Many years ago, there was a child born in Waterbury, Connecticut. A proud set of parents beginning a family amidst the historic confines of Yankee tradition and the comfort of the industrial plateau. It wouldn't be long before the kindergarten years would find this same young boy coming to terms with what would be a lifelong pronouncement of, the only child. And yes, this "only child" would be me, now entrenched some 52 years in this cozy little world that has managed to define me in the eyes of Catholic families everywhere, in the minds of struggling street smart urchins, and even deep within my own shadowy world of unbridled imagination and introspection. I soon came to understand that "only child" was generally not a moniker to be proud of, especially among peers where it usually was applied to someone thought to be unfairly privileged, someone unusually coddled, a "momma's boy", protected and insulated from the spirit of the real world below. These connotations seemed to build up in my little head as I progressed through those first few years of grade school and it became a source of embarrassment, at least in my mind, that I worked hard to avoid or erase. Early on it came with undoing any effort my mother put into my appearance. She would lay out the clothes and I would do my best to dismantle the intended choreography. Sometimes I just managed to do a last minute switcheroo before bolting out the door for school, sometimes I just had to tear everything apart between the backdoor and the schoolyard, the clip-on bow tie, the knee socks, the jaunty cap, oh God, it was horrible, but fairly easy to address (or undress as the case may be). So other than the inescapable class photo days, I managed to avoid segragation, and from that point it was just being a kid with no siblings. Although the lack of Christmas day competition and singular annual birthday festivities certainly made their marks on my tendancy to expect attention, these same conditions also resulted in the inevitable lack of attention. It was easy for a family of three to operate as three independent entities, especially as I got older and could take care of myself. This was great for developing a certain confidence in survival and self-sufficiency, it proved a fertile field for my creative juices and entertaining imagination, but it also made some of the social challenges a bit more uneasy than they should be. On the one hand I was devoid of the interactions a larger family would naturally offer, while on the other hand I was somewhat unabashed in my constant mission to weasel into other people's privacy. I had enough of my own privacy so I just assumed everybody else was just as much in need of some outside interaction as I was. So I would be throwing stones at my neighbor's window trying to get my buddy to come out and play. I would knock on every door until somebody would open it wide enough for me to squeeze by, and then let the games begin! So some families took me in like some homeless wretch, I would raid their fridges, sit down to dinner and break bread, watch TV with them, run around and get in trouble (but I never would get the whoopin'), I became an appendage to more than one neighborhood family, and somehow some of these poor victims remain close friends that seem to recall those days fondly if not with a certain humorous disbelief. As far as I was concerned, it all worked out fine, I generally found ways to deal with my supposed disadvantage of what some might call an incomplete family, while at the same time enjoying the advantages of the freedoms that same situation created. My parents and I were like three separate entities all dashing about on wildly different missions on a day to day basis. I had a lot of independence, even for those days, often wandering most anywhere I wanted. There weren't many restrictions or penalties for me...fortunately that never got me in any real trouble so I guess I/we were lucky that way. It also meant that I really came to love my situation. While I came to understand the special qualities of a larger family with siblings and firm traditions and schedules, I also have relished my somewhat unique combination of chaos and calm. I have come to crave activity and social interaction but I also need my own time to be quiet, to lose myself in that same world that followed me from cradle to college. That vast world that speaks to me through all the noise in a singular voice, and fills the shadows with color and light. I have always said that I could stare at wallpaper and be relatively entertained. Boredom is inexcusable to me, there should be no such thing. Life has too much to offer, never a dull moment, depending upon your outlook. And speaking of something to offer, here I offer you another great OOP album from Cal Collins. This one is a solo effort, just Cal and his guitar, and it's a gem, from the vinyl at 320kbps. You can hear the gentle, warm feeling just melt from the strings. This is an easy going but so impressive work from Cal Collins. Bluesy, relaxed, and yet some flurries of ideas come at you at times that will have you shaking your head (that's a good thing). If you like swinging traditional jazz guitar, there is some great stuff here for you to check out...enjoy it...all by yourself.
Syndrome
Cal Collins - By Myself - 1979
Concord Jazz CJ-119
By Myself
Where Are You
What Is This Thing Called Love
Stairway To The Stars
No Moon At All
P.S. I Love You
Sunrise, Sunset
The Gypsy
All The Things You Are
The Nearness Of You
Route 66
Jackson County Blues
I haven't had much time to rip LP's the last few weeks but today I was listening to a CD I created from another one of those embarrass- ing 8-track tapes a few years back. At the time I never anticipated posting some of these rips on a blog so I listened with a discriminating ear for imperfections, track breaks, or any qualitative issues that might make me feel unhappy with posting this classic 60's blues rocker instrumental gem from Mel Brown. Eight songs later I decided it was worthy of a post until a better version comes along. With the apparent popularity of Mel Brown's 60's & 70's work I am very surprised that this album seems so hard to find. It has never been committed to commercial CD, long OOP, but with all the recognition this gritty guitarist seems to have, this LP seems unusually scarce. So I decided to add it to this blog until someone can identify a better source. I have the Chicken Fat CD and all Mel's other albums, and I think this one is easily as good or better than any of the others. It's pretty straight forward, simple and pretty raw R&B with tight horns and groovin' support throughout. There are no significant vocals, just a torent of funkified blues guitar licks firing from start to finish. This reminds me somewhat of Freddy King's "Hide Away", which is an all-time favorite. I think this is up there. Keep in mind that this was taken from the lowly 8-track tape so the order of the songs reflects what was committed to that idiom. From what I hear, they were able to divvy things up so as to avoid track change interruptions, a good thing that is greatly appreciated by those of us old school music desperados that committed so many hours of listening to this ill-fated medium. This album starts out with a lively and crisp rendering of "Ode To Billie Joe" and then just sails through one rock-blues workout after another. It's fun, it's infectious, and a great time capsule for the late 60's somewhere between Memphis and Detroit, but you're definitely not in Kansas anymore Dorothy...enjoy!
