistake I made was that stupid, suburban prejudice of anti-semitism.'
Pound passed away in Venice in 1972 and was buried on the cemetery island Isole di San Michele. Over the course of his long, productive lifetime, Pound published 70 books of his own writing, had a hand in some 70 others, and authored more than 1,500 articles.
Icons and Iconic New York City Music Venues!

Max’s Kansas City
Paul Morrissey, Andy Warhol, Janis Joplin, and Tim Buckley holding court
at Max’s Kansas City — a home for the art crowd — in 1968.

CBGB
The Ramones played their earliest shows at CBGB. “They were all wearing
these black leather jackets. And they counted off this song. And they
started playing different songs, and it was just this wall of noise…
They looked so striking. These guys were not hippies. This was something
completely new,” music journalist Legs McNeil said of
the group’s first show there. In 1977, they returned to the stage
(pictured) — as did a number of now famous punk bands who first got
their start there.

Electric Circus
The experimental, psychedelic nightclub hosted bands (popularly, The
Velvet Underground) between 1967 and 1971. “Like Woodstock, if you
remembered much of what happened at the E.C. you weren’t really there.” The club was recently referenced on an episode of Mad Men.

Fillmore East
Jimi Hendrix, Frank Zappa, and John Lennon were just a few of the
notable acts who shared the stage with Jim Morrison (pictured, in 1968)
at the iconic rock music venue.

Coney Island High
It was short-lived, but Coney Island High became a 1990′s hotspot for punk bands. Sublime played their first New York City show there and as the club’s rep grew, larger acts like Iggy Pop and The Misfits graced the stage.

Danceteria
Madonna’s career blossomed at Danceteria, also a hangout for New Order, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Keith Haring, and Run-DMC.
Mudd Club
Linda Stein, who helped launch The Ramones’ career, is pictured (top) at
the Mudd Club with Joey Ramone, David Bowie, and Dee Dee Ramone after a
Ramones show in 1979. Then up-and-coming artists like Lou Reed, Klaus
Nomi, and Jean-Michel Basquiat became regulars at the no wave and new
wave venue.
Bottom Line
Greenwich Village club the Bottom Line hosted an eclectic group of
performers during the 1970s and ‘80s. “It’s been essentially my living
room. I was very comfortable on that stage. I never really had to think
before I walked out; it came naturally to me,” New York Dolls singer
David Johansen said of the club when it closed in 2004.
The Palladium
The massive concert hall made music history on several occasions — like
the time The Clash’s Paul Simonon smashed his guitar on stage in 1979
(below) and the photo became the band’s famous cover image for theirLondon Calling LP.
The Limelight
The Limelight was club kid central where the likes of Disco Bloodbathauthor James St. James, whose book was adapted for the film Party Monster, and designer Richie Rich loved to hang out (both pictured).
Studio 54
Everyone from Tennessee Williams and Betty Ford, to Dolly Parton and
Grace Jones rubbed elbows at Studio 54. Diana Ross stormed the DJ booth
while Bianca Jagger made a grand entrance on a white horse. Anything
seemed possible, and you weren’t someone unless you were there.
Paradise Garage
“Paradise Garage (1977-1988)
was a Manhattan nightclub for Gay men and their allies. It is
remembered as a mythic utopia for people whose spirituality is grounded
in the performance of communal Gay male folk’s dance, an iconic space in
the history of underground dance music, and the professional residency
of the legendary DJ, Larry Levan.”
Twilo
DJs like Sasha, Paul van Dyk, Danny Tenaglia, and John Digweed ruled
Twilo, which helped popularize international house/trance in American
clubs.
L’Amour
The “Rock Capitol of Brooklyn” was a mecca for hard rock/heavy metal
acts during the late 1980s and early ‘90s. Faith No More, Murphy’s Law,
Life of Agony (pictured), and other well-known bands played alongside
underground groups from across the country.
Tunnel
Tunnel was one of several venues shut down by mayor Rudy Giuliani’s
“quality of life” campaign, but it was a favorite spot for club kids,
celebrities, and DJs in the ‘90s. Tunnel even nabbed a spot in Bret
Easton Ellis’ novel American Psycho.
Going down hard/the aging of the Boomers: Part Three – Dead Famous or, Strangers in the Night
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Archive Kitchen in a cold-water flat on Perry Street, Greenwich Village (Gettyimages.com) |
A winter evening in Montreal two years ago. My wife and I are invited for dinner at the home of a friend and musician in the great Canadian north. The other guests are musicians, writers and journalists, a good time being had by all.
Half-way through the meal, a late guest. Our host is overjoyed that she has arrived. She is in her seventies, well kept but with that sense of ‘dues’ about her face; those lines of chiseled experience carved deeply in her cheeks.
I was unaware of her identity.
She was his partner for over twenty years: he, the Dead Famous musician, Poet and composer who had recently past- away. They gathered around her animated whisky-throated laugh. She was full of nervous energy, someone who had lost someone and needed to be with others.
I sat back like a good stranger and observed.
She gulped down two shots of whiskey and the stories began. The journalists had their memories tuned up.
There was an article here for the next edition of whatever they wrote for. The questions came as if she were not at a party but at an interview. She was becoming uncomfortable.
Then I realized who she was, not from her time spent with Mr. Dead Famous, but from a picture of her I’d recently seen in a magazine article about a record sale for one of her paintings.
My wife was in the kitchen helping out with the mess. I remained on the couch. She looked over at me with a curious smile. “I know you.”
I responded. “No you don’t.”
She walked over to the couch accompanied by her whisky-throated laugh. “No, what I mean is I know who you are.”
I returned. “Why?”
“Because in 1974, I was at the Summer music festival in Central park. You were the guitarist and violist with Tim Buckley. I talked with you in the dressing room while you were warming up your bow arm. I never forgot the fact that you played guitar and viola with Tim. It was really beautiful.”
I was stunned. I was having a vague recollection of that afternoon forty years ago. (Did I just say FORTY years ago?)
She sat down with me and we began to recount the old days. She and I were the ancient ones in attendance. Two or three others gathered a chair and sat around to listen in. We talked about the Village when it was affordable. She mentioned that she had rented a coldwater flat when she first arrived in the late fifties for sixty-five dollars a month. One of the listeners questioned. “What the hell is a coldwater flat?” She and I looked at each other and smiled. You had to be a certain age to know that one.
As the evening rolled by and it was time to retreat she offered to drive my wife and I back to our apartment in Vieux Montreal. The road was icy from recent snows. She navigated slowly saying very little on the road home. She asked me if I were still playing music. I said yes but that I was writing and had just finished my first novel searching for a publisher.
We arrived at our front door on St. Paul West and as we hugged and said goodnight she gave me a wry smile. “After you get your first book published you may want to write one called Coldwater Flat”. We both laughed and she drove off taking her uniqueness with her: a boomer with much history under her belt.
If you are still with us and perchance reading this blog; just to let you know—
I’m working on it.
(Copyright - Art Johnson, Monaco - 2014)
Going Down Hard/The Aging of the Boomers: Part two – What Happened?
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Bob Dylan, en concert en novembre dernier à Londres. Paris Match 2014 |
Perspective makes the world go ‘round. We listen to the same music, view the same movie, taste the same food and opinions vary: the perspective varies.
My thoughts on aging are influenced by my perspective, unique to me because of my experience, my trials and tribulations, successes and failures. We each see things the way we do from our point of observation.
Poets are the great observers of all times.
They assimilate objective events and subject them to their perspective (there’s that word again!). Along the way these thoughts are put into words from a language that the poet is familiar with. They might chose their own or perhaps a foreign dialect that they’ve mastered.
Samuel Beckett’s poems in French, comes to mind.
Whatever.
The writer/poet/essayist expresses their concept, their perspective to share with others.
Nuff said…
Now, the other day I was leafing through ‘Paris Match’ which is roughly the French equivalent to ‘People’ magazine in the U.S. I landed on a page where there were two photos. The first appeared to be a homeless person well nigh seventy years old, destitute in appearance with a sad expression on their face. I read the caption. It was a recent photo of Robert Plant, the voice of Led Zepplin.
Next was a photo of what I assumed to be an old retired butcher or shoe repairman. Wow, Bob Dylan…a double for Moses.
It occurred to me at that moment that the aging process just fell upon the Boomers like a huge boulder from a high cliff…bam!! All of the sudden everyone went from “…looking pretty good.” To “My God, what the hell happened?
As a touring and recording musician during the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s, I’ve been interviewed quite a bit recently for online and print magazines because of the stars that I performed, toured or recorded with, like Tim Buckley, Judee Sill, Lena Horne, Randy Crawford etc.
The twenty-something interviewers are always fascinated when I describe to them a world they’ve only encountered in history books.
Over the next few weeks I will share some of my “old geezer” perspectives with the hopes that those who weren’t there then, but wanted to be, can get a sense of what was, which they can have for the now.
(What did he just say?) Later…Art
(© Copyright - Art Johnson - Monaco 2014)
Jazz ‘Hot’: The Rare 1938 Short Film With Jazz Legend Django Reinhardt
Here’s a remarkable short film of the great gypsy jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt, violinist Stéphane Grappelli and their band the Quintette du Hot Club de France performing on a movie set in 1938. The film was hastily organized by the band’s British agent Lew Grade as a way to introduce the band’s unique style of guitar- and violin-based jazz to the British public before their first UK tour. As Michael Dregni writes in Gypsy Jazz: In Search of Django Reinhardt and the Soul of Gypsy Swing:
The Quintette was unknown to the British public, and there was no telling how their new music would resonate. So, Grade sought to educate his audience. He hired a movie crew to film a six-minute-plus promotional short entitled Jazz “Hot” to be shown in British theaters providing a lesson in jazz appreciation to warm up the crowds.
That would explain the didactic tone of the first two and a half minutes of the film, which plods along as a remedial lesson on the nature of jazz. It opens with an orchestra giving a note-for-note performance of Handel’s “Largo,” from the opera Xerxes, which the narrator then contrasts to the freedom of jazz improvisation.
But the film really comes alive when Django arrives on the screen and launches into a jazz arrangement of the popular French song “J’attendrai.” (The name means “I will wait,” and it’s a reworking of a 1933 Italian song, “Tornerai” or “You Will Return,” by Dino Olivieri and Nino Rastelli.) Although the sequences of Reinhardt and the band playing were obviously synchronized to a previously recorded track, Jazz “Hot” is the best surviving visual document of the legendary guitarist’s two-fingered fretting technique, which he developed after losing the use of most of his left hand in a fire. To learn more about Reinhardt and to watch a full-length documentary on his life, see our August 2012 post, “Django Reinhardt and the Inspiring Story Behind His Guitar Technique.”
Reposted from Open Culture
Going Down Hard /The Aging of the Boomers: Part one – Artificial Paradise
This series of undetermined length shall be part story, part essay, part philosophy and a smattering of my observations regarding the flower-power generation and its seemingly overnight process of aging.
Granola one day: Grandpa the next.
If you were born between 1940 and 1950, there may be something here for you. If you were born before or after these decades, there might be something here for you.
I would also like to mention that since the ‘Devil’s Violin’ blog began over six months ago many persons have been appreciative of the contents, and the thanks must also go to Chi-Li Wong from Los Angeles who I have been extremely fortunate to have as my research assistant and blog poster. I could not continue these projects without her valuable assistance and unfailing energy.
The kitchen clock showed 9:57. Soon it would be ten. …Time for senior citizens like myself to be in bed praying for a good nights’ sleep. Those days of hanging out in bars until one in the morning then coming home, smoking a joint, downing two more shots of whisky and diving into an old Bogart movie on television until 4:00 am—those days are over: aren’t they?
There’s our problem.
The desires drawn upon to feed those moments of jubilant excess still persist.
Age does not change the interior of a person.
That one realization can ruin everything.
The body becomes feeble, limbs uncooperative, digestion intolerable in its pace. And then there are those constantly occurring breathless moments experienced during the day when the slightest physical effort reminds you that death is inching closer.
The continual awareness of your physical decline haunts your every thought.
But still, inside, you are anything but that mass of decaying flesh which stares back at you in the bathroom mirror.
All of your hopes are pinned on the premise that one night without premeditation you will leave your apartment, go to a bar downtown, drink yourself silly, laugh with strangers over nothing then return home to smoke a joint, do more shots of whiskey and watch “The Maltese Falcon” until the sun rises.
These are the thoughts I have as the ambulance speeds down 5th avenue, sirens roaring at 10:30 with me strapped to a gurney. Two nervous paramedics who seem, to my failing eyes, to be about fifteen years of age, smile nervously at me brandishing the ‘thumbs-up” sign.
Who the hell do they think they’re kidding?
I don’t have the slightest idea what happened. One moment I was looking at the clock in the kitchen, just before ten, and now I’m racing to the emergency entrance of Mercy hospital with the Gerber baby twins overseeing my well being.
The ambulance pulls into a driveway lit up by intense yellow lights; the ones that are supposed to ward off moths yet when you look directly at the bulbs they are engulfed by those grey-winged creatures.
Why is everything backwards?
Why do they have to put “…do not take internally” on boxes of products which are marked poison?
When did they start doing that?
When I was growing up in the 1950’s, people didn’t have to be warned to not drink from a bottle of rat poison, or not to stick their head inside a plastic bag and seal it around their neck!
No, no-no…I’m sorry this just won’t do.
It’s moments like this when you realize that life, after a certain year, varying from individual to individual is pointless. The ‘twins’ shot me up with something before we left the apartment in the ambulance.
I’m probably going to die, but I feel great.
Just like coming home from a bar at one in the morning, smoking a joint and….
(© Copyright 2014 - Art Johnson – Monaco)
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