What A Mess!
2-26-08 What A Mess!
Yesterday, I came to the point that I realized that I can’t ‘take it with me’; and nobody else is going to carry cartons of CD’s for me. Do I have to live in silence? Or can I just hum “Landed” by Can to myself for the next 50 years? Yeah! Let’s all hum “Unfinished”!
One of my pass-times is trying to figure out just how small / big is my ‘ultimate collection’. One of the times I figured it out recently it was 8,400 full-length titles. Yikes! All The Beatles, all The Rolling Stones, all the Frank Zappa – and we’re already into the hundreds! To paraphrase Freddie Mercury, “I Want It All”, eh, readers?
So, I’ve got my miniaturized music collection – all those Procol Harum and Gruppo Sportivo albums. I’m going to spend the rest of my days on Mars, teaching all the 20th century Earth music to deaf mutants. I take the discs out of paper sleeves, and the miserable creatures wonder if we’re going to eat the discs. “No, but they will move the air around”, I tell them, reassuringly. The beasts see the music as the changing shape of air – a miracle. Damn. Wish I had brought more jazz. They tell me that the air formations made by Horace Silver are very beautiful.
So, I guess I think that my place in life is to tell the others about the beauty (usefulness) that I have found. This music stuff. And I’m so afraid that I will lose it all…that the message of The Beatles will eventually be compressed so…small…unidentifiable…
People in 400 years will only know “Yeah, yeah, yeah” – but have little or no idea about any of the contextualization – England, the 1960’s, change…to them, it will just be: 20th century, Earth, Northern Hemisphere. That stuff that people used to just call “music”.
My cultural identity used to be “Male, L.A., 20th century, music business community” – Couldn’t change the gender or the time – but I tried to find others like myself in New Zealand, Holland, England, Japan, San Jose, Florida…and not everybody was “music business” – some were like myself, merely ‘fans’ = music lovers. In short, I was a product of my times: A guy that hung out in record stores, mostly in
Anybody remember “
Whoa, better go back underground. The air up here is killin’ me. Makin’ me forget. Better grab some Al Kooper LP’s before heading back down into the shelter.