Do The Jerk

For the first time in nearly 50 years, I just listened to The Capitols' Top 20 hit from 1966: Cool Jerk.  It's about The Jerk, a dance craze that was sweeping the nation when I was in the sixth grade. For a brief, shining moment in the mid-1960s there were a number of pop songs about The Jerk. In recent days I've listened to many of them. In doing so I noticed certain common themes, including: 

• The Twine, another dance craze from the same era,

• Long Tall Sally, and 

• Going to a party where one learns a new dance. 

All of this and much more is explained below.

"Mickey's East Coast Jerk" by The Larks (1965) is the tune that started my search for Jerk-related music. Little did I know how deep this journey would take me. Built around a pounding blues riff, the chorus grabbed me at age 11 and would not let go, in part because of the juxtaposition of the words "work" and "jerk." As anyone who was 11 years old in 1965 will tell you, "work" in this context is a verb, a command  meaning "to dance vigorously." It sounds strenuous. 

Almost as memorable was The Larks' earlier effort, “The Jerk” (1964) -- but for a different reason.  At the time I thought it was one of the strangest songs I’d ever encountered. A languorous mid-tempo number with a broken beat and no danceable rhythm, it’s sung entirely in a wailing falsetto. At certain points, two falsettos harmonize. Weird, particularly when compared to the thumping Beatles and Dave Clark Five songs everyone was listening to at the time. 

The Capitols' lead singer proclaims himself the king of the Cool Jerk in the 1966 song of the same name. That's quite a distinction. This gem features a very cool proto-rap spoken part, followed by a drum and bass breakdown. The title "Cool Jerk" is a sanitized reference to a scandalous Detroit variant of the Jerk known as the Pimp Jerk.  

Ronnie and the Pomona Casuals recorded an entire long-playing album of songs about The Jerk, with titles such as Do The Jerk, Everybody Jerk, Slow Jerk, and I Wanna Do the Jerk. All are still available online. 

The Swim was yet another dance craze of the mid-1960s. In “C’mon and Swim,” Bobby Freeman begins with the exhortation “Come on everybody, come on in." Is he inviting us to a party, or a dip in his swimming pool? The song refers to a dance of the same period which I haven't thought about in a long time: The Hully Gully, which in turn was the origin of "Woolly Bully." That song never made any sense to me until I learned about the Hully Gully connection. "The Swim" was written by Sylvester Stewart, who later formed a band called Sly and The Family Stone, played at Woodstock, and descended into drug abuse and erratic behavior.

“Agent Double-O Soul” (Edwin Starr) does both The Jerk and The Twine. I must confess I’ve never heard of The Twine, except in these songs. Intriguingly, about midway through, Starr tells us:

There once was a fella/ Who was down on the rock and roll/ He couldn’t get himself together/ He didn’t have no kind of soul. 

How awful. But Agent Double-O Soul sets him straight.

Both The Twine and The Jerk reappear in Junior Walker and the All Stars’ “Shotgun,” one of my all-time favorite rhythm and blues songs. “Do the Jerk now,” Junior urges. Later, "It's Twine time." Meanwhile the guitarist seems to know only one chord, which he repeats endlessly. But it's a great chord.

In “Barefootin’” by Robert Parker, we find another common theme: going to a party. Wild, abandoned dancing ensues. Long Tally Sally throws away her wig and high sneakers too. She's doin' a dance without any shoes. "Everybody take off your shoes," Parker commands in a gruff, challenging tone. "We doin' a barefoot thang." 

“Short Fat Fanny,” written and performed by Larry Williams, features a double-barrelled reference to two of our themes: Long Tall Sally, and going to a party. Williams is tired of Long Tall Sally. That's when he met Short Fat Fanny. The lyrics themselves are ingeniously constructed from the titles of early rock and roll hits. For example, Williams tells us, describing Short Fat Fanny: "She watch me like a hound dog everywhere I go," and "She's my big fat tutti frutti." Johnny Winter (yes, he’s still alive) did a great cover version on his most recent album. That’s what lead me to the original. Williams was an interesting character. Among other things, he was Little Richard’s heroin dealer, and led a life that “mixed tremendous success with violence and drug addiction,” as you’ll learn here:

Link: Larry Williams.

“A Groove Will Make You Move” by The Jimmy Castor Bunch comes from another era, that of 1970s funk/disco. It's included here because it continues our “went to a party” theme. But it takes us much deeper. This party is “way across town,” requiring a daring late-night journey into unknown territory. At this party, everybody is gettin’ down. Even better, all the women are outa sight. 

Finally, we have Rufus Thomas’ “Do the Funky Chicken.” It’s another dance craze tune, and it has a much tougher rockin’ tone than I realized at the time. The Funky Chicken is a dance that makes Rufus "wanna do somethin' nasty." Listening to this today, this man clearly had more talent than I gave him credit for way back in 1969. He had a sense of humor as well. 

Metaphor or Symbol?

Lately I've been plagued with anxiety over job security issues. This began eight months ago, and has worsened as the ugly situation grinds along. It has become a major preoccupation. Perhaps that's why I had the following dream.

I was trying to climb out of a deep hole. I was wearing business attire, including suit and tie. The way out was clear, and the surface just out of reach. People stood above me, peering down, watching my struggle. But I wasn't strong enough to pull myself out of this cursed hole. I couldn't do it myself, and nobody would help.

Is this a metaphor? Or is it a symbol? Setting aside academic distinctions over the difference between a metaphor and a symbol, what does it all mean?

It's my belief that during sleep, higher brain functions are shut down for maintenance. With the governor -- the rational mind -- at rest, thoughts are free to run wild. We know these unhindered thoughts as dreams. Brain cells fire away unhindered by logical thought or notions of proper behavior. This is when we may confront the things we cannot bear to think about when awake. Or we simply dream nonsense.

Amanda Knox: Completely Innocent, Or Not

Aieeeeeeee!!! The Italians are still dithering around about this. I cannot believe I’m taking the time to write this post, but anyway: Telegraph columnist Jenny McCartney (see link below) writes: “Many in the US are now seemingly convinced… that the Italian court processes have been a travesty of justice. Yet there seems very little in the way of hard evidence that bears this out.”  Why the “gullible Americans” angle? Many in the UK seem convinced of the same thing.

But of course, British jealousy of Americans is not the point here. Is Knox guilty or not? Anyone who reads McCartney’s column should read this Slate.com article as well (see link below), which presents more or less the opposite view: “There was no evidence indicating Knox killed Kercher,” including no DNA evidence.

Bewildering. I feel sorry for all the parties. But enough is enough already, innit? If I was Amanda Knox, or her father, the seemingly endless nightmare of this case  would have driven me completely around the bend. That’s why double jeopardy is prohibited in the good old US of A, thank God.  

Links:

Daily Telegraph:  Meredith Kercher: a crime that defies all our assumptions.

Slate.com: The Italian Justice System Is Insane—Amanda Knox Is Completely Innocent

Books Read, 2013

A quick scan of the books I read in 2013 (see list below) reveals an overindulgence in crime fiction, particularly Scottish crime fiction. This was not my plan. It just sort of happened. I blame it on my Kindle, which has become my platform of choice for self-indulgence and instant gratification.

I always keep my Kindle handy when I'm reading The New York Times Book Review.  This is my Sunday evening ritual, and I look forward to Marilyn Stasio's crime fiction column. I can usually find something I want to buy in Ms. Stasio's columns. With the Kindle, I can buy whatever  book I want  in a matter of seconds.  It's a lot simpler and faster than my old practice, a tedious ritual of cutting out reviews of books that interested me, storing them, and then retrieving them later and ordering hard copy books delivered by mail. 

Kindle books are also cheaper than print books. When you're a compulsive book buyer and reader facing unemployment, that's a consideration. I must exert cost control over my reading habit, so that it does not unhinge long-range financial plans. 

Fiction standouts in 2013 were Jenni Fagan's The Panopticon, Hilary Mantel's Bring up the Bodies and Peter May's Hebrides trilogy. Among non-fiction books, I was very impressed by James Carroll's Constantine's Sword: The Church and the Jews.  

And now, here is my complete list of books read in 2013 (F=fiction, N=non-fiction). 

May, Peter: The Blackhouse (F)

The first in the Hebrides series, this takes place on the Isle of Lewis. I rave about this one elsewhere in this blog (click here). 

Erdrich, Louise: The Round House (F)

Another “house” book (Roundhouse, Blackhouse... get it?), this is an excellent modern-day tale of reservation Indians.

Higgins, George: The Friends of Eddie Coyle (F)

Dennis Lehane named it one of the best Boston-themed thrillers. Well worth a read. 

Nesbo, Jo: Phantom (F)

This is a Norwegian thriller, but nowhere near the quality of those Swedish Girl with the Dragon Tattoo books. I’m not hard to please when it comes to this genre. But I found Phantom tedious, hard to believe and barely worth the effort of completing.  It's hard to find anything to like about any of the characters. 

This is the sixth (groan) in a series about Harry Hole (what a name -- is the author kidding?). Hole is an ex-detective with a substance abuse problem. Exiled from Oslo to Hong Kong, he returns to Norway to help out his ex-girlfriend and her drug-addicted son, who have run afoul of Russian drug dealers. Parts of the plot really strained credibility, such as the chapter where Harry Hole (???) suddenly produces, as if from nowhere, all the equipment and knowledge required to do an impromptu forensic examination of a crime scene that entirely resolves the plot. Even worse, Harry repeatedly responds “Mmm…” when people tell him things. That’s what I call sparking dialogue. Sorry, I need more believability, more characterization and better writing than this one offers.

St. Aubyn, Edward: Never Mind (F)

I read most of this on a long flight from Pittsburgh to Las Vegas. I never felt bored. Repulsed, yes, but not bored.

St. Aubyn, Edward: Bad News (F)

Even more depraved than Never Mind. This is the second in a series of four about Patrick Melrose. Did I read the next two, Some Hope and Mother’s Milk? Frankly, I cannot recall.

Mina, Denise: The End of the Wasp Season (F)
By one of my favorite Scottish authors. Very well done.  

Morgenstern, Erin: The Night Circus (F)
The magical theme seems to have been influenced by Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. There's a link between that book, which features The Raven King, and The Raven Boys mentioned below.

Kelly, Erin: The Poison Tree (F)

Excellent London atmosphere.

Sedgewick, Marcus: Midwinterblood (F)

Young adult fantasy, beautifully written. I read it in Louisville. I’ll buy more of his work.

Brown, Dan: The Lost Symbol (F)

I never would have bought this if I hadn't been bored in the Louisville airport. Not to my taste, but I finished it anyway.

Atkinson, Kate: Case Histories (F)

Excellent English crime fiction. Jason Brodie #1.

May, Peter: The Lewis Man (F)

The sequel to The Blackhouse and the second book in the Hebrides series. Discussed elsewhere in this blog (click here). 

May, Peter: The Chessmen(F)

Third in the Hebrides series, and a return to form for Mr. May.  It includes a subplot about a Celtic band with a girl singer, bringing to mind Karan Casey (of the Irish band Solas) and Karen Matheson (of the Scottish band Capercaillie). I pointed this out to the author on Twitter and, to my amazement, he responded. Turns out I was on target. I was ridiculously pleased with myself for carrying out my own bit of detective work.  

Rankin, Ian: Exit Music  (F)

Inspector Rebus faces retirement. How awful for him. Rankin's quite reliable. This one's another winner.

Mantel, Hilary: Bring up the Bodies (F)

The sequel to Wolf Hall, this is an outstanding historical novel. It's primarily concerned with Anne Boleyn's downfall as orchestrated by Thomas Cromwell. As one reviewer noted, this is familiar territory, but Mantel makes it compelling. Anne Boleyn's story is so sad that it led me to research her place of burial, which is within the Tower of London. I can't wait for the final book in the trilogy.

Moran, Caitlin: How to be a Woman (N)

My wife bought this for herself. Having a weakness for all things English, I read it. Surprisingly, I liked it. Very intelligent,  a super writer... and she’s from Wolverhampton. Sadly, now she wants to do for socialism what she did for feminism in this book.

Galbraith, Robert: The Cuckoo's Calling (F)

Well done, J.K. Rowling! I am filled with admiration for this woman. What she accomplished with the Harry Potter books was quite remarkable. Now she shows her versatility with a damned good crime novel. I read it during our trip to London, which is where it's set.  Unputdownable. 

Carroll, James: Constantine's Sword: The Church and the Jews  (N)

I finally finished this, after starting it several years ago and setting it aside. It lays bare the scope of anti-Semitism, particularly within the Catholic Church. This surprised me, particularly since the author is a former Catholic priest. A great deal of historical research and deep knowledge of theology went into this book. It must have taken years to produce. My one complaint: I could have done without the final chapters' prescription for reforming the Church. Not that I mind reform, but that's not what I came here to read about. 

Box, C.J.: The Highway(F)

Psychotic long-haul trucker stalks hookers that work the truck stops ("lot lizards," as they're referred to here). Not a bad book,  but it lacked something.  

Cleaves, Ann: Raven Black (F)

More Scottish crime fiction. First in the Shetland Quartet. Good, and my wife liked it too. In fact, this was the only book she read on my recommendation this year.

Stiefvater, Maggie: The Raven Boys (F)

Young adult fiction. High school girl's  friends seek ley lines to find the tomb of Owen Glendower. The girl, whose mother is the town psychic, resembles Rogue of the X-Men. She cannot allow herself to have a boyfriend, or even kiss a boy, because of a prophecy that she is destined to kill the love of her life. I'll read the sequel.

Blackwood, Nina; Goodman, Mark; Hunter, Alan; Quinn, Martha: VJ: The Unplugged Adventures of MTV's First Wave (N)

Hardly a book, this is an oral history put together by a professional from disjointed reminiscences by the four named above.  Goodman appears to be an arrogant a**hole; Quinn, a sweetheart (I always knew she was); and Blackwood, a neurotic kook. 

Fagan, Jenni: The Panopticon (F)

More Scottish fiction, and one of the best reads of the year. Disturbing and heartbreaking, it reminded me of White Oleander because of its theme of children in foster care. But it's much darker. 

Card, Orson Scott: Ender's Game (F)

A science fiction novel written in 1985. Seems to anticipate video game and Internet culture. May have been influenced by William Gibson's Neuromancer (1984). Card's aliens are giant insects (or buggers, as he refers to them). That in turn seems to have influenced the film version of Robert Heinlein's Starship Troopers, which came years later.  

In the year ahead, I resolve to read more non-fiction. I'll do anything to stave off senility.

Free Yulia Tymoshenko for Christmas!

This Christmas, I fervently hope to see Yulia Tymoshenko, the former Prime Minister of Ukraine, freed from prison. 

This could happen. The current government is looking wobbly, after using riot police to disperse protestors. This administration cannot be regarded as legitimate by western nations when the current Prime Minister deals with political opponents by tossing them into prison on what appear to be trumped-up charges.

George Bush (left) and Yulia Tymoshenko (right)

I am no expert in the Ukrainian justice system or the fine details of her case. But even if she did make a questionable gas deal for Ukraine, or was corrupt, surely that would be more appropriately punished by impeachment or civil penalties. It doesn't sound like a criminal offense punishable by imprisonment. 

But I suppose that's Ukrainian politics. During one of her campaigns, her opponents handed out leaflets claiming that she had Jewish blood, with blaring headlines: "Don't vote for a Jew."  She responded by saying she was not a Jew. What a country. 

To summarize my case, Tymoshenko should be released because:

1. Christmas is the season of peace, forgiveness, and good will towards men (and women).
2. The Economist magazine has taken the same position.
3. She courageously carries on issuing news releases from prison.
4. She wears blond braids on top of her head, like the prison camp secretary in Hogan's Heroes.
5. She’s brilliant.
6. She’s hot.

Ha! Ha! Just joking on those last few points, but they're true nonetheless. The Hon. Ms. Tymoshenko has her own website, in English: http://www.tymoshenko.ua/en/.

Sonny's Castle Dangerous

Red-and-White Striped Boxer Shorts

I must register a complaint regarding Jos. A. Bank's 100% Combed Cotton Men’s Underwear (Pre-Shrunk). This garment has proven to be shockingly unreliable.

Yesterday, after a routine weekly wash, I removed my red-and-white striped boxer shorts from the clothes dryer. To my horror, I found that the fabric had split wide open. It literally came apart at the seams, turning my boxer shorts into something resembling an Indian's breechcloth.

For years, I have relied upon this product. I thought it was a premium product. But it seems I was too trusting. Had I ventured outside wearing nothing but this defective, falling-to-pieces undergarment... I don't like to think of the consequences.

Shaken to the core by this outrage, I tossed and turned in my bed for hours. Eventually, I fell into a light doze. Halfway between consciousness and slumber, I imagined, or perhaps dreamed, I was walking down New Malden High Street. Glancing down, I noticed I wore nothing but shredded,  red-and-white striped undershorts. They flapped freely around my waist as I struggled to conceal my near-nakedness. But with flanks exposed and modesty shattered, there was no place to hide. 

Of course it was only a dream, a horrid dream. But I cannot have this sort of thing going on in my life. I shall insist on a full refund.

Anti-Semitism in Grimm's Fairy Tales

Lisbeth Zwerger’s new collection of tales from the Brothers Grimm draws children into "nostalgic fairy tale worlds,”  according to Maria Tatar’s review in The New York Times Book Review  (“Beauties and Beasts,” Nov. 10). I wonder whether Zwerger’s selection includes The Jew Among Thorns, which I found in another Grimm collection recently.

Therein, a “good, honest servant” uses a magic violin to force “a Jew with a long goat’s beard” to dance in a thicket of thorn bushes. The thorns tear the Jew's clothes off and prick him all over his body. The Jew protests that he does not want to continue this dance. But the servant continues his relentless magic fiddling, explaining: “You have fleeced people often enough, now the thorn bushes shall do the same to you.” At the story’s end, a judge orders the Jew to be taken to the gallows and hanged. 

The Grimms also cast a Jew as the villain in another tale: The Good Bargain. 

In fairness, it must be said that Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm were collectors of German folklore, not the authors. They published their first collection in 1812. Perhaps it is no fault of theirs that such gross anti-Semitism appeared in German folk tales 200 years ago. But its very presence in those stories is an indication of how deeply anti-Jewish feeling must have permeated German society, at least in the 18th and 19th centuries. Parents beware: such virulent prejudice has no place in any child’s library. Skeptical? You can read both stories by following the link below. 

This was originally intended to be a letter to the editor of The New York Times Book Review. I never submitted it for publication, fearing negative consequences if it was discovered in a background check.  

Link: 
Grimms' Fairy Tales: . http://www.cs.cmu.edu/~spok/grimmtmp/. 

Fiend Without a Face

As a young man, I sought a university degree in English Literature. I was frustrated by my inability to see deeper meanings in the great books our professors insisted we read. But now, having lived long, these insights come to me unbidden.

Here is an excellent example.

In last night’s horrid dream, a terrifying creature pursued me wherever I went. This creature had no clear form and no face. It appeared everywhere, in a dream that seemed to span a lifetime. 

I am familiar with the theories of C. J. Jung and Joseph Campbell. Obviously, the faceless dream creature represents my ever-present anxiety over so many things – lately, job security issues. Like the faceless creature, these worries are vague and malformed. Wherever I go, they pursue me like a pestilence. There is no escape.

This brings to mind the British science fiction film, Fiend Without a Face (1958; link below), and After the Fox (1966), in which Peter Sellers delivers a memorable line - paraphrased: no matter how fast you run, you can never run away from yourself. 

To relieve the pounding headache brought on by this ever-present tension, I paid $108 for a scalp massage at a fancy spa. But that is another story.

Links:

The Fiend Without A Face (1958) : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiend_Without_a_Face

Eyes Without a Face (1960, France): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eyes_without_a_face

After The Fox (1966), http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0060200/?ref_=ttqt_qt_tt

The Cheapside Hoard

There's no telling what you'll find when you renovate an old building. You just might discover buried treasure, such as The Cheapside Hoard.

From the Cheapside Hoard: The Stafford Intaglio 

The hoard was uncovered in London in 1912, when a construction worker tearing up a floor with a pickaxe broke through to a stone-lined sub-basement. There he found a wooden box containing "the world’s largest collection of Elizabethan and Jacobean jewels," according to the October 12, 2013 issue of The Economist (link below). 

Why were over 400 pieces of jewelry buried in the basement? The accepted explanation is that this was once the cellar of a  jeweller's shop. In the 1600s, the street was known as Goldsmith's Row.

If you believe the Wikipedia article (link below), the hoard was buried sometime in the period 1640 to 1666. England's Civil War was raging during that period. That suggests the jewels were hidden to protect them from anti-monarchists or civil disturbances. Perhaps nobility left them with the jeweler for safekeeping. But why didn't the owners return to reclaim their jewelry when the war was over? 

Ali Baba by Maxfield Parrish (1909)

There's a potent analogy here, for those who care to see it: that of hidden mysteries. Finding an underground chamber filled with buried treasure is symbolic of self-discovery, as noted in this earlier post on Joseph Campbell: Aladdin's Cave.

The Cheapside Hoard is on display at the Museum of London through April 2014.

Links:

• The Economist: Cheapside Hoard: A trove of historic jewellery goes on show a century after it was discovered, October 12, 2013
• Museum of London: The Cheapside Hoard: London's Lost Jewels
• Wikepedia: The Cheapside Hoard

Pippa Middleton, Helena Asquith... and me

I'd like to meet Pippa Middleton. I think we'd get along famously. But I fear it will never happen. She won't invite me to any of her parties.

I could set my sights a bit lower. A Vanity Fair article a few months back had photos of the Asquith sisters Helena and Gabriela at the exclusive London club Lou Lou's. This photo has captured my imagination.  If I were thirty years younger, and single, and could gain access to Lou Lou's, this particular dream might be within reach. Those who share my fascination can read the Vanity Fair article by following this link. 

Wild Night Out in New Malden

Ah, the excitement of a Tuesday night out in New Malden. Particularly when it involves a stop at Bar Malden, located directly next to the train station on the High Street.  

Bar Malden, New Malden High Street

Based on the name, I feared the worst. Would it be one of those trendy new places featuring pricey wines, exotic martinis and techno music? Aren't pubs supposed to have names like The White Hart, George and Dragon, The King's Arms, or the Queen's Legs?

Exterior not withstanding (it's on the ground floor of a dreadful 1960s-vintage office tower), Bar Malden proved to be a standard neighborhood pub. The food wasn’t very good, but it wasn’t very expensive either. Nor was the alcohol. And all of it came quickly.

When it was time to go, I faced a dilemma. Does one tip bartenders in English pubs? When I asked the woman behind the bar, she just laughed and replied “Well, it’s nice, innit? But you don’t have to if you order at the bar.” I left her a pound anyway.

For those with long memories, Bar Malden includes the space formerly occupied  by the Chi Chi Chinese restaurant. But that was years ago. 

Jo Jo Laine, nee Joanne Lapatrie

I recently downloaded a song from 1964 on I Tunes.  It led me down a rabbit hole, or perhaps through the looking glass, searching for a woman who died eight years ago.

Here’s how it happened.

The song that launched this research project was the Moody Blues’ “Go Now.” I’ll never forget Denny Laine’s performance on national TV when “Go Now” was a Top 40 hit. In the middle of the song, he suddenly used one finger to jerk his eyebrow up and down with a quick vibrato-like movement.  It was bizarre and quirky, and I wondered at the time why he did it. I still wonder.

Jo Jo Laine, nee Joanne Lapatrie

I fell to musing on Denny Laine’s brief tenure with the band which went on to such success without him. That led me to research him on Wikipedia. There I learned he’d married someone named Jo Jo Laine. She has her own Wikipedia article. So I clicked on over to it.

Jo Jo, nee Joanne Lapatrie, is variously described as a model, singer and actress. She's also described as a groupie in the 1960s and 1970s. Born in 1952 or 1953, she was of my generation, only a year or two older than I. That was intriguing, so I ventured on, plodding through many web pages on various sites.

I’ve now invested an appalling amount of my precious time researching this woman’s life and likeness. I have gone so far as to purchase The McCartney Files by Bill Harry (Virgin Books Ltd, 1986, 192 pages). It contains information on Jo Jo because of her link with Wings through Denny Laine’s tenure with that band. According to The McCartney Files, Jo Jo sold her memoirs to the British tabloid Sunday People.  They include titles such as “My Galaxy of Pop Star Lovers” and “Lust at First Sight” and were published on April 17, April 18 and May 1, 1983. 

Oddly enough, one of those Sunday People articles was published on the day my daughter was born. As a father, it saddens me to read of Jo Jo losing her virginity to Jimi Hendrix at the tender age of 17, and cavorting with the swinish Jim Morrison when she probably wasn't much older. That’s just a sample of what you’ll find if you read through the links below.

I don’t like to think of her three children reading these things about their mother on the Internet. But by today’s standards, what she and other groupies did in those days isn’t so bad. True, they had one-night stands with musicians. That isn’t much worse than the casual sex and naked photo messaging that seems so widespread among young people today.  My guess is plenty of today’s girls don’t wait until age 17 to lose their virginity. Certainly 1960s groupie behavior pales in comparison to what porn stars do for money. And it seems porn is almost everywhere these days, even on DirectTV.

After all this research, I have to wonder how much of what I’ve read about Jo Jo Laine on the Internet is rumor, exaggeration, or simply made up. The 1983 Sunday People articles are probably the source for much of what one finds about her online. If I could only get my hands on those articles... At the rate I’m going, no doubt I’ll do that soon. 

Of the links below, the Daily Telegraph obituary is probably the most reliable.  Only Jo Jo knows the truth, but she left this mortal coil in 2006. Her accidental death from falling down a flight of stairs is strangely similar to that of Sandy Denny, a woman of the same times with the same weakness for drink. Here is yet another person of my generation, done in by substance abuse. It’s very sad. 

Links:

• Obituary - Daily Telegraph, November 4, 2006
• "Queen of the rock chicks" - Daily Mail, October  30, 2006 
• "Jo Jo Laine: original rock chick and super-groupie" - The Scotsman, November 2, 2006 
• " 'Rock chick' Jo Jo Laine dies after falling down the stairs" -  Daily Mail,October 31, 2006
• Jo Jo Laine - Wikipedia

Karn Evil 9, Hoeing Hall, and the U. of Rochester

Brace yourself: tonight I tackle a task I've long avoided. I'm going to explain Emerson Lake and Palmer’s “Karn Evil 9.”

As everyone who grew up in the 1970s surely knows, “Karn Evil 9” is a three-part song on the band’s fourth studio album, “Brain Salad Surgery.” Forget that “Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends” bit. It’s the Third Impression that has both enthralled and repulsed me since I first heard it in Hoeing Hall at the University of Rochester in 1973.  The lyrics begin with this memorable verse:

Man alone born of stone will stamp the dust of time
His hands strike the flame of his soul.
Ties a rope to a tree, and hangs the universe
Until the wind of laughter blows cold.

Eloquent, but there is something maddeningly obtuse about those metaphors. “Stamp the dust of time?” “Hangs the universe?” How does one strike the flame of his soul?  Why does he stop when the wind of laughter blows cold?

Brain Salad Surgery
Emerson Lake and Palmer

The second verse is better,but still has a problem:

Man of steel pray and kneel with fever's blazing torch 
Thrust into the face of the night.
Draws a blade of compassion kissed by countless kings 
Whose jewelled trumpet words blind his sight.
  

There's powerful Arthurian imagery there, godlike kings and the like. “Blade of compassion kissed by countless kings” has a fine alliterative ring. “Jeweled trumpet words” -- a memorable phrase. But is there a redundancy lurking in “words blind his sight?” I can't decide.

I don’t wish to be unkind to Peter Sinfield. The man was talented. I loved his King Crimson work, and his command of the English language. I wish I could write half as well as he does. But here’s the problem: what does it all mean? I don't demand profundity in my rock and roll. Status Quo does not have to be T. S. Eliot. Yet still I wonder: what are these lyrics saying? 

40 years on, I haven’t a clue. But I keep thinking about it, which I suppose is a tribute to Sinfield's ability. I'm not going to get into Keith Emerson's Hammond organ and piano solos, or the steel drum passage on side 2. But these lyrics made a searing impression on me. They were the backdrop for many strange adventures on the first floor of Hoeing Hall at the U of R. I still love “Karn Evil 9.” 

The phrase "brain salad surgery" can also be found in Dr. John's 1973 smash hit "Right Place Wrong Time." Some say ELP liked the phrase so much that they used at as their album's title. 

Viking Gold

Exploring Irish farmland with his metal detector, this retiree uncovered a Viking gold ingot. It's estimated to be over a thousand years old. In 15 years of treasure hunting, all he'd found previously was bottle caps and sixpenny coins. Read all about it here: 

Gold Viking Ingot Discovered by Amateur Treasure Hunter

Daily Telegraph, June 27, 2013

The ingot is one of only a few nuggets known from Ireland, experts said Photo: PA

The Lewis Man By Peter May

UK paperback 
(C) Quercus, 2012

Quercus; 2012; 435 pages

The second in the Lewis trilogy set in Scotland’s outer Hebrides, this is a gripping crime novel, well-written with believable characters.  

Like its predecessor, The Blackhouse, The Lewis Man follows an ex-policeman as he struggles to untangle a murder mystery. Along the way, he encounters many childhood acquaintances. At least that's the framework, but it's really about long-ago decisions touching multiple lives years later.  

There’s an agreeable air of melancholy, regret and damaged lives that works well with the grim Isle of Lewis setting. Being something of a rolling stone myself, I liked the idea of an isolated community where people are connected by family, friendship and past mistakes. And I was glad to find the same romantic tension between Fin MacLeod and childhood sweetheart Marsaili that made The Blackhouse so enjoyable. 

May's characters live and breathe. They have substance to them. Unlike Jack Reacher, ex-Detective Inspector  MacLeod doesn’t leave a trail of wrack and ruin everywhere he goes. He rarely finds it necessary to resort to violence. When his old friend punches him in a bar fight, he turns the other cheek, but not out of weakness. Author Peter May must be a man who has seen something of life and understands people.

To be honest, this effort doesn't quite equal the performance this author gave in The Blackhouse. The Lewis Man sometimes felt formulaic and over-written. The island is “storm-lashed;”  the wind “whips” twice in five pages; dialogue occasionally becomes a bit unnatural and encyclopedic, reminding me of the exposition in a Dan Brown novel. But these are minor objections. This book is much better written than I’ve come to expect from crime fiction, and well worth your time if you enjoy character-driven mysteries. 

N.B. I was so eager to get this book and its sequel, The Chessmen, that I paid a premium to order both (used) from England via Amazon.uk. That was in January; it seems both are more widely available in the U.S. now. 

The Tipperary Hoard

I have exciting news. It’s about… gold. That’s right, gold. I’m talking gold here. I’m hoping to discover a hoard of gold coins soon, like this lucky find in Ireland. This would ease my exit from corporate life. I’ll begin digging in the back yard tomorrow. 

Hunter Thompson

This month's Playboy magazine (yes, I still subscribe) reprints a 1974 interview with Hunter Thompson, which concludes with the following statement:

"Nobody expected me to live past 20. Least of all me. I just assume, well, I got through today, but tomorrow might be different. This is a very weird and twisted world; you can't afford to get careless; don't fuck around. You want to keep your affairs in order at all times."