It’s A Beautiful Day

Triple entendre, that.

The title, that is.

First, simply literally.

As I was taking care of errands, motoring about the other afternoon, it was a poetic spring day.

Sunny. Short sleeve warm. Not too humid.

And, oh my, that sky.

Azure to infinity.

Lazy billowy Cumulus. Layered. Textured.

The sort of visual, like the Pacific at Big Sur, the verdancy of Cherokee in full bloom, or an August field of tall sunflowers in the Périgord which causes you to stop and marvel at the beauty of Spaceship Earth at rest in its natural state.

And figuratively.

I’m at the stage of life that while savoring the day, I had successfully completed two of my triad of medical appointments last week. Not that many over the norm for an octogenarian. Good news at both. Blessings. All that’s left is annual eye checkup. Easy peasy.

So, it would have psychologically been a boffo day even were Mark Weinberg on the telly huffin’ and puffin’ about some rotation hovering over my condo.* Read the rest of this entry »

A Hoopaholic’s Derby

Yes, kids, that’s me wearing my personalized Hoopaholic ballcap.

All day, Derby Day.

Along with a Dr. Gonzo Kentucky Derby is decadent and depraved t-shirt.

As for the quote on the back above the signature of Randall Ave’s Favorite Tormentor, “From that point on, the weekend became a vicious drunken nightmare,” those days are long past*

*But while knocking out this perfunctory, meeting-my-contractual-obligation obligation, I remembered another doozy tale from yesteryore, which I’ll regale you with below.

Adding to the legitimacy of my header: While running errands drizzly Derby morn, I ran into Lancaster Gordon at Costco. That counts, right? Plus upon returning from a post-race pizza run (Wheated, if you must ask, on my virgin trip. Tasty, worthy of being mentioned in same sentence as Pizza Lupo.), my hosts graciously agreed to turn off the local post-Downs telecasting, and turn to the Nugs vs. Clips.

Ya know, enough is enough even for the obsessed, watching folks limping to buses, shoes muddied, fascinators drooping

So, yeah, I was bi-sportal, Derby 2025. Hoops & Horses.

It ended up being my favorite Derby Day in decades. Read the rest of this entry »

Tales from Derbies of Yesteryore

One of Glorious Editor’s cute quirks is his annual call for members of the Commentariat to regurgitate their most mondo bizzaro stories of how they got home from the track on Derby Day.

Hey, since, I got the key to the gate, I’ll weigh in. And, triple post it at all my venues. And, in addition, throw in other tales of the first weekend in May, some of which might actually be of moderate interest. Some with more info than you probably ought to be told.

But let’s start with 2025, since I got a huge dose of Derby Derby just last evening.

Derby Wednesday Dinner at Jeff Ruby’s.

Our corner table was multi-geographical. Guy in from LA, gal in from NYC. The usuals from New Orleans. Crescent Hill, Clifton and a Downtown denizen all in attendance.

The place was jammed. And jammin’. Electric. Like everybody had a power cord comin’ outta their hip, plugged into a socket under the table. Vibes of Good Times.

Fellas with rolls of pocket cabbage. Ladies on their arms in four inch stilleto fuck me pumps. Dudes who looked like they wandered in off the street staring. Read the rest of this entry »

JazzFest Redux: Whither New Orleans

Since I’m not at JazzFest — COVID shutdown years aside — for the first time since 1990, I’ve decided to repost some of my favorite reports from the past.  

This from the first Fest after Katrina.

Bob’s back at Galatoire’s. Sumptuous and gracefully worn, it’s New Orleans finest old line eatery. Both survived Katrina. So far.

For the last several years, Bob has waited on our gang at an annual Galatoirean feast the night before the first day of JazzFest.

That the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Fair itself would survive Katrina was far from a given. Its survival is the work of some supreme spirit force that bestows gifts on the flock.

Bob is the dapper, engaging waiter, the long time server with a gleam in his eye and Stratford-on-Avon-quality double-take when diners are as offbeat as he. Despite his charming faux befuddlement, he’s a marvelous garçon in Galatoire’s mirrored main room, the one where the city’s gentry celebrates birthdays and lingering Friday afternoons. Read the rest of this entry »

Facing 80

I am now a denizen of the Land of Daily Medical Treatments.

I know my pharmacist better than the neighbors who live on either side of me at my condo building.

Last week’s smile inducer was discovering there’s a 24 hour/ 7 day pharmacy just five minutes from my place. On the Sunny Side. Paying the bridge tariff for the comfort of knowing it’s there just in case is but a slight nuisance.

In a couple of days, I’ll be an octo-.

Seems like yesterday that it took me an hour staring at the phone to get up the courage to call and ask Jenni Lehman to a hay ride in the 9th grade.

Time, whatever that really is, accelerates.

My pal Michael in New Orleans had a rule he invoked at our annual dinners during JazzFest at Galatoire, Mosca’s, Peche, GW Fins or wherever.

One medical conversation per meal. Read the rest of this entry »

Perspective & “Moonstruck”: A Contemplation

Yet again, I am struck by how one’s personal situation, health, station in life, sense of well being, all that personal stuff affects one’s perception.

It’s a significant thing to keep in mind.

Whether it’s how we hear a new song.

Or meet someone new.

Or watch a film.

Chasing down some rabbit hole or another recently I came upon a review of a movie written by the same guy who penned the screenplay to “Moonstruck.”

John Patrick Shanley.

The review shredded the film in question — forgot the title already — and wondered how Shanley, who was masterful in crafting “Moonstruck” could have been so off his feed.

Which reminded me of my reaction to the Cher/ Nicholas Cage comedy romance when I saw it upon release in ’87.

Which was luke warm.

Certainly didn’t hate it. Didn’t consider it a bad film by any stretch. Recall just feeling, OK this is nice, but don’t get all the hosannas being tossed its way.

So I went to Roger Ebert’s review of the acclaimed flick. It was so adoring. 4 of 4 stars. Figured it was time for a revisit. Read the rest of this entry »

Rock & Roll RePast: Solomon Burke @ the Zoo

Let’s consider Solomon Burke.

Though never as famous, the charismatic soul singer sits rightfully in the conversation of his more noted contemporaries. Otis Redding. James Brown. Sam Cooke. Wilson Pickett.

Always a man of considerable girth, even before the morbid obesity of his later years, he was ever entrepreneurial. On those extended Parade of Stars tours in the 50s and 60s, when performers would often get to towns where they couldn’t find eateries that would serve them, Burke cooked. Burke supplied sandwiches. For which eats legend has it, he would up the prices as the tour ground on.

He was banned from appearing at the Apollo for insisting that he control concession stands on the nights he performed.

His career never really waned, though he was never a big time headliner.

But he was thrust back into the mainstream spotlight in 2002 upon the acclaimed Fat Possum release of his Joe Henry-produced “Don’t Give Up on Me.” He won a Grammy.

I probably saw him on one of those tours in the 60s. Though, frankly, I have no specific remembrance.

I did hear him thrice in the 90s. I can’t give exact dates. Or the order.

Two were marvelous. He was always on, workin’ to make it work. Read the rest of this entry »

Astral Weeks Live at Hollywood Bowl: A Moment

I’m a rock & roll lifer. I’ve got lots of stories. Here’s another.

Sometimes the stars and planets just align.

Like November 7, 2008.

The tale begins a few months earlier. Before a David Byrne show at the Palace.

Newly betrothed, the Film Babe and I ran into some old pals, who are as musically obsessed as we.

To learn that Van Morrison would be performing the entirety of “Astral Weeks” live, for the first time ever. At the Hollywood Bowl a few months later.

My recent bride and I looked at each other and had the same thoughts.

Favorite singer. Favorite album. Bucket List venue.

Plus, we hadn’t yet had a chance to do any sort of honeymooning thing.

The cherry on the sundae came when we went online immediately upon getting home, to discover tickets were still available. In the 3d row. Read the rest of this entry »

Rock & Roll Repast: Dance Crazes

I’m a rock & roll lifer. I got stories. Lots of stories. Here’s another.

When it comes to 50s and 60s dance crazes — a cultural phenomenon long ago far away — I have a singular personal if somewhat fuzzy memory.

At an Atherton High School sock hop — that’s what we used to call dance parties, kids — Jenni Lehman and I were doing the Twist.

Russell Garth, an old school principal if ever there was one, came up to us, wagging his finger, ordering us to cease and desist immediately. Actually, given my memory lapses, it might have been his right hand man, Mr. Tague, JMA’s Guidance Counselor, who neither guided nor counseled.

“We don’t dance like that at our school.”

So much for our act of “rebellion.” Read the rest of this entry »

King Crimson, Alexis Korner (+ Humble Pie): R & R Repast

I’m a rock & roll lifer. I got stories. Lots of stories. Here’s another. 

Starting in ’70, the year I finished law school, somehow passed the bar, and got a real adult job, ventured into psychedelics, I also attended my first rock festival.

Where I heard the whole panoply of music being made in rock’s most experimental era. Bands I didn’t know that intrigued me.

So, having the means, I started going to every concert in town whether I knew the music of the groups on the bill or not. Most of the time I heard something that resonated.

If not, there was always the scene.

King Crimson topped the bill at one of those at the Convention Center in the early 70s.*

At least that’s how I initially remembered the show and submitted this remembrance. Until my knowing and alert editor at the FPL — thank you, Mel Fisher — wondered if it wasn’t the show where the headliner was actually Humble Pie?  She sent me a photo of the concert poster. Read the rest of this entry »

Allman Brothers Band at Atlanta Pop ’70

Merrily, Don, the Mailman and I arrived in Byron, Ga. on the 2d of July in 1970.

The Atlanta Pop Festival would start the next day.

Little did I know it would change my life.

Arriving ahead of time allowed us to avoid the heavy traffic which backed up the interstate for miles. We set up camp on the grounds by a grove of trees, just a short walk to the festival stage area.

That Thursday night I meandered over to a small stage back in the woods across the road. I listened to a couple of bands, the name of only one of which I recall.

Chakra. How very 70s.

The other remembrance of that evening — the weekend was generally a blur for reasons that needn’t be explained — was a guy at the mic kept saying, “Stick around, Sky Dog is gonna come and jam.”

I had no idea Sky Dog was Duane Allman. I’d never heard him play — that I was aware of at the time — or even of him.

Then, oh my, did I. Read the rest of this entry »

“Coming Home: A Stranger In The Smokies”: Review

Before advising why you should consider reading John Wade Christensen’s “Coming Home: A Stranger In The Smokies,” allow me please to answer the question being asked by the elephant now staring over my shoulder.

Were it not so worthy of your time, would I be reviewing this book for public consumption?

Transparent answer: Yes.

John Christensen — the Wade he included to distinguish himself from another author — is my good friend.

During the halcyon daze of the 70s, when he wrote features, music reviews and sports for the Louisville Times, he was my next door neighbor.

He was my runnin’ podner.

There are tales. Some of which could be shared if there was time. Many of which shall remain sealed in a lock box hidden beneath the floor boards.

(I am referenced twice in the book, once in the acknowledgments, once in the text.)

For decades, he desired to write a book about his spiritual quest and evolution.

So he has. Read the rest of this entry »