JACK BERNARD'S TRAVELS

Posted by jdbernard743

· January 15, 2014

Eva Cassidy, Sirius XM, and Some New Voices

One night in May of 2001 in a small B&B in rural France my wife and I were chatting in front of an open-hearth fireplace with the English expat owners. Five years earlier Ian, a long haul lorry driver, and his wife, Anne, a caterer, decided to chuck it all, leave the UK, and buy a little gite/B&B in France. In the course of our conversation Ian and I discovered that we had shared interests in guitars and contemporary folk music. Later in the evening he asked me if I knew Eva Cassidy’s music? He was shocked when I told him I didn’t. “She’s one of the best singers I’ve ever heard – and she’s American. I can’t believe you don’t know her.” He almost ran to get her CD and play it for us.

Eva Cassidy was an American, born and raised in the Washington DC area where she died of cancer (melanoma) at age 33 in 1996. She was painfully shy and never comfortable as a performer. She recorded only three albums before her passing. Her last, Live at Blues Alley, is my favorite. Eva’s voice and some of her music has made its way into the mainstream now, but she was almost unknown outside a small circle of fans in the Washington DC area when she died.

It’s not clear how a BBC dj heard about her, but around the year 2000 Paul Walters started playing her music on his morning show and the response from his seven million listeners was unprecedented. Before long this unassuming dead woman had three consecutive number one albums in the UK. She remained largely unknown in the US until word spread west from the UK and she began gathering followers. By 2005 she was #5 on the list of Amazon’s All-Time Top 25 Musical Artists – ahead of Elvis, Dylan, Springsteen, The Beatles, and Ray Charles. Her rise on the charts is an improbable story. Her voice and artistry are astonishing. Her musical taste is eclectic. She defies categories. She sings gritty blues and traditional ballads. Danny Boy will break your heart. Stormy Monday will wrench your gut, and her covers of Curtis Mayfield’s People Get Ready and John Lennon’s Imagine will galvanize and inspire you to change the world.

Winter sports fans might remember Michelle Kwan’s disappointment at the 2002 Winter Olympics when she lost the Gold Medal in women’s figure skating to Sarah Hughes in what would be her final Olympic competition. They might also remember the heartbreakingly beautiful demonstration she gave at the Gala Exhibition following the medal ceremony. For that skate she chose Eva’s rendition of the Sting ballad Fields of Gold. On that night the two artists became one and when it was over the crowd sat in stunned silence before erupting in applause with Michelle in tears and the crowd standing and weeping as well. You can see it all on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wazOhkRuySI

I am always astonished to encounter a new artist whose work is remarkable but virtually unknown. Whether it’s music, dance, visual, or performing art, I am overwhelmed by how much talent – discovered and undiscovered – there is in the world. Eva is not undiscovered and unknown now. The English discovered her when Paul Walters played her version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. There is only one Eva, but I am starting to hear more and more interesting voices and musician poets. Toby Lightman and Lisa Loeb, Jason Mraz and James McMurtry. Our kids are listening to Radiohead and Billy Joe Armstrong, but I have a difficult time leaving the folk-rock/jazz tradition. At the moment I can’t get enough of Jason Mraz. Ignoring the look in the picture below, you might enjoy hearing him tell a story and blend folk with skat-jazz-improv in a new mode. This is a live interview and performance of his signature song I’m Yours: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ttEzMKE0r0. There is nice backstory here that puts it squarely in the folk tradition – but with a twist.

I have to confess that my interest in new artists was energized by my introduction to Sirius XM Radio. It has become my guilty pleasure and the key to a world of new music. Last summer, on a long road trip, we were introduced to Sirius. Two friends loaned us their camper van and it had Sirius XM installed. Anywhere, anytime, as long as there is sky above, those satellites beam the music (and sports, and news, and politics and almost anything else you might want) down. No commercials and no BS except right wing talk radio. I’m addicted. There is a Grateful Dead station, a Jimmy Buffett station, there’s Springsteen, Beatles, Singer-Songwriters, Broadway Show Tunes, Opera, Classical, 5 kinds of Country, Hip-Hop, Electronic Dance, Christian, Latino, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s rock,. You want it; Sirius has it, but I find that I’m drawn to the Singer-Songwriter/New Artist channels, the kind of music that motivated me to buy a guitar when I was in my 20’s and listen more closely to the storytelling lyrics. Now I look forward to getting in the car and driving for an hour or two. It’s part of my continuing ed.

I’ve lost touch with Ian and Anne. I’m sure they are still there in rural France, but my recent emails have bounced back. I’d love to see them and thank them for the introduction. Eva’s family has released six more albums since 1996. Some are compilations, but there are new songs on each of them. You can listen to my favorite female singer of all time sing 20 of her songs, uninterrupted, on YouTube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zeNxrfMrbI8

Enjoy…

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Tags : Eva Cassidy

Posted by jdbernard743

· December 31, 2013

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The Wolf of Wall Street: What Are The Messages?

The Wolf of Wall Street brought in $18.5 billion in box office receipts last weekend. I contributed $12 and came away feeling like a binge drinker – there was too much of too much. America’s appetite for excess is splashed across the screen – money, drugs, car crashes, naked women, kinky sex, stocks, bonds, hookers, yachts, bespoke suits, expensive sports cars, trophy wives –schlock and awe from the opening scene to the final one three hours later. It’s like a Hugh Hefner remix of Caligula and The Office.

The character at the center of the film is a real life person named Jordan Belfort, played by Leonardo DiCaprio, whose stock brokerage firm defrauded investors using high pressure sales in a pump and dump stock scheme that generated huge profits for the firm and over $200 million in investor losses. Belfort skimmed profits to fuel his out of control lifestyle and when the scam was uncovered he ratted on his friends, spent 22 months in a Club Fed minimum-security prison and agreed to a long term plan to pay restitution to the clients he defrauded. Now he lives in a luxury apartment in Manhattan Beach California, plays tennis every day and has a new motivational speaking and sales consulting business. Many of his investors lost their life savings. What do you think the chances are his investors will be around to reap anything in the restitution plan?

From what I can gather Belfort is the same snake oil salesman he was before he went to prison – and unrepentant. Why should he be – Martin Scorcese and Leonardo DiCaprio just released a glitzy film about him that is creating Oscar buzz. He lives at the beach, has a lucrative consulting business and a new blond shiksa in his life. Life is good for Jordan. Here he is hawking his own book.

Does this look like a man who screwed thousands of people out of their savings and is remorseful for his actions? Not so. Instead, he is enjoying a rebirth of celebrity as the new Gatsby. Is it a coincidence that DiCaprio starred in last year’s film about Gatsby’s equally over the top lifestyle?

I don’t begrudge anyone their pursuit of a good life, but I am outraged at the way the Feds have let the scammers and financial manipulators who drove the country into the ditch get off with a finger-wagging hand slap. Jordan Belfort is small potatoes, a short, little, slick-willy from Long Island with big, wannabe appetites. Over the last 30 years we have seen bigger scammers – Ivan Boesky, Michael Millken, the Hunt brothers, Bernie Ebbers, Kenneth Lay, Dennis Kozlowski, Bernie Madoff, Allen Stanford, John Rigas, Anthony Mozilo, and Kerry Killinger manipulate markets and treat themselves like royalty. Madoff and Ebbers are the only ones likely to die in prison.

I hated The Wolf of Wall Street, but it is provocative. I keep asking myself “What is the message? What are the lessons? What are we supposed to take-away from this film? Skim, scam, cheat, steal, hide it away, rat on your friends and you might just end up with a California tan and a new blond on your arm? Is that the message? Is that what this film is offering up? The film is a raunchy airbrushed Playboy magazine fantasy. I could almost hear the nauseating voice of Robin Leach walking us through Jordan’s mansion on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. The film is about wretched excess and cheating poor schlubs who work hard at their humdrum jobs and dream of a secure retirement. I don’t think Scorcese and DiCaprio intended to send that message but it’s there if you choose to see it. The Wolf is billed as a comedy but I don’t believe cheating people is funny.

The film is upsetting but our fury and upset shouldn’t be directed at Scorcese or sleazy, greedy wannabes like Madoff and Belfort. They’re disgusting, but they aren’t the ones responsible for driving the US economy off a cliff. The real culprits are a bunch of lazy Congressmen and those Masters of the Universe at Bank of America, Chase, Citibank, Goldman Sachs, Bear Stearns, AIG, Washington Mutual, Countrywide, and Lehmann Brothers who were responsible for The Great Recession and the loss of trillions in Americans’ retirement savings. Most of them are still in place or hanging out under their golden parachutes. They are continuing to work out ways to enrich themselves and screw the middle class? Why haven’t we had one prosecution of a CEO or senior level executive responsible for masterminding the collapse of our financial system? How could we let Lloyd Blankfein and his crew at Goldman Sachs off the hook for selling collateralized debt obligations (CDO’s) and credit default swaps (CDS’s) to their clients while, at the same time, betting that those same instruments would fail? Heads they win; tails you lose.

How could regulators let Washington Mutual and Countrywide open the floodgates and deliver a river of mortgages to people they knew could not afford them knowing that they would end up in foreclosure? These simple strategies ruined families and whole communities, but the people responsible are still unpunished. I saw a well-dressed Kerry Killinger at the Seattle Art Museum recently and last week I read that he is close to settling on an undisclosed fine with the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency. Why isn’t he in tatters and in jail? Not only was he responsible for the largest bank failure in US history, but his greed and criminal negligence caused the loss of 9,200 jobs. Where was the Federal banking oversight when this was happening? What were the regulators doing while Seattle burned?

Today, many of 2008’s top bank executives are still around. Not only are they around, but they are drawing even larger salary and benefit packages and strenuously lobbying to prevent further regulation of the banking and mortgage industries. Didn’t the lessons of The Great Recession sober them up? Apparently not. They have dug in and are fighting any new regulations, even those that could have prevented the crisis. They are taking their money and influence pedaling to the same gutless Congress that ordered the 1999 repeal of Glass-Steagall, the 1933 law that would have prevented the self-dealing orgy that brought down the economy in 2008.

There is some reason to be hopeful, in spite of the money and corporate pressure. The most significant regulatory change is be The Volcker Rule, that piece of the Dodd-Frank financial reform of 2010, that prevents banks from making speculative investments for their own accounts that do not benefit their customers. It looks like the rule will be implemented, but you can bet that the guys with the green eyeshades in the backroom at Bank of America are trying to figure out work-around strategies. If it sticks, The Volcker Rule should help prevent cataclysmic failures like the unregulated 2008 collapse.

I hope The Wolf of Wall Street is overlooked in the upcoming film award season. I have to say I feel the same about American Hustle. It is an interesting period piece based on the Abscam bribery scandal of the ‘70’s – well acted and unintentionally funny in parts (Can a film about bribing six congressmen and a US senator be funny?), but it is yet another vehicle celebrating scammers and ambitious frauds. When the Academy Awards come around in March I’m pulling for films like Philomena, Nebraska, and 12 Years a Slave, movies with an unambiguous moral center. I hope the Academy chooses to celebrate artful, creative movies showing good people doing honest, funny, or courageous things that highlight the human condition and the potential for good. They’re the ones that get my vote.

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Posted by jdbernard743

· November 26, 2013

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Harry and Lucy: Mourning the Losses

When young people die it sticks with us. As we get older death comes closer, becomes more frequent and familiar. Last week’s 50th anniversary of JFK’s death brought us non-stop recollections that have refreshed our memory of him. His face is frozen in time. Our memories of him endure. It’s easy to think of him as ageless.

My best friend died young too. He committed suicide, and his 34-year-old image is embedded in my memory. Ann Patchett’s friend, the poet Lucy Grealy, was 39 when she overdosed on heroin. Ann’s posthumous portraits of Lucy, The Face of Pain (New York Magazine) and Truth and Beauty memorialize their friendship and helped her grieve.

We all process grief differently, but I think when we are young the death of a friend sets itself more deeply. It’s unnatural. It’s out of sequence. It’s not supposed to happen, and when it does it leaves a scar and imprint on us.

Harry and I met in the Marine Corps. We were classmates in an Officer Candidate Class, at Quantico – 1st platoon, Charlie Company, Training and Test Regiment. Twelve weeks in the boiling, sweat-staining heat and humidity of a Virginia summer.

Harry had the upper bunk; I had the lower. On the day we checked in he dropped his steel helmet on my head while sorting through his new and unfamiliar gear. It was typical. Harvard had not prepared him for the military. As our training progressed it seemed he was never able to divine what the drill instructors wanted. In an organization that demands uniformity and at a time when self-interest and survival depend on blending in he was the one person in the platoon our eye would always be drawn to – some item of his uniform was not quite right or his rifle would be held at slightly the wrong angle. If the DI’s bloused their trousers with an elastic cord just above the ankle, Harry would blouse his near the calf. If their utility caps were worn with the bill just above the eyebrows, Harry would have his tilted slightly back on his forehead like a hayseed from the Ozarks. The DI’s were merciless with him.

My gift, if I had one, was observation and imitation. I knew instinctively what the DI’s wanted, and that’s how Harry and I became friends. I helped him figure it out, taught him how to shine his boots and starch his cap, and together we survived to be commissioned in 1959.

We came from very different backgrounds; Harry grew up in Oyster Bay, and his family had other homes in Maine and Florida. He went to boarding school at St. Paul’s, then on to Harvard and Tufts Medical School. When he died he was the chief surgical resident at Roosevelt Hospital in New York City. My father sold insurance, and I went to public school and a state university. When Harry died I was a Pan Am co-pilot. I had something he wished for and I envied the ease with which doors opened for him.

The summer before he died we spent time traveling together in France and hanging out at a rented villa in Italy. We were in our primes at 34. That winter we skied together in Aspen. In April I was a pallbearer at his funeral. It was his second suicide attempt and this time he was successful. 42 years later I’m still pissed. I knew there were recurring bouts of depression, but it was inconceivable to me that he could think of killing himself. We were planning more ski trips and other world wanderings. Now I understand. Some people are so wounded and in such psychic pain that it cannot be denied.

***

Ann Patchett’s friend, Lucy Grealy, was one of those people too. Lucy was a poet and a classmate of Ann’s at Sarah Lawrence and the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. She was also the victim of an odd and aggressive form of cancer that resulted in partial loss of her jawbone and facial disfigurement. Her book The Autobiography of a Face won the Whiting Writer’s Award in 1995. Last night Nancy Pearl interviewed Ann about her new book of essays, The Story of a Happy Marriage. This morning I read, The Face of Pain, about her friendship with Lucy and Lucy’s decline and death from a heroin overdose.

At the end of Nancy Pearl’s interview there was Q&A. The last questioner was a man whose wife recently passed away from a brain tumor. He had blogged daily while she was dying and friends told him he should publish a book about it. He asked what she thought. Her answer was the soul of compassion and good sense. She told him to keep writing, that there might be a book there, but in the end it would be his story – that it would always be his and would help him deal with his loss and grief.

***

I miss Harry. I think of all the things we might have done together – the powder turns, rum drinks on the beach, meals missed, books and films savored. He killed himself when my wife was pregnant with our son – Douglas Payne Bernard – my middle name and Harry’s. So, I haven’t totally lost him. He’s still around to remind me of the times we had and the times we missed.

This is Douglas Payne. He even looks a little like both of us.

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Tags : Ann Patchett, Lucy Grealy

Posted by jdbernard743

· November 12, 2013

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Personal Expression: “Note to Self”

CBS This Morning has a programming feature called “Note to Self” in which a famous person is asked to write a note to his or her younger self. They vary in quality but all are revealing. The Story Corps Project, which you can hear on NPR’s Morning Edition on Friday, does something similar for ordinary people. They interview, record, and archive conversations with people about their lives. Some are inspiring. Some are heart-breaking. 50,000 Story Corps interviews are archived in the Library of Congress.

There are myriad ways to deliver personal stories. Biographies. Memoirs. Journals. Essays. Documentaries. Journals. Oral histories. Conversations. Some tell us about famous people and feed our curiosity. Others show us ordinary lives. Everyone has a story. Some are more interesting than others, but everyone has one.

As an expatriate, living in Saigon, personal stories were the currency of life. A foreigner doesn’t end up in a place like Saigon without a story. You don’t arrive there because you took a wrong turn on the freeway. When you meet someone new, your first question is almost always, “How did YOU get here?” I was fascinated by the stories in Saigon – expat and local. The people are from everywhere and people adventurous enough to end up in Saigon are almost by definition interesting.

Now that I’m back in the States I’m aware of the recent spate of memoirs, personal essays, Story Corps conversations and Notes to Self. They’ve got me thinking about personal expression and sharing stories. As an older person I’m not surprised by the impulse. It seems natural to want to leave a little record of yourself, as you grow older. I love words. But I’ve discovered this about myself – I’d rather write them than speak them – so that’s what I’m doing these days.

My friend and neighbor, Gery, is writing his memoir. He’s had an interesting life, but his audience is likely limited to family and a few friends. I’m interested in the art of the memoir, but my audience is probably even smaller than Gery’s. A few years ago, I told my daughter I was thinking of writing something “memoir-like,” and she came unglued at the prospect. She acted as if I planned to reveal some unseemly little family secrets. I was naïve then; I thought she might want to know more about me, but it wasn’t true. I was devastated then but I’ve grown beyond it. Her harsh reaction hasn’t dissuaded me at all. I’m writing like a crazy man. I’m not writing that memoir-like thing, but I know the events, people, and experiences of my life inform all of my writing.

This fall I’m participating in a Master Class in Essay at Richard Hugo House, the literary non-profit in Seattle. The very smart and funny young novelist Peter Mountford leads the workshop. There are 12 of us in the class and the personal essays are astonishing – courageous and accomplished. It takes an act of faith to step into space.

I hope you’ll take a minute and look at two excellent examples of courageous and inspiring personal stories: the first is a Story Corps interview with Retired Marine Corporal Anthony Villereal and his wife, Jessica. http://storycorps.org/listen/anthony-and-jessica-villarreal

The second story is artist Chuck Close’s Note to My 14 Year-old Self on CBS This Morning: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=milXH-433vs

There are so many ways to share and express ideas, memories, creativity, and experience. Some people write. Some people paint. Some play music. Some dance. Whatever the medium, try it, work it, explore it.

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Tags : personal essays, Story Corps, The Story Corps Project

Posted by jdbernard743

· November 1, 2013

· 1 Comment

The Weekend: Bernadette Peters to Muscle Shoals

Bernadette Peters has always been just on the edge of my consciousness. I knew what she looked like – flaming red, boisterous, uncontrollable hair, kewpie-doll lips and a dynamite body – but I was never curious about her music. Over the years her picture would catch my eye, but her music never quite caught my ear.

Marilynn, on the other hand, has always been a fan, and when she saw that Ms. Peters was performing with the Seattle Symphony last weekend she wanted to go. She loves Broadway musicals, and knows the songs, stories, and cast members of most of them. Until recently I wouldn’t have given a second thought to seeing her in performance.

What happened to change things, for me, was Sirius XM Radio. Crazy, but true. The change is a long story, but the shortened version is that I needed a new audio system for my old car. Like my awareness of Ms. Peters, I knew about Sirius but never paid much attention to it until I needed a new sound system. I decided to give it a try. 30 day free trial; what’s to lose? Sirius XM is all about controlling audio content, and control is everything now that NSA is watching everything we do – isn’t it? We have so little control over our lives these days. Controlling my radio content sounded like a good thing. I hope the NSA likes my choices.

Sirius offers hundreds of discreet channels devoted to everything from opera to Rush Limbaugh, but one of the options is a channel devoted to Broadway show tunes. It sounded middle-brow to me but Marilynn was excited. I couldn’t imagine listening to a steady diet of Oklahoma and South Pacific, even if they threw in a little Hair and Hairspray. But, I was wrong. I’m hooked on it now. There are dozens of literate, clever, attention getting musicals that I had never heard of but am getting to know.

Ms. Peters comes into this because I hear her frequently on Sirius. She was and is primarily a Broadway musical theater performer, and that’s what I’ve been listening to. She’s not very visible outside that musical category, and even more restrictive is her focus on the repertoire of Stephen Sondheim. Both Sondheim and Peters are acquired tastes and difficult to categorize. West Side Story is the most accessible of his works, but even that is more American opera than mainstream musical theater. Sondheim’s work is edgy, difficult, and more in line with Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess than Oklahoma or South Pacific.

Ms. Peters has a remarkable voice and vocal range, and despite the fact that you don’t leave the theater with one of her songs cycling around in your head, the evening itself is memorable. Sondheim’s songs and her styling do not dish up a menu of hummable tunes. Aside from the songs in West Side Story (music by Leonard Bernstein and lyrics by Sondheim) the only popular Sondheim song I can think of is Send In The Clowns from A Little Night Music, which was made popular by Judy Collins and covered by everyone from Frank Sinatra to Barbra Streisand.

Friday night was a turning point for me. I’m definitely on the bandwagon now. She turned me into a fan. On Saturday morning I watched 8 or 10 of her YouTube videos and was captivated again by her voice and stage presence. You can catch her version of Not A Day Goes By from Merrily We Roll Along on YouTube at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5kMlQgyz834

Time has stood still for her in many ways. She looks just like she did when I first noticed her in the ‘70’s. I’m as surprised at her age (65) as I am at my own (75). She looks a lot better than I do but it’s as if the clock stopped in 1975 as you watch and listen to her. Try this more accessible but rollicking version of Anything You Can Do from Annie Get Your Gun (with Tom Wopat): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nllCZI1XoE

Time has not been as kind to Mick Jagger and Keith Richards as it has to Bernadette. They look like dueling versions of The Picture of Dorian Gray these days, but, on the upside, they have somehow managed to retain the sound and energy of their early years.

The Rolling Stones are one of the groups featured in a new documentary called Muscle Shoals, about the legendary Alabama town that has attracted dozens of world famous recording artists and where the Stones first recorded Brown Sugar. The film chronicles the life of Rick Hall and FAME Music, the studio he founded in 1959 and where the renowned “Muscle Shoals sound” developed. Check out Mick and Tina on Brown Sugar: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v5zZpMIrWu8

The documentary also features Wilson Pickett, Percy Sledge, Aretha Franklin, Paul Simon, Traffic, Clayton Carter, Etta James, Bono, Alicia Keys and others who were drawn to Muscle Shoals by the FAME rhythm section. In interview after interview we hear these blues and rock and roll legends explain how they were attracted by the black musicians with their patented Muscle Shoals’ sound. And we get to glimpse their surprise at discovering that The Swampers, as they came to be known, were a group of 5 local white musicians brought together by Rick Hall to support his recording dream.

The film is history and art. It’s beautifully made with shots of the Tennessee River and local surroundings interspersed with interviews and film of the recording sessions. It also chronicles the split between Rick and the Swampers, who decide to leave FAME in 1967, to pursue their own dream and form their own studio – the Muscle Shoals Sound Studio. It was a contentious divorce but in the end there seemed to be room in Muscle Shoals (population 13,371) for two world class rock and roll recording studios. Both seem to have prospered. Rick has a new group of mostly black musicians in his new rhythm section, and the Swampers have gone on to record other world-class acts like the Allman Brothers, Lynyrd Skynyrd and others. My favorite track in the film is Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama. Check it out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eAqT_GN_oBU

We managed to slip in a matinee showing of Muscle Shoals on our rainy Sunday afternoon, but in between, on Saturday night, we were able to catch Tweety and the Tomcats at a bar/café next door in Bothell. That’s Tweety, with her sax, in the middle and George, my guitar teacher, on the right.

There’s a lot of music (and talent) around. Don’t miss the opportunity to see and hear it. Manhattan Transfer is at the Triple Door in downtown Seattle tomorrow night. It should be fun. Remember Java Jive? Transfer’s version is a sensational reminder of the Ink Spots original. You can check them out and compare them both on YouTube. Technology has made it an amazing world to live in but there is nothing like a live performance to make you appreciate the art and the artist.

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Tags : Bernadette Peters, Muscle Shoals, Stephen Sondheim