Maybe Jim Carroll Can Offer Some Help

Jim Carroll: Inspirational, confrontational

     Despite publishing two recent posts and having several ideas in my head or started, I am still suffering from a major combination of writer’s block and fear of writing and publishing something that is not even close to good or worthy of public consumption.

     It is no surprise that many writers go through this, some I greatly respect and enjoy reading. There is a great two-page illustration of how it affected at least one writer, the late Jim Carroll, in his fantastic, explicit “Forced Entries, The Downtown Diaries: 1971-1973.” After becoming famous for his “The Basketball Diaries,” an award-winning look at his growing up Catholic in New York City, being a basketball wunderkind and wasting it away through heroin addiction and youth, he wrote another diary of his life as a poet, writer, junkie and scenester, including working for Andy Warhol.

     He eventually went on methadone to try to detox, but due to the ugliness heroin and methadone caused, he moved to California for a while, taking lower doses of methadone and cleaning up otherwise. While it worked in several ways, he found an overpowering inability to either write or find value in any of his writing. It came up directly and as part of other thoughts, which I immediately recognized. His pangs of guilt, inadequacy and waste are also felt strongly by me, like punches to the gut.

     I won’t quote it all, particularly on his difficulty of writing with pen and paper, but his typewriter description includes this truth: “Each letter typed seemed to chew up the one before it like a vicious dog so that no words could be completed…It’s all as if words, phrases, images, syntax were small glass beads from a necklace which was wrenched from some neck and spilled on the floor and down the sides of sofa cushions and armchairs and under bookshelves and maybe swallowed by the cat.” Carroll also states how he must collect them all before he can even try to rearrange/reorder any of them.

     The ruefully funny conflict of trying to write about writer’s block and fear of writing but having to use someone else’s writing to do so because I can’t is not lost on me. Fuck, I have to get out of this rut, this trap, and now.

My Mind (or Friend) Playing Tricks on Me

 

These are some of the intriguing items someone has sent me.

   It seems someone inside Erie County is having some fun with me, and so far, I have few clues as to who the comedian is.

     Sometime in late February/early March, I received an interdepartmental manila envelope addressed to “Mr. Kevin L. Hosey, Esq. Erie County Rath Building FOURTH FLOOR,” incorrect middle initial noted. Inside the envelope was a book, “The Seventh Sense: Power, Fortune, and Survival in the Age of Networks,” by Joshua Cooper Ramo. No accompanying note or anything else was included. About a month later, I received another manila interdepartmental envelope, addressed to “Kevin Hosey 4TH FLOOR,” with another book inside, “Managers, Can You Hear Me Now?” by Denny F. Strigl and Frank E. Swiatek. Again, no note of any kind, but this envelope was in another manila interdepartmental envelope.

     I tried to figure out any connections between the two packages, but there were few, except that both came from the 11th Floor of the Rath Building. One specifically had a previous delivery address of Unit 100, a specialized office of the Erie County Department of Social Services on that floor; I work in the accounting department (Office of Financial and Resource Management) of ECDSS. The other had as one of the crossed-off addresses the “11th Floor;” the main occupant of the 11th Floor is the Comptroller’s Office. I know no one who works at Unit 100, but I have a friend who I formerly worked with in another department/part of Erie County who works at the Comptroller’s Office, and is ridiculously intelligent with a frequently dry sense of humor, but has never pulled such a joke on me and have not even alluded to such a situation; they are also the type who would never use Erie County interdepartmental envelopes for anything but county business. BTW, I also hate self-help books.

     No other instances occurred and I thought this was a hit-and-run joke, but in mid-May, I received a third manila county interdepartmental envelope, this time addressed to “Sir Kevin Hosey Fourth Floor Rath Building,” but with all of the previous addresses inked out and unreadable. The contents were the most interesting yet: A typed note reading “See you real soon! Love you K-DOG!!!!!,” a small envelope containing a preprinted card reading “SURPRISE!” on the outside and handwritten “BOO!!!” on the inside, a postcard announcing the opening reception for “Tonto Revisited: Native American Stereotypes,” at the ArtRage Gallery in Syracuse from November 2010, and a copy of the CD “Rise Up: Colors of Peace,” readings of works of Turkish poet and Muslim political activist M. Fethullah Gulen, who the Turkish government tried to extradite from the US during the Trump presidential monstrosity.

     This last package has me flummoxed. I have no idea why any of the individual items were sent. have absolutely no idea how they relate, and I have NEVER been a nickname person, even though I went through grade school and high school being called “Hose” or “The Hose” way more than my given name. One person in college called me K-Hose a couple of times, but they neither work for nor live in Erie County.

     I applaud the person or people involved with leaving so few identifiable clues and in particular, such a weird assortment of items in the last package. It seems someone knows part of me very well and for a long time, or had a way of finding out those things. Wish I could turn to my late father Edward to utilize his sleuthing skills as developed in the U.S. Army Security Agency; he loved a good puzzle or conspiracy to break.

Let's talk books, er, talk about books, er, read books

 

My most recently started and completed books, respectively.

     I probably love books and reading more and longer than anything in my life, now that my beloved mother Sheila has been gone almost 5 years, with the exception of chocolate. Even music comes second to reading.

     Snapshots of what I am reading at a particular moment are snapshots of what is going on in my life, or at least my head, at that same moment. The vast majority of what I read is non-fiction; after reading a lot of fiction in classes in high school and college, where the breakdown was about 60-40 favoring non-fiction, it rose to 90-95 percent non-fiction for a long time, My interest in comic books and graphic novels in the 1980-2000s, which subsided for a bit but has grown again in the last 5-7 years, affected those percentages again. I do read some fiction (Vonnegut, Fitzgerald, Conrad, Hemingway, Ibsen), but there is a still base in reality.

     So, I thought it was time to present such a snapshot, to let you readers know what is in my hands and in front of my eyes, as well as maybe help break this continuing writer’s block/fear of writing. These examples will be books; I do read/subscribe to other media outlets, including The Athletic, The New Yorker and The Buffalo News online, and read several news websites. But I am a book fan, a bibliophile, and like with newspapers, after more than 18 years writing and editing for them, I enjoy holding a book as well as perusing and buying them still.

     I am one of those persons who reads more than one book at a time, although if I really start getting into one, I will put down the others while I absorb one. I am currently reading “Antietam: The Battle That Changed the Course of the Civil War,” by James M. McPherson, as my upstairs media room/evening book, and downstairs in the living room, I am reading “Mapplethorpe: A Biography,” by Patricia Morrisroe. In my knapsack/at work, for the very few times I can read a book (Iunch time I walk, then check my phone/social media), I am reading “Straight White Male: Performance Art Monologues,” by Michael Peterson. And yes, I also have two books in the downstairs bathroom: “The New Trouser Press Record Guide,” third edition from 1989, and “History of Buffalo Music and Entertainment” by Rick Falkowski. Both books have been perused in short and long takes for a while.

     I didn’t want to go back too far, but the most recent books I finished reading, basically end of 2023-2024, are: “Devotion,” by Patti Smith; ”Apocalypse Nerd” and “Other Lives,” both by Peter Bagge; “All I Ever Wanted,” by Kathy Valentine; “John Constantine Hellblazer: Original Sins,” by Jamie Delano, John Ridgway, Alfredo Alcala, Rick Veitch and Tom Mandrake; “1916: The Easter Rising,” by Tim Pat Coogan; “Blubber,” by Gilbert Hernandez, and “How to Catch a Russian Spy,” by Naveed Jamali. I also find myself going back to old copies of Creem, Trouser Press and Musician magazines for specific articles.

     Don’t worry if any of this causes you to wonder how these books affect and illustrate my life; I think about it often and don’t have all the answers, and maybe avoid some of those answers. I suppose being a professional writer for almost 40 years fits somewhere in here.

Leif Spiritual - Pink Days EP

 

     Leif Spiritual is the nom de musique of Tony Christiano, best known as the lead guitarist/co-lead vocalist and songwriter for Oui73, one of the best/my favorite bands from the 1990s. He recently released (I just can’t make myself say or write “dropped”) a four-song EP, “Pink Days,” and it is really, really, really good.

     There is a lot of what made Oui73 so good, loudly ringing, charging guitar work, moody atmospheres and interesting songwriting; Christiano told me that much of the recording is based on his experience in Oui73 and apparently the surrounding times. I gathered that from some references before he told me that, and subsequent listening to this EP reinforced this.

     The recording starts with “You Know I Need It,” upbeat ringing guitars with a touch of Oasis sound; Christiano has been looking for something better in a relationship of some kind, and believes he’s found it, whether band or partner wise, wanting more than a quick fix or mindless set up. The title song follows, referring to the Pink Flamingo/The Old Pink, Buffalo’s best dive bar for longer than the 30-40 years many of us drank, smoked and listened to great DJs like Terry Sullivan, Casino el Camino, Eric Van Rysdam and David Gutierrez. The hard but melodic rocker has Christiano looking back after so many nights there, and half resenting, half laughing at the bouncers and staff throwing customers out at the end with the same lines and methods he saw as a much younger man. His refrain hook of “this place will never be the same” is humorous, based on experience and little bit of nostalgia.

     “Out of My Hands,” a collaboration with Allison Pipitone, who sings harmony vocals (Christiano’s sister, Holly Christiano, played guitar in both Oui73 and with Pipitone) has more surging, charging guitars, and Christiano’s occasionally slightly distorted vocals sing of trying to save a situation, musical or romantic, but he’s done all he can and it’s up to others to put in the same effort so things don’t end. The final song, “A Crash on the 425,” is a slow, ominous, sometimes spooky or scary song about a car crash on that Canadian highway, made all the more eerie because it’s based on an accident Christiano came upon years ago. The acoustic guitars build until the electric guitars take over, and Christiano seems to go back and forth from the agony of the male driver searching for his partner and his own shock of discovering the accident, the outcome never clarified.

     Leif Spiritual’s “Pink Days”can be found at Apple Music, Spotify and on most music platforms.

RIP Tony Bennett: It's a Family Affair

 

     I’m saddened at the recent death of singer/activist Tony Bennett at age 95, both as a fan and for the family affair connections he created for many years.

     My late father Edward introduced me to Bennett’s music more than 50 years ago; a major big band jazz fan, with Stan Kenton his holy grail, dad's favorite male vocalists, at least from what little he would say in his usual secret way but introduced to me playing them on weekends, seemed to be Frank Sinatra and Bennett. No doubt partly for this reason as well as really liking their music, particularly the 1940s-mid-1960s, they became my favorite male jazz vocalists (I’m willing to be enlightened of others). There is something they could do with a melody and rhythm, and the use of dynamics and subtlety and/or taste both Sinatra and Bennett used are needed more today.

     While I thank my father for the introduction to these two singers, my late mother Sheila is a former fan of Bennett, although I kind of believed she never really stopped liking him. But every time my father would play his music for me, or any time Bennett appeared on television, mom would loudly launch into her mostly staged anger at how she used to love his music and was a favorite, but did I forget he up and left his first wife for a younger woman and that people just didn’t do that and that she couldn’t listen to his music any more. Of course, I frequently heard her singing “Fly Me to the Moon” and “I Left my Heart in San Francisco” while cooking or other activities, sometimes even dancing a bit while she sang.

     I was thrilled when Bennett made a serious comeback in his 60s, first with his tribute to the music of Fred Astaire, “Steppin’ Out,” but as no surprise, my favorite of his later albums was “Perfectly Frank,” a gorgeous, heartfelt and wonderful album of Sinatra songs. His version of “East of the Sun, West of the Moon” would be amazing at any age. The fact that Bennett, a World War II veteran, was busted in rank because he ate meals and fraternized with African American soldiers, and later joined the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on his voting rights march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, shows he was more than a singer.

     The first night after the announcement of Bennett’s death, I spent hours listening to his music, starting with the classic “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” album, and even listened to his Christmas album on a hot July night, thinking about the singer, my mother and father. I hope l always think of them when I hear Bennett’s music.

Gurf Morlix - Caveman

      (This review was started in March, but some continued writer’s block and other issues have  delayed completion until now. I’ll try to explain more soon; go figure. KJH)

     If you’re a professional, independent musician who tours a lot, produces other musicians and occasionally accompanies other musicians live, a pandemic such as COVID-19 (which really isn’t over) can potentially cause a lot of problems, from financial and artistic to personal/social. Buffalo/Hamburg native Gurf Morlix, who does all of the above, apparently named his late 2022 CD Caveman (Rootball Records) in recognition of how he feels things had gone for him.

     Fortunately, it sounds like things went quite well musically, because Caveman is a really good bluesy, rootsy country rock album. Morlix seems to have emerged from the pandemic pretty good so far, having played everything on the 10 songs here except for one accordion part and one drum track, as well as having produced and engineered the album. Not one to sit around even when you’d think he earned it, Morlix released his newest album, I Challenge the Beast, April 1. Indeed, he said he has recorded at least seven albums worth of music during COVID-19.

     The album opens with the fun “I Dig Your Crazy Brain,” sounding a bit tongue in cheek and led by a great bluesy country guitar riff. He notices someone for what might be outward appearances to others but Morlix sees something more underneath; he also delivers a short, sweet and stinging solo. The title song follows with Morlix noting he has and will do what he has to do to endure, an achievement both as an independent musician and survivor of the virtual stopping of his way of life for several years. There is some cool, echoey guitar on this track. There is also a notable cover of Jim Whitford's “Crash All Night,” originally released on the ex- and current Pine Dog’s Poison in the Well CD, produced by, you guessed it, Morlix in 2000 (Morlix and Whitford have been friends since childhood); the song features the original drum part played by the late Donald Lindley.

     Elsewhere, “Where the Lost Are Found,” some spare, swampy blues with a rocking solo, seemingly has Morlix leaving behind the superficial “friendly” world for something more substantial. “Mudbugs” shows Morlix looking back and forward to good, honest food, people and music, Louisiana flavored rock with a fine accordion part from Joel Guzman. He also nods to some great music and memories on “1959,” a dirty blues rock number. I could go on, but there really isn’t close to a bad song here.

      Morlix and Rootball Records can be contacted, and Caveman (and the new I Challenge the Beast) can be purchased, at www.gurfmorlix.com and at https://gurfmorlix.bandcamp.com/releases.

Thee Isolators: "Crying Eyes" b/w "Close That Door"

 

     I'm obviously going to explain a bit in a moment, but in case you want just the bare facts/my opinion: Thee Isolators new single, “Crying Eyes” b/w “Close That Door,” on Iso-Tope Records, is a great fucking slab of 60s garage punk rock. The mono recording and in-your-face wall of sound kicks from the first note to the last.

     Thee Isolators have been together a few years and are kind of an all-star band with a bit of a newcomer: Matt Aquiline of Revolver Records on vocals and guitar is joined by bassist/vocalist Mark Norris (Girlpope, Doombuggy, solo), Bob Hanley (The Irving Klaws, Cottonmouth) on organ and vocals and Craig Voigt (The Ramrods, Oui 73) on drums. Their live shows are a sweaty blend of 1960s garage punk rock and occasional poppier sounds, with some 1970s/80s punk and power pop roar added in and are highly recommended, especially if you haven’t done so yet.

     

     The original “Crying Eyes” comes charging out with Voigt’s drums before the rest of the band explodes in fine punk form; Aquiline’s tough, sinister vocals detail his getting dumped by his woman, but while it hurts, he’ll pick up the pieces and get over it without trying to get her back. After a wild guitar solo, he knows she can’t hurt him any more and his pride remains. The band also covers the smoldering gem “Close That Door,” originally recorded by the Tigermen. The slashing guitar, organ and thumping rhythm section actually sound reminiscent of Buffalo’s legendary The SplatCats from the 1980s (having caught lots of shows and owning every recording of this band, I don’t say/write this lightly). Aquiline’s bad romantic luck continues; he knows that they’re through so he’s heading back from where he came, pretty much slamming the door shut, but not before tearing off another short, screaming guitar solo.

     Thee Isolators’ recordings are available at Bandcamp.com, and the band can be contacted there or on Facebook and probably other social media outlets.