escaping and gobsmacked

     A Miles Davis set blended nicely into a Horace Silver quintet piece as the Pacific coast glided along through the windshield. Southbound on Highway One, watching the cobalt blue sky and turquoise Pacific wash away dystopian blues.

      Nature was giving me a brain massage, kneading away the freak show that is Washington. Art Blakey, and then Ella and Lee Morgan bringing life back to a moribund sense of hope. Being spiked up with the sheer beauty of the California coast, as far away from the evil spell as I can be.  Destination-a better mind set and Morro Bay.

     When we visited as tourists, California was always a mind cleanser. We'd come from back east wired up with the ways of politics and intrigues and work. A few breaths of air, the heat of the sun and the Cali culture made all of that seem so silly, other worldly, curious and far away.

     Feeling Highway 1 under the wheels, and in the groove the liberation spirit was rising and I had a mission.

       Oysters, from Giovanni's on the embarcadero was my assignment for a daughter's birthday party tomorrow. We've been buying oysters and fish from this waterfront since our first adventure in never never land in the late 60's. I love the product of the local fishermen, the staff, and to people watch. I was a  tourist here once and I catch a nostalgic vibe each time I see folks enjoying a vacation and cuing up in line for the take away or being dazzled by the counter case offerings.

      Today, there was some other blue magic. Black and red magic too.

     The Woodies are in town.

    Woodies at a California Surf Shop! That's about as far from the Senate and this White House that you can get, right?

    I heard a woman say to her mate, "You know you're getting old when you remember the Woodies." His retort, "Or when you don't get 'em very often." They snickered and so did a few others milling about. 

     So maybe the Saturday Night Live skits "The Californians" make you smile. We laugh too. But right now California life makes a lot more sense than Washington stupidity and seems a lot healthier as well.
      Here's a man that get's my vote-a man with a real skill and who has them waiting in line

    Cruising back up the 1, with Coltrane, Indy's own Wes Montgomery, Marsalis, Parker and Dizzy I felt better and got it through my head that all things change and pass. Whether you call it karma, universal balance, divine justice, or whatever, action gets responded to with reaction and so it has ever been. 

    I also know I'd rather spend a day on the California coast than in a Senate hearing room. You know, I knew that years ago, but needed simply to get out there and breath it, feel it, enjoy it. I'm not going out on a limb here when I say you can breath it, feel it, and enjoy it wherever you are. It's life and we only have one. We should not let fools, idiots, liars and ideologues take that from us. There are days for fighting, and there are days for recharging. Peace.

    See you down the trail. 

REMEMBERING WES & PACIFIC ART

THAT CAT CAN PLAY

     Jazz radio hosts are remembering the great Wes Montgomery on this the 90th anniversary of his birth. Even though I'm a Caucasian with no musical talent I feel a kinship to the guitarist from Indianapolis.

     First,  there is the hometown connection. Then several years ago I worked with Wes's brother, Buddy, a great player in his own right in trying to develop a documentary on Wes.  We couldn't get a buyer, but the time working with Buddy and hearing tales was a thrill.

     I got hooked on jazz when I was a high school kid who'd listen to rhythm & blues and jazz radio.  I had to be in the minority of whites, especially young whites, who listened.

     I was working in the mid-town area at an FM station known for it's classical and semi classical play list, but I'd listen to a small station that played jazz.  My station was in the heart of the city, in an old hotel that at the time was known as a place for hookers, working out of the marbled bar and lobby. The jazz station was further east, in what had become an industrial neighborhood, near the giant RCA plant. I'd drive through that area on the way into my Saturday and Sunday shifts, from noon to 1:00 AM. One day I had filled in for a regular staff guy and on the way home decided to stop in at the jazz station.

      I knew the Dearborn Hotel, because I played in a basketball league that played in the famous little gym there. I punched the elevator button for the top floor and passed through levels of aroma.  There was stale smoke smell of the lobby, the gym smell, food and what I call old hotel aromas.  There was a buzzer on a door at the end of the hall that displayed the station's call letters. I was about to leave after a couple of punches when a black man with slicked backed hair, a goatee and wearing a white shirt and tie asked "What can I do for you sunny?"

      I explained my mission, told him of my love of jazz and he bid me entry into a small office, stacked full of records and a couple of desks cluttered with broadcast logs-records of the music and commercials played.  We sat in the studio over looking the neighborhood, toward the downtown and chatted.  He was a jazz player too. He'd played with Wes and the great JJ Johnson among others.  

      I think he was amazed to count among his listeners a white suburban high school boy, but he seemed thrilled just to know the music "crossed over."  

     I was struck by a comment about Wes.  

     "He is one fine negro gentleman, and man that cat can play."

     That was back in the early 60's.  From that era here are a couple of videos of the great Wes Montgomery.

     The first tune is an original-Jingles

Here he is with a couple of other legends.

    Man, that cat can play!

PACIFIC BLUFF ART

 

    See you down the trail.