That is how remembered..walking down the road..Mr. Jones playes mean harp..in his pants a mean load..some say ‘he’s built funny’..some say ‘naw it’s peat’..Mr. Jones he dangerous man..Old Jonesy he packs heat..Down into the alleys..come down from the hills..went to bars and poolrooms..looking for them thrills..rough and tough and musical..smile and then a frown..every one knew and looked for Mr. Jones in town..
Some say he was Josoph..some say he was Sam..but Mr. Jones had one name..that name was Candy Man..Eyes were always glassy..grunt and talking hip..had a Chopper in the shop..had a dog named Rip..Walked through town not clean not dirty..certainly a star..if you needed his product..just tell him where you are..He had a happy dance each day..no stranger to bad news..but the world got soulful..when Jonesy played the blues..
A good man with a good song..just has to be full and happy..Peace Tony
When I wrote this it felt like playing an instrument. There was a rhythm.
As I turn the corner I see the famous advertisement, ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here’..and I laugh and toss the glass I no longer hold..splashing in mime across pine and woods in the dining area..a deep voice utters this profanity and I laugh again and say..’You are not for I am hope incarnate’..as the tobacco is sweet on my mouth I know it may kill me..as the prided vessel of this earth descends to claim the strength of the soul I hardly know. Yes it is mine..but as the young man who has his grandfather’s most valuable and beautiful stamp collection..for he has never opened the album..knowing he has the only key..it cannot..it will not allow itself to be duplicated. So I have not seen this soul..is it simply because I know it is mine?..how foolish..the ony eternal part of me..and I live and hold it to show in stages of finite pride. As it has been done by the masters..as it has been done by the idiots and idiot savant who left his English manners and took the mind and body most capable to just one task..and I say my task is hope..yea a raving idiot.to show you the paints..that paint the world with wondrous hope..That strings the guitar that rings and plays all manner of bells and blues..so the world may hear hope..As I sing..I love..not in pretense..in feeling of the soul I do not know in pride..is my love then prideful..no..but it has a deep admiration and respect for any object or person..I know not of abandonment for it is of this world..it denies the all..it denies the fountain of eternal hope..Peace Tony
I thought to share a tad of musicology and folk history this morning. I excuse myself from laziness because this is a good job by Dr. John describing and explaining the etymology of a Creole Patois. The word Iko..(Aiko)..means to express oneself with a musical beat..in song..dance or instrument. The lyric does say ‘Iko Iko all day’. With that I present the good Dr.’s presentation off the cover of his 1972 album ‘Dr. John’s Gumbo‘
‘The song was written and recorded in the early 1950′s (1953) by a New Orléans singer named James Crawford who worked under the name of ‘Sugar Boy and the Cane Cutters’. It was recorded in the 1960′s by the Dixie Cups for Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller‘s Red Bird Records, but the format we’re following here is Sugar Boy’s original. Also in the group were Professor Longhair on Piano, Jake Myles, Big Boy Myles, Irv Bannister on Guitar and Eugene ‘Bones’ Jones on drums. The group was also known as the Chipaka Shaweez. The song was originally called Jocko Mo, and it has a lot of Creole patois in it. Jocko Mo means Jester in the old myth. It is Mardi Gras music and the Shaweez was one of many Mardi Gras groups who dressed up in far out indian costumes and came on as indian tribes. The tribe used to hang out on Claiborne Ave. and used to get juiced up there getting ready to perform and ‘second line’ in their own special style during Mardi Gras. That’s dead and gone because there is a freeway were those grounds used to be . The tribes were like social clubs who lived all year for Mardi Gras, getting their costumes together. Many of them were musicians, gamblers, hustlers and pimps.’
The first commercial recording of this song was done in the waiting room of a recording studio. While waiting to session they bagan singing the song..for rhythm the drummer used his sticks and ashtrays. Leiber and Stoller recorded this..they added bass and drums and that was what went out to the public.
This is of special interest to me. Long ago George ‘Fish’ Meyers, a good friend and creative musician, after a band practice, said ‘everyone grab something and tap out what you feel..a rock, tin can..whatever’..to the 20 or so folks in his front yard. I used my harp for some do waka doo..Tim had his guitar..the result was amazing. A solid good beat.
In one of my quotes I said..’Knowledge is word definition and skill is pragmatic application of knowledge’. I continually find credence for this quote in researching etymology and well done historical writings or observations as well as understanding of the whys and wherefores of certain colloquial oddities, phrases and social actions.
In this time of ‘researching to repair the bumbles’..when there are more things..either through wear and tear or lack of knowledge and/or attention..that ‘need fixin’..than those well done, good things which have stood the test of time and ravages of the living..’it is important to communicate as honestly as possible’. If one can do that it is a beginning of communication..honesty in social groups..forming society.
To misrepresent is a lie..which wastes time, the most valuable of resources.
If I attempt to speak honestly..as I know myself..I feel I have done more than most in this area..Peace Tony
I wonder why I even bother pointing up the obvious. Despite technological advancement. Despite the interest in the cosmic and spiritual. Despite the fact that love and time have no need to announce themselves for they are felt by everyone to be powerful and good..people sell their intelligence and feeling for something damaging. This works its way into every facet of life. I am going to try making this my last political statement of any kind..why swim in a sewer of redundant nonsense?
It is like watching something mechanical and jerky in movement following commands from a long dead maker. People who know everything about exploitation and how to stop it..people who know as we all do that war is destructive and what it is about..still continue to justify. They run negative campaigns with the same lack of intelligence and understanding as those who gossip and front off their neighbors.
I wish they would all take lessons from the more apt and probably intelligent canine or dove. I wish they would see and think as the cat and deer that love each other for warmth and good.
I guess the difference between myself and a lot of other good people and those who refuse to listen..even to their own minds and hearts..is..I know it is hard just knowing oneself..I know that sometimes one can control their environment..as I know that no one can control another.
So they fool people and create a seeming fools paradise that quickly becomes, for many, a fools Hell.
I doubt this will be my last political posting. Cripples need a crutch. The uneducated need a tutelage. The unloving need love.
There are also those who know..if we try..if we do..we will be that much closer to the ideal..for those to come.
Being free is being able to trust yourself..Peace Tony
Last night Linda called me..from forty years ago..looked at me with thoughts of Strange..I knew just where to go..Strange was under lockdown..something about weed..Linda came to me..wife of a friend with needs..My old Olds business coupe..made in forty-one..giving rides an acid guide..in that time of fun..never a cross up..you know in my act..never cheat or repeat..brother that’s a fact..
Carry harp unstrung..easy key of A..play in E blues you and me..what we had to say..BJ had a touch for any fine guitar..Bob played keyboards well..saying blues is what we are..memory of New Orleans..big easy they say..Sometimes it aint easy..waiting for the day..downstairs all night jazz club..or drunk off ’The President’..Satan left he had his say..I done paid my rent..
Do I find me inside..starshot easy ride..freedom is just knowing..you can handle whats inside.. Do you have a meaning..when you speak to me..can you make a promise..baby can you see?
Do you want a family..have you kept that love..it aint like believing..promise from above..nothing empty..when I speak to you..my inside honest out..can the same be said for you?
Cat is in the box..woman cleans the den..early in the morning..gonna write and play again..tell of the peaceful..then how it could be..look to the past..it throws a scare in me..find answers..one thing at a time..best I can do..cannot confuse the mind..listen to the angels..you know I live with two..my wife fine..the other feline..what’s a man to do?
Love is on the inside..flow onto the out..for the Emily Post..who never had to shout..for the wallflower..flower power hip of love..keep track in a list..kept in my leather glove..
A song for my morning..also for you..settling the past..for a future true..Peace Tony
‘As time passes it is difficult to impossible to predict variables’.
‘When one takes the offerings of society that are said to concern the individual..offering them to others while socially interacting..that person my be unknowingly lost..for the spirit of the living thing is purpose and they may lose their unique “spiritual default” in confusion’.
The spirit is essence of life..by any name or religion..Peace Tony
Be you old or young at heart end of a dream or the start..a husky or ‘gator toe an unsafe waif no place to go..grits and beans pork rinds or mush..a connesuier of sneaky hush one thing for each lad and lass..what is done as time will pass..
faithful or forsaken true..what is sensed and what to do..where beauties are or demons lurk..what will fail what truly works..what tops fall down and those that spin..truth tells minutes we are in..as clean appreciate from grime..all games are called for ‘Father Time’..
armies from lands bitter cold..in attitude or weather gold..the leaders changing nothing there..just exploit with laws and what’s fair..true for today..tomorrow gone..the space and place..the trip you’re on..the prose the quote the telling rhyme..all defined by ‘Father Time’.
The mix of living land and sea..is held by word integrity..tales of living..spirit dead..end of the day..what was said..and held for purpose of each soul..as time paints stories with no role..just time and change winds with a star..we must determine who we are..
What we ignore..or turn to hark..consistent love to make a mark..to build and love..or what you do..the game is there..play up to you..is it laughter you are after..is it sad..to feel bad..family love and faith still..or roadhouse with a nightly thrill..
The movie living here then past..seen in a second flies so fast..so many colors waves and noise..beauty passed clumsy or poised..different in ways to go..each right presented picture show..lovers, science, solve the crime..right wrong and true..defined by Time..
When things seem overwhelming..simplify..one true good thing..just one..Peace Tony
With a will and sought way we try to clear the fog..pictures songs and what we say..touching on the blog..find relief from joy and grief..enough to go around..mistakes of politicians..buried in the ground..a dance a beauty fancy pants..guitar a joyful sound..
A picture of no consquence..that is how it seems..a child fulfilled a young adult living in their dreams..the weight of conscience not yet forged to what one knows will be..mental bread crumbs or main course..just so they may see..a path that leads to free..
When the tears and dreary fears sententious in a way..are passed in overflow of grief there’s nothing left to say..just that one reminder..the memory will stand..to integrate with future late..shifting in time sands..attrition stay thy hand..
When the laugh better by half and dancing skirted fems..men dressed as vampires bullfighters..you want to dance like them..across the floor never a boor just want to feel the fun..the pulse of love and passion..the young folks on the run..
The silver bells are right in key..old ships with bells of brass..eight bells singing ‘all is well’..no hurricane shall pass..the gemstone and the semi-precious things that come to be..like joy and rain..sunshine and pain..love life and live it free..
No fool approach this cyber tool beware money seduce..the gift is in the feeling..communicate its use..take all the feeling and the true of build and good and love..to steam and clean the fear machine..stress flown off by a dove..
The best you have is mirrored and passed some through the fog..the clarity of feeling dealing well..each stitch and cog..whether croquet or chess you play while sitting on a log..in forest or in city pity..front best on the blog..
I see the depth growing..I feel it as well..each to own freedom passed..imagination spell..Peace Tony