Harleys, Cars, Girls & Guitars

Something Completely Different... Narco Corridos

Last time I was in Mexico, I sat in a bar for a while, drank margaritas and watched Mexican music videos on TV. What a shock! Mexican cowboys and cowgirls crooning over the delights of the life of a Sinaloa cartel gangster! Check out Larry Hernandez in “Pilotos Canabis.”

I was up until 2 a.m. last night watching narco corridos videos on YouTube. Just when you think that you'll never hear anything new and interesting again... well... you get hit upside the head. The music of the narco corridos is wild, happy and hilarious.

For a short history of the music, check out this site.

I love the oom-pah-pah bands, the accordians and the brass flourishes of the narco corridos. Not to mention the lower class wallowing in big cars, piles of drugs on the table, fighting with the cops and pretty girls who look like they're up for anything. The sheer energy of the narco corridos is unbelieveable.

Well, I've experienced that energy before.... in Cebu in the Philippines. There's nothing quite as thrilling as the spirit of the poor when they're hustling and fighting to make something of themselves. I remember walking down the streets of Cebu in the midst of that wild chaos of cars, jitneys, trucks, cheap Jap bikes and the occasional ox cart. Everybody hustling like crazy to make a few pesos.

The legendary kings of the narco corridos are Los Tigres Del Norte. Believe me, these guys are fucking monsters. Try “Los Tres Grandes Amigos.” Their accordian player is a damned genius. I don't even understand the words, and these guys blow me away.

If you're hungry for a new sound, try the narco corridos.

Woodstock Kids Enjoy Sled Hill

Not everybody was inconvenienced by the first snow storm of the winter. Woodstock kids pulled out their sleds and skidded down Sled Hill, just west of town on Route 212.

Michael Vick Tries to Redeems Himself

I'm going to give Michael Vick, the disgraced dog fight promoter and quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles, credit for returning to the NFL after a two year stint in prison. He's likely to be this year's MVP.

Returning to play in a national spotlight after suffering this bitter disgrace is a rare act of courage. Vick knows he's going to be reviled the rest of his life, and maybe he deserves it. If you've never lived through being a public figure, you cannot imagine what he has to endure.

Across the web, people are debating whether President Obama should have given public recognition to Vick's struggle to return to football. Of course, the president's gesture toward Vick was a shrewd political move. The incarceration rate among black men is astronomical. Obama owes his political life to the block vote that Democrats expect from blacks.

So, you could accuse Obama of either or both of (a) pandering to a constituency he desperately needs to hold onto or (b) sending a needed message to black men that they should seek redemption after incarceration.

I suspect that both are true. It's a political win for Obama among blacks. For black men who are, or have been incarcerated, the message is well directed. Don't give up. Change your behavior and become a responsible citizen. Changing the culture of absent fathers and criminal behavior among black men is clearly a priority for the president.

Michael Vick has the chance to be that rare role model we can admire among athletes. He is an incredible athlete. He made a terrible, stupid mistake. When he made that mistake, he was a very young man, still in his early twenties. How many of us did not make incredibly stupid mistakes when we were young? I certainly did.

I didn't have to suffer through having those mistakes spotlighted in the national media, thank God. I don't know if I could have survived that.

That's enough political pontificating. Give Vick a chance. Maybe some day, he can even have a dog again. He's said he wants one. So do I.

Forgive us our trespasses
As we forgive those who trespass against us

Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Vick did his time and paid the price for his crime.

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

I've got the week off. School is out for winter recess. So, I'm sitting out the blizzard of 2010 in my mountain cabin in Woodstock.

All day ahead of me to play music, maybe write or record a song, clean house, do laundry... maybe even fit in a set of yoga. No place to go. This may be sort of a rehearsal for retirement.

The snowplow guy hasn't shown yet. When he does, I'll have to hustle to clean the snow off the car and get it out of his way. He's pretty strict. I've got to give him a check immediately or he gives me a stern lecture.

I'd say we got about six inches last night, judging from the accumulation on the car. More expected today! What do I care? Let it snow!

I volunteered to play “Crocodile Rock” for the Jersey band. Big Joe, Fred and Ken might come on over this week for a jam session, yakking and lunch.

Everything is shaping up for a big week of hanging out.

Good News for Old Men! Hef's Getting Married!

Here's a story that brightens the hearts of old men everywhere! Hugh Hefner, the most famous graduate of my alma mater, the University of Illinois, is getting married! This time, the 84 year old owner of Playboy is getting hitched to 24 year old Crystal Harris!

That's the happy couple! There's still hope for me. Of course, I'd have to win the lottery first.

Hef always did like perky blondes. If you look closely at Crystal, however, you might notice that the drapes don't match the carpet. Back when Hef had seven girlfriends, every one of them looked just like Crystal. He never seemed to like variety.

I prefer brunettes.  Besides, I like a girl who has a career.

Check out Crystal at work. You've got to admire a girl who's makeup doesn't get messy when she assumes the position.  Thank God for Viagra! Hef can keep going for as long as his heart will take it.

So, you've got to wonder about the mechanics of this marriage. Will Hef vow to be true to one girl? Will the other six girfriends be dumped off the payroll? What are the specifics of the pre-nup?

Speaking of mechanics, I discovered as I researched this post that Crystal is not entirely a "natural woman."  She's had a little custom work done on her headlights.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.  My preference is for the real thing.  The fakes just don't feel right.

I'm jealous.  Yes, that's why I'm all snarky and pissy.   My daughters are older than Crystal.  Congratulations, Hef! May you live to be 100!

I'm afraid that I'll never achieve Hef's dreams.  This is about as close as I'll ever get:

Merry Christmas!

Monument to Dead Cyclist in Chinatown

Took a trip to Chinatown yesterday to buy a few necessities and for the show. Lunch, as always, at Noodletown on the Bowery.

I parked 15 minutes away from Chinatown, so that I wouldn't have to pay for parking. The walk took me through some back streets in Chinatown that I've never seen. Also, I walked past a few remnants of the old immigrant Jewish community on the Lower East Side. Everybody's moved out to Brooklyn or the suburbs, but many return for services in one of the synagogues.

At the entrance to the Manhattan Bridge, I walked past this monument. What a strange idea! Chaining the mangled bike of an accident victim to a signpost.

Bought a pair of gloves for 7 bucks and a new wallet for four and a half bucks. Tried my hand at haggling, but I'm still a dumb American. My initial offer is always too high. I'm too used to walking into the retail store and paying list price.

My meal at Noodletown: pork spare ribs, sea bass in black bean sauce and chicken noodle soup. (Chinese rice noodles, of course.)  Absolutely delicious! A ton of food for less than 10 bucks. Later, I bought some pork pot stickers for a buck apiece. Can't wait to reheat them for lunch today.

Legendary Clubs in the Village

Blue Note Records was (is?) the record company that automatically comes to mind when you think of jazz, particularly bebop. When you talk about Thelonius Monk, Miles Davis, Cannonball Adderly, John Coltrane and all the others, you're talking Blue Note Records. So, somebody had to open a jazz club named the Blue Note, right?

The first club opened on West 3rd Street in 1981. Since then, the club has become a franchise, with outputs in Milan, Tokyo and Nagoya. This must account for all those Japanese women I meet in New York who are determined to become great jazz singers. (Have any succeeded?)

I like the exterior of the New York City club, with its faux grand piano over the door. Haven't been to the Blue Note in ages. The old guys still appear on the schedule. Bill Evans will be appearing in January! Blood, Sweat & Tears!

New York City really is a jazz town. I still wouldn't recommend a career in jazz, unless you want to starve to death. I'm not sure what qualifies as jazz these days. The fusion of rock and jazz in the 60s and 70s just about ended the days of jazz as a distinct genre.

The original Cafe Wha? was the birthplace of much of what people think of as 60s hipsterism. Jimi Hendrix began his American career there. Dylan performed there, although he's more closely associated with Gerde's Folk City.  My old Woodstock friend, Mr. Bicycle Repairman, Mike Esposito played the old Cafe Wha? with The Blues Magoos.

The new Cafe Wha? occupies a building next door to the old club, in prime spot on MacDougal Street. How could the exterior of this building look more Greenwich Village?

I didn't live in New York during the run of the old Cafe Wha? But, I've heard plenty of stories. And, met many of the original performers.

I'll have to visit the new Cafe Wha? Maybe they've got a spot I can play in. I don't recognize any of the current performers. But, then, what can you expect? I'm an old fart. One thing I think you can guarantee. Somebody will be doing the Jimi Hendrix thing. And, there will be a new next Dylan.

Some things are eternal.

Dan Fogelberg's Wedding Song... Longer Than

Didn't know it, but the father of the bride is supposed to pick the song for dancing with the bride. Now that my daughter, Sara, is getting married, I've got to pick a song. I'll have to honor my old college friend, Dan Fogelberg.

I played and jammed with Dan in the basement coffee house of the Unitarian Church on the campus of the University of Illinois, the Red Herring, way back in the late 60s.

I know, I know. A lot of people think that Dan was kind of lightweight and overly romantic. That's the way he was. He left Illinois to head to Hollywood and overwhelming success. Dan was a good guy. I was genuinely saddened when he died from prostate cancer in 2007.

Dan was an astonishing musician. Had he decided to become a country musician, he would have been a star in that arena, too. He played guitar and piano beautifully. He was a master of blues, bluegrass, folk and country.

I never doubted that Dan would be a great success. The girls absolutely loved him, long before he became famous. They practically peed their pants when they set eyes on him. The star power was obvious.

Longer Than became a standard at weddings in the 70s and 80s. The song is about as true to Dan's personality as possible. He was incurably romantic and gentle.

After Dan moved to Hollywood, I lost touch with him. I was doing a contract job in Syracuse in the early 90s, and I stayed in the best hotel. Dan was playing in town. I ran into him in the hotel and re-introduced myself. Whether he really remembered me or not, he was very gracious.

So Longer Than it is.

Facing Life Alone

I've given up. I made a brief and half-hearted attempt at re-entering the dating and mating scene, and realized that I don't want to be there. Time to face the fact that I'll be spending the rest of my life alone. I'll let Ray Charles explain:

I'm going to leave my pictures of Myrna on the wall. I'm going to spend the rest of my life honoring my wife and waiting to meet her again in the next world.

The problem isn't other women... it's me. I don't have anything to offer a woman. I'm beat up and I'm struggling in every area of my life. And, it's not too long before I'll be wearing diapers and drooling down my bib.

Gotta do the best I can with the hand I've been dealt.

I'll be with you soon, Myrna. Every day, it's a bit closer.