It was awhile ago that LuWorm broke the news. He was hesitant about telling me, because he understands how I get. "I think Derek Bailey died... but I'm not sure..." Yeah, he's dead. I stumbled upon a tape of him playing live when I was about 19 or so. I thought he was either absolutely insane or a complete genius. Like Miller says in Black spring; "Only an angel or a saint can have eyes like that..." His choice of tone was rounded and even. He didn't even opt for alternate tunings, but the sounds that he wrenched from those six strings still bring me to a halt. I've never found that first tape that I've long since lost to a hot car. At the end of his set and towards the end of the tape, he started plugging his label, Incus Records. He was noodling on his guitar and absent-mindedly rattling off the address for mail order and what-not as I scribbled down the information on a stained napkin with a half-dry Sharpie. He stopped halfway through the details, and I looked up from my makeshift pad and pen. He repeated the last three chord voicings and paused. I waited. "That reminds me of a jazz song," and chuckled to himself. I grinned and continued writing.
He and Monk taught me to loosen my ears, and, for that, I am indebted. I'm thinking now of a documentary I saw on Monk. The European sponsor friend of his was talking in her socialite fashion of Monk's last days. She said he never mentioned the illness of which he was well aware, but for one time. "We were riding down in the elevator, and he leaned towards me ever-so-slightly, and said "I'm really very sick, you know."" Something about the pentameter of that statement reminds me of his solo piano, lost in the heart of some Duke song.
Then there's Beefheart... I came to him through Zappa. I used to be one of those guys who walked around convinced that you just hadn't heard the right Zappa if you were less than a total fanboy. Honestly, I don't even listen to him that much myself anymore. Read the Amazon reviews of Trout Mask Replica. They are all either 5 or 1 star reviews, and usually for identical reasons.
Don's a hell of a painter, too...
Right now, I'm listening to X-Ray Spax, and wondering why indie bands never take it far enough for me anymore... If you've slept on them, wake up! It's the best rock sax this side of David Bowie and Viva L'American Death Ray music.
Listening to them at full volume makes me remember and agree with something I heard Henry Rollins say about the Sex Pistols; What a bunch of Hairdressers.
It makes me want to start a punk band that is not bogged down with the pretension and self-awareness. Vonnegut relates a Kilgore Trout story in Breakfast of Champions about two microbes discussing the meaning of life while choking on their own shit and making consequent champagne. That is the best way to take in this entity punk; Choking on your own shit and wondering aloud why the fuck you're even bothering... Everyone looks stupid in a labcoat, so shit your pants and dive on in.
I can't go all off on a music post without dropping my central obsession of the last few (Not Waits, that's for another day), Mike Patton. Can't say enough about this guy. My ears are sluts for him.
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