Many a young girl received a doll today, Merry Christmas, by the way. They may teach, but they aren't spirits.
Hopi and Zuni dolls are and were used to allow young women from the tribe to participate in sacred dances performed by the men. A rich, complicated cultural ritual I am not qualified to discuss, and I am not really sure anyone of European origin can, to tell the truth. We can "own" kachina dolls, but can we understand them? I guess as interlopers. There are some 400 identified, each with distinctive features represented by adornment and design.
Once you have an appreciation for cottonwood carvings from 1900 and before with flaking natural pigments, you may desire to own them as well. Not easy today, as the early ones, or what could be called "real" ones are for the most part tucked away.There are different levels for collectors...19th century, of which I have cribbed a few here from the catalog of an exhibition at the Galerie Flak in Paris from ten years ago (link here to the catalog) those from 1900 to before World War two, and those since. The later ones are purely decorative and produced for tourists, and although fine carvings are still produced by Native American artists they are far more elaborate in design and far less transcendent than the early ones.
The earliest kachinas were flat, simple, rudimentary wooden objects with sparse adornment but great magical power. The later ones can be beautiful but are more decorative, and it is quite common for dealers to date them earlier than they really are. There are literally hundreds of identified and collected kachina carvers working today, and there are festivals and such to display their work. You can even take a bus tour right to the carvers, they don't have to set up outside train stations any more to sell to Paleface. (I am sorry to use what is now a derogatory, and likely Hollywood invented term, but after what we did to those who took care of our land before we got here, and what we have done to it since, let's face it...some of us have earned names worse.)
The photograph above is dated 1944 on the reverse. It is, of course, a Southwestern trading post with a symbolic gigantic Kachina out front. (A "Cigar Store Indian" as it were...another large sculptural object with racial and cultural baggage!) The rugs would indicate this is a shop of Navajo goods...I hope the women asked if they had any old Hopi or Zuni ones behind the counter, as the Navajo didn't make them then, but they do today. I understand now you can even find Kachinas carved in Korea. Ugh.
Okay, I don't want anyone to think all I write about (or care about) is smut...so here is the subject of my NEXT book. I'm not tipping my hand, as there are no other photos of him around, I found the archive and bought it. I'm not saying who he is either, but he is a good story. A DAMN good story! I might have to ask for help. Inquiries from grown-up real publishers welcome. Stay tuned.Until then, my current inventory HERE. The format "BOOK" isn't dead yet, it's just dying.
Today EIGHT articles by Jim Linderman appear on the Art Matters BEST OF COMIC ART site! Shazam. The page is floating, so they might not be there tommorow. Links to the original articles follow. All appeared on my sister Vintage Sleaze site, so if material of a slightly risque manner scares you...pass. I believe the expression is "Not Safe for Work" but none will scar you permanently and none are anywhere near x-rated.
Primrose Semon, Cyclonic Sensation and Burlesque DustThis is by far the most detailed entry on one Primrose Semon you will find on the web. Primrose Semon was apparently a fast woman, excuse me, a fast soubrette, who performed as both a man and a woman. She had flaming red hair, and may have been "one of the seven wonders of the world" then, but she's dust now. A shame...she must have been something.
As late as 1950, Primrose was still hoofing it enough to get a mention in Billboard Magazine, performing as a comedienne for a two week engagement in Toronto. Quite a feat, 50 years earlier she was performing as Edna in Uncle Tom's Cabin. One site claims she sounded like Martha Raye but I won't hold that against her.
On January 4, 1943 Primrose escaped injury when the auto she was using to get from one gig to another crashed into the side of a bridge. No injuries. Songs she performed (and for which sheet music exists...most of them piled up in the corners of antique shops) include "Everybody's Doin' It Now" "Forgive Me" "I've Got the Finest Man" (which begins "Happy, happy, happy little bird I am")
That's all I've found and she is gone...but henceforth, when one searches her name, this will pop up, and maybe one day a curious relative will happen upon it and say hello. It has happened many times before. I have heard from a dozen relatives and such since I started digging up forgotten folks like Primrose. I have heard from the offspring of singers, artists, cartoonists, strippers and more. The relatives of criminals don't write in for some reason. On occasion, some will ask me not to print their name, others encourage it. Some have offered to share more pictures and such...others are just glad to see someone took the time to appreciate their great-grandfather or long lost Aunt. Since there is no money in blogging, it is these little personal contacts I enjoy most.
If you know anything about Primrose Semon, say hello! I'll print your note.
The Burlesque Wonder Show Flyer (featuring Primrose Semon) 1918 Collection Jim Linderman
The ill-informed and dangerous charlatan Glen Beck made me concerned enough to look into chalk talk. Before the millionaire fraud hijacked the former vaudeville trick and started using his chalkboard "skills" to foster corporate greed under the guise of patriotism (and convince many of his floundering middle-class audience to act against their own best interests) chalk talking was an art, a skill and for many a profession. Of course, Glenn has nowhere near the skill and talent of the old guys, especially since his accompanying patter is so vile and poorly researched.
Beck is just one more of the swindlers who have taken the all-too-trusting American public for a big money grab in our history, a buffoon and tool who takes advantage of confused and scared masses to line his own pockets. As such he falls squarely into the long line of snake-oil salesmen, carnival barkers, faith-healers and quacks who litter our history. Beck is pretty good at it...His income in 2009 is reported at $32 million dollars. As his viewership hovers around a million per televised episode, that's about thirty bucks each...money which might better applied to individual gold purchases (though that is another of his scams being investigated.)
I'm not sure he even uses the chalkboard any longer, as he has been so soundly ridiculed for it, but the craft was once a quite beautiful thing. The examples here all come from the splendid book "Bright Beams from the Blackboard" by Hy Pickering. No date, but certainly approaching 100 years old. As you can see, Pickering fell into the "tell a good moral lesson" category of chalk talkers rather than, oh...I guess what you could call the "Amos and Andy logic out a financial transaction" chalk practice. You know..."take the 7 and deduct it from the 12...see? You owes me 50 dollars." A slightly racist example from vaudeville history, but still exactly what Beck does when he befuddles his audience with poorly drawn crud and poorly drawn conclusions.
Pickering, on the other hand, is presenting art of the highest order, and with practice, some slate and some chalk, an art available to anyone who can draw a straight line. (Like the straight line Glenn Beck makes right to the bank)
Rather than writing me, any Fox viewers who happen upon this post by mistake are referred HERE where Glenn's many mistakes are documented on a regular basis.
This little "Flex-o-View" collapsible cardboard 35mm slide viewer from the Fifties is pretty hard to find today. Want to know where at least one resides? In box 2070 of the American Civil Liberties Union Records in the Audiovisual Materials collection being held at the Princeton University Library Department of Rare Books and Special Collections. What? For a simple "SQUEEZE to Focus" hand held slide viewer from Hollywood made in the early 1950s by Synchromatic Pictures? What possible interest could the nation's finest lawyers and civil rights watchdogs have in this little folded up optical device with a cheap plastic lens?
Someone on your payroll thought it inappropriate for you or anyone else to view naked women through it, or at least to use the public mails to get them to you. And so the little fellow the ACLU owns is indexed under "POST OFFICE - 1950 - BAN ON SLIDES OF NUDES" and it sits in the box with 5 racy examples.Ridiculous? I can imagine the ACLU lawyer saying the same thing as he held this up in the courtroom.
Cardboard Folding "Squeeze to Focus" Optical slide viewer circa 1950 Collection Jim Linderman
Religious rituals in America are not often public spectacles. A key exception was the tradition of river baptisms that flourished in the South and Midwest between 1880 and 1930. These outdoor communal rites were public displays of faith, practiced by thousands of Protestants, and witnessed by whole communities. A combination of economic depression and industrialization spurred religious fundamentalism in rural areas, and media-savvy preachers promoted mass revivals and encouraged a dialogue about religion in popular culture and media. Photographs of river baptisms were often disseminated as postcards, both by worshippers documenting their personal life-affirming experiences and by tourists noting exotic practices and vanishing folk traditions. This small exhibition of vintage postcards and a panorama is drawn from a unique archive of vernacular river baptism photographs in the collection of the International Center of Photography. This exhibition is organized by Erin Barnett, ICP Assistant Curator of Collections.
In addition, Curator Erin Barnett has posted an announcement about the upcoming Take Me to the Water exhibition of Real Photo Post Cards (along with numerous photographs) at the International Center of Photography blog Fans in a Flashbulb, as follows:
"In January, ICP will be presenting a small selection of postcards of river baptisms, drawn from a treasure trove of over 200 images, which was donated by collectors Janna Rosenkranz and Jim Linderman in 2007. Since there’s not enough room on the walls, here’s a peak at some of the wonderful images that won’t be in the show (but that can be found in the Grammy-nominated publication and CD Take Me to the Water."
The Grammy Nominated Book/CD Take Me to the Water: Immersion Baptism in Vintage Music and Photography 1890-1950 by Luc Sante, Jim Linderman and Lance Ledbetter will be available at the Museum Bookstore.
Click to enlarge, and you will see this handmade tiny circus even has a sausage grinder. (?) Now as the term has come to mean "a very aggressive and active female sex partner" according to the Urban Dictionary (One of my favorite sites, and a reminder now is the time to vote for your Urban Word of the Year ("Vatican Roulette" another name for the rhythm method or "Hit the Slide" to leave a job in a particularly dramatic manner are my favorites) I am wondering what the carver had in mind here...
MONKEY grinders, or ORGAN grinders were common at circus and carnival gatherings, but they were hand-turned musical instruments with a simian dancer, not meat makers. You have to cook sausage first, and this little guy doesn't appear to have sterno. Maybe he was selling dogs in buns.
Pair of original snapshots of a handmade miniature circus, date unknown Collection Jim Linderman
#24 in Series "At the Circus in Black and White" on Dull Tool Dim Bulb the Blog
(Acts I have seen in Bold. No hyperlinks. But every single one deserves it)
Reading Keef's autobiography and his repeated and unabashed affection for Bobby Keys, the Rolling Stones horn man, got me thinking. Bobby Keys was a young man when he put those horn riffs on "Bitch" as well as the tracks on Exile on Main Street. But he didn't start with the Stones. Bobby Keys Played with BUDDY HOLLY. He played with Bobby Vee. And he is still alive.
In fact, Rock and Roll is the very same age I am, and despite the cry "Rock and Roll will Never Die" it appears I am going to outlive it.
Though I have all the vanity of a woman and then some, I will admit to being 57 years old. Hank Williams died the same year I was born. That is, if you believe his chauffeur's account that he made it until the stroke of midnight. We do know he was still in his boots the morning of January 1,1953 but they were as cold as his cold, cold heart.
Like Dylan (and the Rolling Stones) I was alive when Elvis made his first recordings. When the Beatles played Sullivan, I was not only old enough to know who they were, I was already a fan. The first record I purchased on my own was Sherry by the Four Seasons and I played it so often, my falsetto is as comfortable to me as a pair of warm socks.
Bob Dylan in his autobiography writes of how fortunate he was to have lived when the greats were alive. He played with many of them. He played harmonica on a Big Joe Williams and Victoria Spivey album in 1962. He too performed with Bobby Vee and I was alive when he did. Dylan pretty much believes he represents the last generation of authentic rock, blues and such, I am afraid he is correct. But what a privilege to have lived through it. It is an unearned honor of my own to have been here too.
I have almost managed to avoid being a grumpy old man. Those of you who know me may snicker, but when it comes to music it could be true. When you grow up seeing Iggy Stooge and the MC5 perform live, and not just once, somehow anything which follows is acceptable (and often, by comparison, trite.) But i was lucky then too. I have closed my mind in many places, but not in music.
This article is meant to laud the wonderful thing known as Rock and Roll and not my own life. I was just fortunate to be there, and anyone my age will have their own glory tales. I will avoid listing everyone I have had the privilege to see and the genres I have followed from the start. But it might seem like they are all here...it's been a long time. These are personal highlights, Allow me some boasting, it will help illustrate my point.
I saw Muddy Waters play live. He was performing then on a stool, but I was there and it counts, trust me. I saw the same band without Muddy play again some 35 years later. I sat close enough at an Ike and Tina Turner Review show to blow smoke up the Ikettes skirts, and if we had cam phones then, Ike might have kicked my ass.. (As an aside, those of you who persist in thinking of Ike only as a wife-beater should have been there...as not only did Ike perform on the first rock and roll single in history* without him I dare say Tina would still be Anna Mae Bullock and living in Nutbush instead of Monaco.) He also discovered numerous quality juke-joint bluesman while acting as a scout and of all the guitar players I have seen, the axe seemed most comfortable in his hands. A cool dude I will cut a little slack.
I saw the Byrds when they had David Crosby. I had to sneak out of my window and sneak into the club, but I did it. I then immediately begged for what was known as a "Ponderosa" shirt. There is a 1967 clip of them playing "Eight Miles High" on YouTube around the same time, it's great. You can see they were all adults, but I wasn't.
I have been hit with Patti Smith's saliva and without exaggerating, felt anointed. I've seen her more than once, but with Lenny Kaye from the front row of the Village Underground was the best.
I've seen Dr. John play in a club with no more than 50 people, one of whom was the District Attorney of New Orleans who had kicked him out of New Orleans for junk use decades earlier. The good doctor was kind enough to point him out sitting directly behind me anyway and I shook his hand. (He is Harry Connick's father by the way.) If I am not mistaken, I believe the D.A. had Mac teach Harry to play. I am remembering here, not fact-checking, but I believe this is true.
I saw Alice Cooper so early, we literally didn't know if he was a man or a woman until he came out..
I was alive when Reggae was invented. Most of you probably think it is ancient, but no. The island folk could barely pick up New Orleans radio, and when they heard Fats Domino (who is still alive, although most white folks didn't even KNOW it until Katrina forced him out of his house) sputtering through the air, they picked it up with the skips and beats they thought were there and created a genre. During my life.
I saw James Brown when he played to African-Americans pretty exclusively, and it was long before his problems. I saw Chuck Berry play with a pick-up band...the name of the boys escapes me, but they pretty much just stood there in Beatle jackets while Chuck did the show. It was before "My Ding-a-Ling" I am proud to say.
I saw the Everly Brothers (!) I saw Pinetop Perkins. I saw Honeyboy Edwards, probably he last person alive to have taken a leak with Robert Johnson.
I saw Mitch Ryder play outside to a hill of 100 hippies...and if he doesn't get in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame one day the organization is a sham. Speaking of the hall of fame, I've seen a lion's share of those in it, including even Allen Toussaint and manager Albert Grossman. I'm not actually sure Grossman is in the hall, but he could be, and it is a great celebrity sighting, right?
I've shaken the hand of a man who not only sang in a group with Woody Guthrie, he was sharing a sleeping bag with Woody when he wrote "This Land is Your Land." When I gazed up at his wall to see pictures of him with Woody, I almost fainted. His name was Millard Lampell, he survived later to be blacklisted during the 1950s, and I didn't wash my hand for a day.
I've also seen and shaken the hands of George Jones (who thanked me for liking him both when he was drunk and sober, as I have been, and called me "son" as he said it) and Levon Helm, who called me "his brother" but was just being polite. He didn't even know me, but when he was recovering from cancer and opening his place for small shows, I went as often as I could.
Del Shannon was born 15 miles from where I live today.
I have towered over Paul Simon in line at an antique show. I worked out on a slant board next to Madonna (who said to me "it smells like pork chops in here") and she was right, the gym had a deli below. I've shared a pull-down lat bar with Bruce Springsteen when he was pumping up for the "Glory Days" photos. He worked out in his boots and didn't smell too good. I didn't blame him, and I didn't wipe the bar.
I've seen Van Morrison. I have seen the Neville Brothers, who if it weren't for institutional racism would be today considered one of the greatest groups ever formed in this country. Aaron Neville had his first hit in 1966 and he is still a saint and still on the road. His older brother Art goes back even further. Go see them while they are here.
I saw the Beach Boys perform long before the Kokomo days, thankfully, and saw Brian Wilson years later reconstruct Pet Sounds. I've seen Willie Nelson throw his hat into a crowd many times and each time with Paul the drummer. Neil Young passed me on his way to accept an award. I saw Dave Brubeck play with a harmonica player named, I believe, Peter "Madcat" Ruth and I wonder where he is today.
I've seen Eminem, who is simply astounding. I've seen Gaga, who is not, though it was only one song so...nope...sorry, she sucks.) I've seen the Talking Heads and met David Byrne twice. I stood next to him in a cramped church for the performance of one of Glenn Branca's symphonies (Look him up, if you haven't heard 12 electric guitars played at full volume with mallets, you need to) When the last chord faded, I shouted to Mr Byrne "Well...That was good" and we both laughed out loud though neither of us could hear it) I've seen the Ramones. In fact, I've seen dozens of bands who played CBGBs and hell...i've seen CBGBs. Now it exists only as a Las Vegas sham. And yes, like many notables and not sos, I have used the CBGB bathroom, many times, and i'm still alive.
I used to squeeze past Doc Pomus as he rested in his wheelchair in a record store on Bleecker street. Doc Pomus! My God..just go look up the songs he wrote.
I've seen Steppenwolf. (STEPPENWOLF!) They were all in nasty, nasty black leather except the keyboard player, who was wearing a dress. A giant beer hall, and I spent the last half-hour making out with a girl I met at the show behind the speaker stand. I tried for a month to find her again, but couldn't.
I've seen James Cotton. Otha Turner. Yep... and owned a flute he carved but sold it for thirty dollars.
I saw the Duke Ellington Orchestra and heard Cootie Williams blow his trumpet like an elephant. I saw Violent Apathy play a Polish VFW hall in Grand Rapids, they scared me. I saw Devo on their first big tour.
Lucinda Williams. The Cramps at least five times. The Bush Tetras. I've seen the Feelies, one of the great forgotten bands, and they only played on holidays for God's sake. The Gang of Four. I was invited to the Public Image Limited Show at the Ritz but didn't go. I saw Jonathan Richman play a golf course clubhouse with maybe ten tables. I saw Bob Seger with the Silver Bullet Band and BEFORE the Silver Bullet Band.
I've seen Tony Bennett sing right out on the street at 6th Avenue and 48th. I've seen him also in Carnegie Hall and he didn't even need a microphone. Tony not only has the best rug in the business, he smiles at everyone he meets and buys his own paint supplies on 57th Street. I've seen Tito Puente.
Son Ford Thomas played Delta blues for me in his bedroom. When he died several years later, I am sure he was the poorest man the New York Times ever gave an obit. Sterling "Satan" Magee also played for me in his rent-controlled Harlem apartment. I'm a sucker for authenticity, and you can't be any more than that.
I nearly weeped watching B. B. King play solo runs he had certainly done a thousand times before and can see the colors and flash of the show still as I write.
I've seen so many...but did miss a few. No true regrets. I never saw Nirvana, but was around to be pleased they kicked radio ass, and did see the Foo Fighters but liked opening act The Breeders more.
I saw Gwen Stefani, who wasn't so good...but I also saw her husband Gavin play Roseland from behind the stage the night before they closed Woodstock Two (the fake one) and they were great.
I could go on and will. If it seems I'm tooting my own horn, I am. (Speaking of horns, I've seen Wynton Marsalis in a small venue and if you ever get a chance, go) I don't care if he is just there to introduce an act, you'll want to tell your kids one day you saw Wynton Marsalis and there aren't too many performers around today I would say that about.
What were the best shows? Surprisingly, one was the Guess Who in a gymnasium. You might laugh, and it could have been the pot, but I sat there slack-jawed as hit after hit after hit rolled at me so pure and perfect I was stunned. Crosby and Nash in 1971 acoustic was astounding...the whole place was rapt and it felt like church, even they were amazed and kept thanking us.
The J. Geils Band around the same time, and I didn't even LIKE them, but what a show. I was converted in a night. Peter Wolf is another fellow who has been here long enough to know the greats, and he doesn't get anywhere near the attention he deserves. No, it didn't start with "Centerfold." There are scant few clips of the band in their glory, but they are worth finding. Find one either in black and white or before 1972 and you will thank me. It is time for a box and an autobiography, Peter.
John Fahey solo electric was both good and special, as it was a club of 50 and he didn't live long after.
The first few times I saw a very young Alison Krauss I couldn't believe it...I thought an angel had fallen to the stage in front of me. And both times were free and outdoors.
The B-52s in a roller rink (and yes, I was wearing skates) was great.
Some of my favorite shows were Ricky Skaggs and his giant bluegrass group, and If Lyle Lovett comes to your town, that is a treat you should not miss. It is easy to see how Julia Roberts (yes...walking ahead of me on 17th Street...she can't sing, but still) fell in love with him. Steve Earle acoustic with Emmy Lou in the small room at Carnegie was right up there, but he can rock a show too.
The Human Switchboard was always great and I count them among the best shows I have seen. R.L. Burnside with his white son Kenny Brown was outstanding, and you should look up Kenny Brown. I honestly believe he and Mick Jagger are the only Caucasians who play blues rather than replicate them.
Cheap Trick (!) at a show which was almost canceled due to an ice storm...I think my little sister gave me the tickets and there were probably no more than 100 in a hall which would have fit 10,000. They played the show, they were great and they probably spent the night at a hotel rather than driving back to Chicago. There were almost as many guitars on the stage as people in front of it.
The Talking Heads at Park West one year around Christmas, maybe 1978. I remember David Byrne staring at the tiny Christmas tree on the stage in a trance. I was too...I had all 4 wisdom teeth pulled that morning but went to the show anyway. The pain killers wore off just about at the encore.
I saw Elvis Costello play a few of the now much admired solo shows at Avery Fisher Hall...not only was he at the peak of form, he played onstage with a giant spinning wheel of songs and did whatever the arrow landed on.
The Specials around 1978. I remember them literally climbing up the stage curtains like monkeys (if that sounds racist, it is, but Howlin' Wolf used to do it too and he was like 300 pounds) Ska music is great, and if it hadn't been ruined by some California bands in the 80s we would still be listening to it.
Another favorite which will surprise you? HANSON! I had tickets to Letterman and they were the musical guests. Okay, fine, whatever. But after the show, the three brothers came out with acoustic guitars and played a set from the fire escape for two hundred Puerto Rican and New Jersey girls below who didn't have tickets to get in the Ed Sullivan Theater. They didn't have to do it. They did. It was just charming.
Another "best of" which might surprise you was a series of Jesus freak tent shows I saw one summer in high school. I lived in a beach town with plenty of beer-drinking kids like myself, and the city fathers thought it a good idea to put on a regular show with religion to counteract the times. The preacher/performer was a Brit named Jonathan Guest and as I recall, he had a former "Mother of Invention" or two in the band with him. Fellow converts. They put on a great show, it was warm, we could smoke and there were sand dunes behind the tent to make-out in.
The WORST? Well, who can complain of any rock and roll show...but Dylan with flute in 1978 sucked big. Plus it was in a Hockey Rink, the folding chairs were clamped together and he was wearing sparkly bell bottoms. Dylan should not play with a flute. Budokan be damned. I've saw him once before that and many after, but that show belongs deeper than an off-shore oil drill. An "on the pipe" (or something) James Brown at Radio City was pretty bad too, with distended stomach, and since the other time I had seen him Michael Jackson was a squirt, that was dismal and unfortunate. And like James Brown, I also saw Crosby and Nash at their best and worst, but the latter may qualify mostly because the girl in front of me barfed. Who did I miss? Gosh, plenty. I never saw the Allman Brothers with Duane, but I sure wish I had. Especially as there is so little footage of him. At least I CAN say I never saw Humble Pie, Foghat, Yes, ELP or ELO. Yuck.
I never saw the Stones...by the time I realized how good they were tickets were hard to come by, and there is little worse than being in the last row of anything. I do thank them for touring every five years to give me a shot, but it never happened.
I am embarrassed to say I never saw the Clash, but I heard them through my bathroom window and they sounded great. I lived a few blocks from the outdoor pier shows off the West Side Highway, and they were the only band loud enough to reach me. If I hadn't been drunk, I would have walked over to the abandoned elevated highway and watched with my dog. I saw some good shows up there for free looking right down on the stage. I could see the spreads set out for the performer's food clauses too, that is until crack was invented and they tore the highway down when it filled with addicted squatters.
Now there were a few before my time I would swap much of the above for. I would trade about 3/4 of them to see three performances by Charlie Patton. I guess I would do the same for Robert Johnson, but then I have the feeling he was kind of a little prick. I would love to have seen the Swan Silvertones at their prime. I would literally cut off a finger to have heard Buddy Bolden...a New Orleans trumpet player who never recorded but they say was so loud the whole city could hear him. I never saw the King, but I did get yelled at for asking the tour guide at Graceland if we could see the room he died in. Appropriately, on the throne. I never saw Sly Stone or Prince...two genius artists I believe are in touch with each other through space and time.
One of my favorite musical experiences was the day I snuck into the Miami Beach Fontainebleau Hotel swimming pool from the beach. I was staying at a far, far cheaper hotel a mile away and getting sober. It was, let's see...I gave up counting, but 15 years ago, maybe 20 years ago. Ask my liver. Just before Miami Beach got cool again. But my pool was a pit, and if the lifeguard was looking the other way, one could go right off the beach to the greatest swimming pool in the world. You could swim right up to a bar and I resisted!
One day I sat there while two "wise guys" (and I mean it like you think.."made") with tan stomachs, neck chains and Speedos played a tiny cassette bootleg recording of the Chairman of the Board from 1965. I know it was a bootleg as they said so, I sat close enough to hear every word and note. Their bleached wives were fruggin' to it. (Now that I reconstruct it, maybe not their wives...but anyway) The music was crisp and strong, so was Frank.
Now all this might seem special, and every one certainly is to me...but most folks of my generation have their own stories. I know folks who saw so many Springsteen shows they've lost hearing. The point is how lucky we all have been to be there for it, and to have the opportunity even if we didn't use it. Somehow, staring into a hand-held device to see your heros just doesn't seem the same, and no amount of Verizon or Apple commercials will convince me.
Through some lucky quirk, I managed to be born at the precise time Rock was invented and to have lived through its entire cycle. I am afraid it is gone, a mere blip in music history to be sure...but how great it was to be there for it.
There may be still a few of the genuine article around today. Not many, but a few. Jack White is the real deal, but he is more of an interpreter than an originator. Eddie Veder is one of the best rock singers ever, and he still has a few years left in him, I think. Maybe. To be sure there are thousands of great, really great and talented performers in the country/pop/rock/R&B genre out there, and I will always hope for one more great garage band to surface. They are there.
I don't go much anymore. I've left New York City, where many of the above took place, but I've returned to Michigan where many did as well, so my fingers are crossed. I haven't been back to New Orleans since the flood, it is too painful. I sure hope they can somehow recreate the atmosphere which literally gave our music life. I suspect there are some young pups making noise right now in Detroit who will kick some ass, that city has never let me down musically, from John Lee Hooker all the way to Kid Rock..but it is a three hour drive each way and I'm old and my lungs are shot.
Anyway, I am glad to have been a face in the crowd in so many good places.
Read this again, dude....I saw freaking STEPPENWOLF at their peak in a beer joint with Harleys out front and a young blond I didn't know in my arms. Suck it!
*I admit, "Rocket 88" came out two years before I was born...but that's the only exaggeration in here. By Jim Linderman
Photo: Press Photograph of Chuck Berry 1971 Publicity Still, Embellished by Hand Collection Jim Linderman
Waiting rooms. The domain of the pamphlet. Public Service or propaganda, these graphic little printed booklets are probably the most common art form never really appreciated. They are seen but neglected. A million artists have worked on them without credit. Your doctor will tell you about smoking. Your Secretary of State will tell you about driving safety. Your employer will tell you rules, give advice and describe the procedures. Each will be printed in stapled form, some eight pages or so, and they will always be free. Sometimes the cost is born by the government, sometimes by a corporation hoping to score points. But the common theme to all is a lack of artistic credit. As the purpose is to spread the news like wildfire, they often carry no copyright. No library holds them. Once the rack is empty, a new one will come along to fill the space.
Everyone of these splendid and striking little works of art come from one of the millions and millions of pamphlets sitting in racks now waiting to be left in the car, then weeks later taken in and forced into an overfilled kitchen trash can. They'll help you push down the coffee grounds without getting your hands wet.
The artist is unidentified. He worked in the orange color used in traffic signs as that has been determined to be the brightest shade to attract the eye. His or her graphics are simple, easy to understand but accomplished. There is room for creative expansion but little abstraction to confuse.
Images from "Do You Have Mile-A-Minute Eyes?" Employee Rack Service of Western Electric Company 1959. Pamphlet Collection Jim Linderman
Dr. Wizard remembers when the good 'ol USA ranked #1 in every educational category. I don't think too many kids today could create fractional distillation at home if it came in an ipod.
Collection of Science Fair Photgraphs circa 1950, Illinois. Anonymous. Collection Jim Linderman
