As a tribute to the artists and people who have moved me I have created a photo album. My own Hall of Fame or Hall of Heroes. I will continue to fill the hall with more heroes as they come to mind.
there was a fountain in Paris. i sat by the fountain in the afternoon. i was one of the loneliest there amidst all the strangers passing by. there among the cobble stone streets. amidst the smells of antiquity. i had heard that Nick Drake, when he was alive, would come down from England and get lost in Paris. Nick Drake, who, when i heard his voice for the first time i thought was a hill dweller, a sage on the burning shores of Africa somewhere, not a proper Englishman. the fountain spurt behind me and Nick Drake, on my headphones, (solitary headphone world), sang me the songs of solitude and beauty, breaking my heart there, and i knew his loneliness as i stared at the buildings. something calls me...
maybe go out, maybe stay home, maybe call mom on the telephone, well come on!
There were kids, 1 and 2 year olds, in the bar, walking around with tiny balloons and knocking over drinks. Innocent little drunks they were and fun to watch. Two brothers set up shop on the street corner. The older one 7, on electric guitar and the younger one 5, played a snare drum with a little cymbal attached. They played out there for hours to the great amusement of the hipsters who'd gather before them for a song or two or three, having come from the park or somewhere else where the sun shone freely. They were amazing, with way too much rock star power, so natural and with cool hairdos. I sat with their parents who were from Dallas and must have been in bands all their lives themselves. I said to the girl next to me, "those kids are amazing!" and she said,"did you talk to them yet? oh you got to talk to them, they've already met David Bowie and it's like nothing to them." The kids were rocking out where we could see and hear them from inside while the younger toddlers monkeyed around the place. When the babies inside got their hands on the wrought iron gate that separated us from the street corner concert on view it made a strange and magnificent industrial noise that mixed with the guitar and clatter the little rockers made. "The real sonic youth!" i thought. The sunset turned the odd scene orange. The youngest of the bunch walked over to me with an offering of his little blue balloon but quickly pulled it away when i went to grab it. How do these damn kids learn so fast!
An old man walked into the room. He had white hair and a white shirt. He seemed to be oblivious to the circus going on. He was well into his seventies and God bless him for coming out for a drink on a fine Sunday night in his local neighborhood. THe waitress smiled at me, an extended gaze, her face lit up..."hello?" but then she looked away, another case of mistaken identity when she later apologized and said that she thought i was someone from back home. If everyone could look on each other with those types of eyes she gave to me the world would be a much better place. The old man disappeared for a few only to return with a lefty acoustic in hand and i quickly realized that he too was there for the open mic. I walked over and said " hey, if you are here for the open mic the sign- up is at the bar" he replied "yeah i know, i already signed up" he put out his hand, i shook his hand and he said " you might want to wash that, i just smoked a doobie."
The old man, Joe, was there to pay tribute to his musical idol Hank Williams who he said he had seen way back in the day. Joe had in fact been a local and has been in Greenpoint for the better part of 72 years. I sat with Joe the rest of the night because he was alone and i was alone.
i had arrived 2 1/2 hours early for the event. with all the festivities, that orange sun and now the company of a new friend, i grew drunk while waiting and taking it all in. i have still not yet conquered my crippling stage fright which is all psychological and probably has most to do with a deep need to be appreciated or loved and the anticipation of it finally occurring and for my art no less, which would be a bonus. truthfully, i have strangled this down but can't seem to completely still those jitters, lord knows i've had my mishaps on stage. nevertheless, i sprinted my way through many pints of my favorite draft beer amidst the tempered anxiety of it all just below the surface.
Joe sang three Hank williams songs up there and i felt like i had a grandfather who played guitar. those Hank Williams songs are drinking songs and i raise my glass to Joe's guts, getting up there like that and doing his thing.
I took the stage after Joe and sang my songs but again broke my self imposed golden rule to never say too much and just play. the lights up there are blinding, it's like what i'd imagine the lights of heaven opening up are like and beyond them the voice of god, only beyond these lights are a far lesser force of indifferent hipsters strewn about ready for their own credulous moment of adulation. anyway, what do you say to god when blinded by his lights?...and slightly drunken? my tendency is to apologize for myself, but, many many hours of playing private concerts in my bedroom made up for my apparent sloppiness and my songs, thankfully, went over very well indeed.
After that i hit the street with my man Joe. We talked about his neighborhood and how it changed over the years. He said everyone around here at one time new each other and now that has all changed. he sounded bitter about it. He asked me,"tell me how the world is a better place today?" i said "well. it's smaller, you know, i could record a song on a monday morning, upload it onto the internet in the afternoon and it could be heard in Japan 6 hours later. that's pretty amazing" I don't think that was Joe's type of thing. Instead, we sat in a doorway and i listened to him play Hank Williams songs which seemed to be quite fitting to my life these days and i sang a few for him as well. We must of looked like two hobos on the street or maybe local grandfather and grandson enjoying a sunday night, although we were lit.
Joe eventually split and i went inside for a chicken sandwich. an english kid and another guy kept staring at me from across the room but i paid them no mind. the waitress hovered near by but i had nothing else to say and the food was good.
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