Sheba

November 3, 2021 / greenpete58 / 14 Comments

It’s been a sad few days here in the longitudes household. Our beloved dog, Sheba, trotted over the Rainbow Bridge on November 1.

I’ve done obituaries here in the past, for both animal and human loved ones. Sharing their photos and stories helps me deal with grief…and I’m really grieving now…so I appreciate your indulgence.

Sheba was 16 years old. She was with us for 12 years and 7 months. We always identified her as a “Border Collie mix,” but Lynn did a canine DNA test a few years ago which surprisingly revealed German Shepherd, Doberman Pinscher, Chow Chow, and unknown herding breed! But other than herder, I’m not convinced of this finding, as her photos might show.

Sheba’s first photo, probably the day we got her. She was very malnourished. We still have her pink bandana.

We found her at the Franklin County (Ohio) Dog Shelter in March 2009 as Lynn and I approached “empty nest” status. They have a “Mingle with Our Mutts” event every other Sunday from 12-2, a veritable flea market of dogs from shelters in central Ohio. We arrived at 12 p.m. sharp, and it couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds before we spied Sheba amongst maybe a hundred canines. She was up for adoption along with another dog through Saving Pets One at a Time (S.P.O.T.), a humane society recently formed in nearby Morgan County.

With her fluffy ears, curlicue tail, and striking coat of white fur, Sheba (her original name) stood out immediately. She also had a distinctive dark, moist scar running from her left eye that looked like dripping mascara. S.P.O.T. told us she’d been scratched by a “weed.”

November 2009. Starlet Sheba, with our daughter Holly

Her personality was sweet as sugar, too. Unlike our previous dog, Brownie, Sheba appeared sociable with strangers as well as other dogs. At the pound, Lynn and I took turns guarding her—so she wouldn’t get swooped away—while each of us checked out the other “wares.” But from the moment I met her I was convinced she was the dog for us.

I’ll never understand how her original owners could have given Sheba up. For us, she was a fur angel, the proverbial plum pulled from the pie.

November 2010. Sheba loved laying on the couch.

Sheba’s favorite activities were joining me on runs and walks, chasing squirrels in the backyard, and playing fetch and tug-of-war. Her favorite human foods were Lynn’s homemade pizza (crust) and my Sunday morning “au jus”—sausage drippings mixed with dry dog food. Whenever we had company, she always inserted herself in the middle of the action. She also followed me around the yard when I did yardwork, and often from room to room. And at night she slept on a pad on the floor, next to me, shifting position throughout the night.

Sheba loved people and strolled right up to both neighbors and strangers alike, ears pinned back and tail wagging. She also enjoyed meeting other dogs, although she sometimes displayed a mild “alpha female” tendency with certain females. She rarely barked, and when she did it was muffled. Her barking moments occurred when flying out the back door toward her neighbor dogs, or whenever I encouraged her with mock growls (or, after she jumped on the bed with us weekend mornings, when I teased her with “How-deee PARD-A-NER!”).

Sheba’s only faults—if they can be called that—were a morbid fear of loud noises; thunderstorms and the Fourth of July had her trembling and crawling under furniture. And she was an expert fur shedder. In fact, we’ll be vacuuming clumps of white hair for the next several months!

Walks and runs were her favorite times, even more so than eating. If she heard the words “run,” “walk,” or “walk-ey,” she became glued to me, often inserting her head under my legs while I tried to tie my running shows at the foot of the stairs. Walks could be difficult for Lynn, because Sheba was strong and had never been trained to heel, and she loved to sniff more than any dog we’ve ever known. As time progressed and her stamina and rear legs began to fail, the runs were eliminated. Then the walks became shorter and shorter.

February 2014, with cats Chloe and Alex in my music/computer room

I could go on and on about this beautiful animal. Everyone adored her. She gave us a ton of love, and we did our best to do the same, although we could never equal what she gave to us. She was not just a pet, she was a living and breathing symbol of home, warmth, comfort, family, and unqualified love. All the things that make living worthwhile.

Sheba, you will be in our hearts forever.

January 2019. Caught in the act, in my muddy garden!

October 19, 2021. Sheba on her “pad” in my music/computer room. She followed me in whenever I was on the computer or was reading. She also had two pads in our bedroom.

Last photo. Together at the fire pit, October 23, 2021

A Climb on the Hollywood Sign

April 28, 2021April 30, 2021 / greenpete58 / 11 Comments

Our son could have chosen to live anywhere. He’s personable and well-educated. Of all the places he chose to live, he chose southern California.

Now, I’m not one of those narrow Midwesterners who associates Los Angeles—the “City of Angels”—with all things evil. I know all about the goofy liberalism, Botox, taxes, crime, homelessness, air pollution, traffic congestion, and everything else that makes this neck of the country so disreputable.

But I choose to concentrate on the positive. This includes year-round sunshine. Ocean surf and beaches. Great restaurants. Beautiful and historic homes. A hundred years of high-quality motion pictures (aka films, aka movies). Classic rock ‘n’ roll. And what red-blooded American male doesn’t like California Girls!

So here are a few pics from our recent vacation to visit our son in one of the most golden places in the Golden State. Come along if you dare!

***

First is the header picture, a photo of the Griffith Observatory in Griffith Park, site of the famous 1955 “youth” picture starring, among others, James Dean and Natalie Wood: Rebel Without a Cause. I did an 8 or 9-mile hike through Griffith Park. The views were stunning: Hollywood, downtown Los Angeles, and the Pacific Ocean on one side, and the San Fernando Valley on the other.

At the other end of the park is the famous Hollywood Sign. I climbed up Mt. Lee to reach this point. It’s one of the world’s great symbols, 45-foot-tall white capital letters that overlook the buzzing hub of the world film industry. Originally spelled “Hollywoodland” to advertise a realty firm, the most significant letter for me is the Peg Entwistle memorial “H.” (To learn what happened, click here.)

We also visited Venice Beach and nearby Santa Monica Pier. Venice Beach is noteworthy not only for it’s expansive beach and vagabond, free-spirited spirit, it’s also where Jim Morrison and Ray Manzarek accidentally met one day in 1965 and conceived one of my favorite bands, The Doors. “Moonlight Drive” was in my head.

My son Nick and I visited the enclave of Hawthorne, home of the Wilson brothers (Brian, Dennis, and Carl), who formed the Beach Boys in 1961. Their house was demolished to make room for a freeway, but a plaque commemorates where it all started.

Would a trip to Los Angeles be complete without a jaunt to Sunset Boulevard and the haunts of some of the greatest rock music bands in history? I think not. We visited Ciro’s, where The Byrds invented folk-rock and dominated the pop music world for a while, although the venue is now a comedy club. I also visited the former site of Bido Lito’s, on Cosmo Alley, where another fave band, Love, ruled the local underground scene for a short while in 1965-66.

Then there’s the Whisky-a-Go-Go, where The Doors gained notoriety before their revolutionary first album, released 1967. (The Doors being heavily influenced by Love.)

Hollywood Walk of Fame? Sure! And I finally got to meet my favorite actor, the King of Cool, Steve McQueen, and my favorite actress, the very naughty B-movie star, Gloria Grahame.

But the best part of all is visiting with family. Lynn and I capped off our SoCal sojourn with stunning seafood, thanks to our son and tour guide Nick and his girlfriend Elsa, at Moonshadows in Malibu, where the ocean waves literally lapped the restaurant.

Other visits included Laurel Canyon, famed hippie and music enclave of the ’60s and early ’70s; Robin Drive and Poinsettia Place, which featured in the classic Peter Sellers movie The Party (click here for a review); views of both Warner Brothers and Disney studios and the cylindrical Capital Records building; Doug Weston’s famed Troubadour club; and a lunchtime visit to legendary burger joint In-N-Out Burger.

***

Thanks so much for joining me in my travelogue of Los Angeles, California! As Jim Morrison once sang, “This is the end, beautiful friend.”

Top 10 Desert Isle Songs

February 11, 2021February 11, 2021 / greenpete58 / 11 Comments

My blogging friend Mike at Ticket 2 Ride recently listed what he considered the ten best British rock bands. For me, lists are like catnip to a feline. I’m an inveterate critic and love them. “Best of” lists are great to create, and stimulate debate (rhyme intentional).

Taking Mike’s cue, I decided to formulate my own list, but instead advertise the ten songs I’d want if I become stranded on a desert isle—assuming my isle has electricity.

If stranded, I’d want lots of melody accompanying my surf and sun, and all of these songs are very melodic. All except one were recorded in the 1960s. Yes, I’m a product of my time!

So here goes…the soundtrack of my head and heart, listed in order of preference:

“Light My Fire” by the Doors. The lyrics are juvenile (“wallow in the mire,” “love become a funeral pyre”). But Ray Manzarek’s gothic organ, Robbie Krieger’s acid-dripped flamenco guitar, John Densmore’s jazzy snare, and Jim Morrison’s other-worldly vocals still give me chills since hearing this song on AM radio in 1967. A bossa nova version by Jose Feliciano also was popular, and I can actually play that one on acoustic guitar, minus the solo…and acid.
“’Til I Die” by the Beach Boys. Written by Brian Wilson (of course). Even Beach Boys fans rarely mention this obscure jewel, featured on the Surf’s Up album released not long after Wilson’s masterpiece Pet Sounds. Classic layered group vocals, an unusual calliope organ, simple but penetrating words, sad and haunting melody, and beautiful fadeout coda. It’s a heart-piercing song.
“Yes it Is” by the Beatles. A John Lennon composition, the B-side to the “Ticket to Ride” single, with perhaps my all-time favorite vocal harmonizing. It’s one of only three studio songs by the group where John, Paul, and George sang live three-part harmony (the other two being “This Boy” and “Because”). Lennon dismissed it as a failed attempt to redo “This Boy,” but I think it’s a better song, colored by George’s volume pedal guitar.

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is bacharach-conducting-1.jpg — Burt Bacharach, in a familiar pose

“A House is Not a Home” by Burt Bacharach-Hal David, sung by Brook Benton. Okay, I’m a romantic, a softy, and this oft-covered Bacharach-David classic always chokes me up. A Dionne Warwick version was released the same time, and both are good, with a very tricky bridge vocal, but I prefer Benton’s deep, aching rendition (and being male, the lyric hits me so much harder). Luther Vandross did yet another, more exaggerated R&B version in 1981, and it became a big hit, but Benton’s interpretation has much more integrity.

“Wichita Lineman” by Jimmy Webb, sung by Glen Campbell. Webb was a master of melody. He also wrote “Galveston” and “By the Time I Get to Phoenix” for Campbell, as well as “Up, Up, and Away” for the 5th Dimension. In addition to the melancholy arrangement and velvety strings, I love Campbell’s twangy guitar break.
“Itchycoo Park” by the Small Faces. The British mod group’s only hit in America, reaching #16 in early 1968. A lovely song for summer and a perfect example of “flower psychedelia.” Ronnie Lane wrote most of it, but singer Steve Marriott contributed the memorable “It’s all too beautiful” section. One of rock’s greatest bands, compatriots of the Who, but unfairly overlooked in the states.
“Orange Skies” by Love. Another luscious summer song by the first integrated rock band (along with Butterfield Blues Band). Like Small Faces, a seriously overlooked group, from L.A., who directly inspired the Doors. Singer Arthur Lee was the leader, but guitarist Bryan MacLean, a former roadie for the Byrds, wrote several memorable songs, including this ingenuous beauty about “orange skies, carnivals, and cotton candy.”
“Penny Lane” by the Beatles. I prefer mid-period Beatles (A Hard Day’s Night through Rubber Soul era), but a late-period Lennon-McCartney song is imperative, and this is my favorite, half of a double-A-side single and one of the two greatest singles ever released (the other being “Paperback Writer”/“Rain”). Many people prefer the flip side, John’s “Strawberry Fields Forever,” but I like this Paul song for its buoyant melody and George Martin’s elegant orchestration. (BTW, I rode a bus through the real Penny Lane a few years ago…on my way to Strawberry Fields.)
“My Cherie Amour” by Stevie Wonder. Do you have a song where you remember the exact place and time you first heard it? I heard this in the waiting room of the allergist’s office on Woodward Avenue in Detroit in early 1969. (I told my friends about it later that day, but they didn’t appreciate my enthusiasm.) It was the first 45 rpm single I ever bought, and I still have it stashed somewhere. I think everyone loves Stevie Wonder.
“Anyway,” music by Maggie and Suzzy Roche. I discovered this minor miracle of a song by two of the three singing Roche sisters about 10 years ago. I upload it to Facebook every Christmas. The lyrics (author unknown) are a sort of non-denominational “prayer” about being honest, hardworking, forgiving, and maintaining faith. The music consists of about seven or eight small, dissimilar arrangements that build in intensity, and end in a warm wash of mellotron. Took me a couple listens, but now I’m hooked for life.

Like most lists, mine has many honorable mentions (in case a large wave pounds my Top 10 into the sand). Here are a few: “Don’t Go Away” by the Zombies; “You Baby” by the Turtles; “I Saw Her Again” by the Mamas and Papas; “Urge for Going” by Joni Mitchell (the Tom Rush version); “Northern Sky” by Nick Drake; “Running from Home” by Bert Jansch; “Blues Run the Game” by Jackson C. Frank (the Jansch version); and easily a half-dozen more Beatles and Bacharach songs.

Hopefully some of these songs will strike a “chord,” or perhaps lead you to investigation. Now, it’s your turn. Click on “Comments” and send me your own desert isle list.

Dénouement

November 25, 2019 / greenpete58 / 29 Comments

Apologies for being so quiet of late. In the first hour of November 10, 2019, my beloved and seemingly invincible Mom died, and I just haven’t felt like writing. Or reading or commenting.

Mom was 94 and had recently undergone emergency surgery for scar tissue blockage in her intestine. During tests before surgery, the doctor also diagnosed severe liver cirrhosis. (Seventy years of hybrid martinis can cause that. But my parents did cherish their evening cocktail time.)

Anyway, although the surgery was successful, her failing liver and age-related fragility couldn’t handle the surgical trauma, and Mom decided it was time to join Dad in that mysterious ether on the other side. “I’ve had a good life. Dad’s waiting for me,” she told me in the hospital. So our family placed her in hospice care until her peaceful end.

Unlike with Dad, who died suddenly in his sleep 13 years ago, I had opportunity to repeatedly tell Mom that I love her. I was able to apologize for the times I got angry with her, and for forgetting cards and flowers on her birthday and Mother’s Day. I also thanked her, albeit clumsily, for everything she’d done for me, and for us as a family. So despite her feeling “like hell…H-E-L-L” (a direct quote), for me there was some of that merciful closure which we all value, yet which many of us are sadly deprived of.

Therefore, I’m hoping I won’t need individual and group therapy like I did with Dad’s death. We’ll see…there’s still time. (You know me, Mom.)

“Writing for yourself is self-serving. Writing for others is pandering. You write for the thing that needs said”—Unknown

Speaking of time, now is a good time to take stock. I began longitudes seven years and 170-odd posts ago (and I do mean “odd”). It was originally called Latitudes, and I launched it to promote my blubber book. But like rock ‘n’ roll, it soon grew out of control. If you’re interested in seeing how quickly innocence can evaporate in an Age of Treason, here’s my very first WordPress article: a rather insipid story about Lynn and me visiting Ohio Amish country in October 2012. If I recall, we bought some award-winning Guggisberg baby Swiss cheese for Mom on that visit.

I discovered not long ago, during my never-ending quest for an uncomplicated life (which the Amish also strive for, though for slightly different reasons), that—while I will always have an urge to write—social media platforms are not as imperative as one might think. I also plan to expend my writing energies on another ~~Pulitzer~~ Longitudes Prize-winning book, rather than WordPress. So my activities here are going on hiatus with those on Facebook and LinkedIn, up there in the barn loft.

It’s a bittersweet moment. I love writing these miniature “mind blasts.” While some are spontaneous, most I labor over for days, occasionally weeks. I’ll be driving to work, or running on the bike trail, and one word will spring to mind to replace another that I’m unhappy with. Or something will sound too sour, and I’ll return to add some sweetener (getting harder to do these days).

I’ve saved all of these diverse essays in hopes maybe my grandkids will one day pore over them, just to see how weird, and maybe prophetic, their Grandpa was. That is, assuming humans still read things longer than 280 characters, and our atmosphere is intact, and our puerile leaders haven’t, in their ever-increasing hissy fits, pushed any red buttons.

But since I haven’t packed up email communication (yet), I would love to stay in touch with fellow readers and WordPressers. So please drop me an email, if not old-fashioned letter, once in a while, and I’ll do the same.

Thanks for reading and for all the great conversations, everyone. Like Paul or Ringo, longitudes may threaten to do yet another tour. It depends on the amount of pressure in my shrinking brain matter, and how compelled I am to release it. Or whether I need to shamelessly plug my next ~~Pulitzer~~ Longitudes Prize-winning book.

***

Me, after Dad’s death: “Mom, I think we’ll all be reunited somewhere, in some way.”

Mom: “Maybe. I don’t know. My father always said ‘When you’re dead, you’re dead. That’s it.’”

Well, assuming your father’s wrong…save some vodka for me, Mom.

Chloe: A Life with Love

March 26, 2019 / greenpete58 / 12 Comments

Mad Cat 2

Friday night I had to do something that I didn’t think would bother me as much as it has. I took our cat, Chloe, to the vet and had her euthanized.

A cat? That’s right. While cats are not my favorite animal species, when you have a house pet for 17½ years, memories are formed. My wife and I got Chloe for our daughter when Holly was having some difficulties in junior high school. As often happens, we became closer to Chloe than Holly did, and she to us.

Chloe

Chloe had a unique personality. Frequently, the whole family would be gathered in the den, including our dog and our other cat (Alex). “Where’s Chloe?” we’d wonder. Once, I searched for her and found her asleep on some linen in the dark corner of an upstairs closet. Cats are independent by nature, and Chloe was her own cat.

Camoflaged Cat

But she wasn’t totally antisocial. She often jumped up in my lap when I was reading or watching TV. She made her bed by kneading my stomach with her front paws (a stomach that becomes softer as the years go by). Then she’d lie down, close her eyes, and purr with contentment.

Fall 2018

I often lie on the bedroom floor to stretch after my evening jogs. Chloe seemed to know when this occurred, because she’d appear out of nowhere to rub her head against whatever free hand was available, coaxing me to massage her. She loved having her cheeks and forehead stroked, getting what I called “Chinese eyes” whenever I palmed her entire head and stroked.

Her biggest eccentricity was her penchant for hibernating in unusual places. Empty cardboard boxes were a favorite domain. Eventually, if we received a large package in the mail, we deliberately saved the cardboard box for Chloe. She’d fancy her new box for a few days, then grow bored with it. Cat Nap

Boxes, soft shoes, clothing, duffel bags, blankets, plastic laundry basket…all were favorite places to take a “catnap.”

Another idiosyncrasy was her taste for lettuce and spinach (and, frustratingly, indoor plant leaves). I always eat a big bowl of leaf spinach in the evening, and often, when hearing the familiar sound of the plastic spinach tub being opened, she would trot over and stare at me. I’d drop a few leaves on the floor, and she’d chew them with delight. This became more difficult as she got older and lost several teeth.

Although an indoor cat, once in a while she’d sneak out the backdoor, and immediately head for the grass, not to stalk birds, but to munch on the grass blades.

Lookouts

We were beginning to think Chloe really did have nine lives. Several times in the last year, we discovered she was peeing outside her litter box. “I think it’s time,” I would say to Lynn. But at the last minute, even after making an appointment with the vet, we’d decide to give her another chance. We filled two litter boxes, one for the basement and one upstairs. We moved these around as needed. And she seemed to adapt to our new techniques.

The last couple years, she was joining the dogs by greeting me when I came home after work, waiting for a stroke and a few Temptations treats. “Hello, Chlo!” I’d say in my Mickey Mouse voice, while Sheba jealously tried to intervene. Chloe took in stride my morbid joke “So, I see you’re still alive!”

Beanbag Pussy

By the time last Friday rolled around, though, she was bone covered with fur. The fur itself had become increasingly matted, indicating she was unwilling or unable to groom herself. She seemed to hang around water a lot, even the wet bathtub and shower floors. And over the last couple days, she only sniffed and slightly nibbled her food. She had mucous and moisture under her eyes, and she was having balance problems.

She was probably also losing her mental faculties. The last time she jumped in my lap, on March 21, she didn’t know what to do or where to lay.

Dec 1 2018

She’s now resting in the woods in back of our house, just uphill from Alex. With the trees still bare, I can just see the top of her headstone from the back window.

Yes, the memories. People? Definitely. Dogs? Probably. But I didn’t think a cat’s death would cause the grief it has. Chloe and I did have a bond, however insignificant it might seem. Writing is therapeutic for me, so I appreciate your indulgence.

I’m not religious, but I think we’ll be reunited someday, humans and animals, in a better place. Anyway, that’s what I told Chloe, as I stroked her head while she drifted to sleep for the last time.

Sleepy Head

Here’s an obit that Lynn composed about our beloved “Chlo-Cat.” Lynn always sees the glass as being half full. (If you’re a regular visitor to longitudes, you know that my glass only has one drop, it’s whiskey, and it’s quickly evaporating.)

Celebration of Life!

Chloe, July (?) 2001 – March 22, 2019

Chloe, Ruler of the Kurtz Clan, passed away on Friday, March 22, 2019, at the age of 18 of a prolonged illness. Sadly missed by her human subjects, Peter and Lynn of Maineville, Ohio; her dog subjects, Sheba and Ginger, also of Maineville; Nick Kurtz of L.A.; and Holly Kurtz of Glasgow, Scotland. Chloe started the world in humble surroundings as a street urchin taken in by the Kurtz’s. Chloe succeeded her mentor, Brownie Kurtz, to the throne in 2008. She went through careful training to be excellent in her role. She was preceded in death by her only other cat subject, Al. Al, or Alex, sometimes showed great disdain at Chloe’s role, but managed to do well as the lowly Kurtz cat subject. Chloe liked to eat her subject’s food on occasion. She had palace rooms on the ground floor and frequented the rest of the house on most evenings. She liked to terrorize her neighbor and petsitter, Becky, by growling and hissing, and got out of her annual physicals by acting very snooty on her doctor visits, and was at one point put in solitary confinement while staying at the vet when her home changed, in 2011. In her failing health, her grooming became a bit unsightly, and bathroom facilities had to be updated.

Contributions can be made to Kings Veterinary Hospital in her memory.

A Kiss

Love “Forever Changes,” Part Two

December 3, 2017January 16, 2019 / greenpete58 / 9 Comments

50 years

In my last post, I raved about one of my favorite bands, Love. I gave some background on this under-appreciated group and started to discuss their third record, FOREVER CHANGES. Here, I’ll try to delve into this album in more detail. (Not an easy thing. Most reviews I’ve seen are limited to a few adulatory adjectives).

I called FOREVER CHANGES a “psychedelic masterpiece.” That description may do it a disservice. “Psychedelic” is a loaded term that implies drugs. But you don’t need hallucinatory drugs, or even a desire to musically replicate a psychedelic experience to enjoy this record.

Only one percent of wine supposedly improves after 5-10 years. Consider FOREVER CHANGES, then, like a rare bottle of vintage Cabernet Sauvignon.

First, the title. It supposedly originated with a comment bandleader Arthur Lee made to an old girlfriend. She was upset after he’d dumped her, and she reminded him that he’d promised to love her “forever.” He unsympathetically replied, “Forever changes.” But add the word “Love” in front, and the phrase takes on different meaning.

The packaging of this record is also intriguing. We have a clean white background with a multi-colored, animated design of the five band members’ heads, swirling and blending into a single image. The shape resembles the continents of Africa or South America. A blending and a harmony of races, cultures, and ideas. It’s apropos of the peace/love 1960s, and still valid in 2017 (more or less…pay no attention to the wall builder in the White House).

On the first two Love records, Lee’s forceful vocals, or Ken Forssi’s pounding bass dominated the mix. On FOREVER CHANGES, the vocals and instrumentation are more subdued and democratic. The predominant instruments are acoustic guitar and orchestral strings. This is rock music, however, so there’s electric guitar. But like my blogging friend Jim the Music Enthusiast noted, the electricity is used more for punctuation than overt statement.

Whisky-a-Go-Go concert poster, circa 1966, showing Love, Sons of Adam, and Buffalo Springfield

There are minor string and horn arrangements, and like SGT. PEPPER, they seem to organically grow from the song, rather than being plunked down indiscriminately. The arranger for the strings and horns was one David Angel, who had done theme music for TV shows like Lassie. But the melodies themselves were hummed to him by Arthur Lee, who had total control of the sessions.

Lee was an oddity in many ways. He wore untied combat boots instead of Beatle boots. According to one-time drummer Snoopy, he liked to stroll through the Hollywood hills with a harmonica, imitating bird songs. But in a world of sunshine and hippies, he was suspicious of peoples’ motives. He had a sensitive side (he wrote lines like “We can love again/Only God knows when”), but he also cast a wary glance at a lot of the forced “good vibrations” around him. So there’s considerable questioning on FOREVER CHANGES.

You go through changes
It may seem strange
Is this what you’re put here for?
You think you’re happy
And you are happy
That’s what you’re happy for?

(from the song “You Set the Scene”)

But questions were everywhere in late 1967. The Vietnam War was at a crescendo, and there are many veiled (and unveiled) references to that war in FOREVER CHANGES.

While performing in San Francisco, the band had visited a bar and met a recently returned Vietnam vet. He went into detail about what gunfire was like, and he described how blood looked after it gushed from an open wound. Lee didn’t forget this disturbing image. He later worked it into the song “A House is Not a Motel:”

By the time that I’m through singing
The bells from the schools of walls will be ringing
More confusions, blood transfusions
The news today will be the movies for tomorrow
And the water’s turned to blood, and if
You don’t think so
Go turn on your tub
And if it’s mixed with mud
You’ll see it turn to gray

In a few lines, Lee forecasts “Full Metal Jacket,” conveys the nebulousness of the war, and describes how its ugliness had crept into American homes. And in “You Set the Scene,” he presents a challenge:

Everything I’ve seen needs rearranging
And for anyone who thinks it’s strange
Then you should be the first to want to make this change
And for everyone who thinks that life is just a game
Do you like the part you’re playing?

Not so much in these superficial and distracted days of smartphones and tweets, but in 1967 this was a major question. Youth, minorities, women, gays, and even soldiers and white-collar executives were challenging the parts they were expected to be playing. Does your career give you personal fulfillment, not just material satisfaction? Are you content with your social position? Your sexuality? Are you willing to play “follow the leader”? Do you like what’s happening in the country and in the world? If your answer is “No,” why not change or rearrange?

“The Daily Planet” is one of two songs where the studio group Wrecking Crew supplanted the regular Love band (the other song is the Johnny Mathis sendup “Andmoreagain”). Lyrically and musically, it’s like the Beatles’ “A Day in the Life,” combining several dissimilar arrangements into one song, and exposing the ludicrousness of life through a snapshot of daily monotony:

In the morning we arise
And start the day the same old way
As yesterday, the day before,
And all in all it’s just a day like all the rest
So do your best with chewing gum
And it is oh-so repetitious waiting on the sun

Love on same bill as Ian Whitcomb and Van Morrison’s Them, circa 1966

Lee, an often-imperious bandleader, deigned to allow guitarist Bryan MacLean two songs on FOREVER CHANGES: “Alone Again Or,” released as a (failed) single, and “Old Man.” Both are gently sublime and offer a nice counterpoint to Lee’s more incisive material. “Alone Again Or” is many Love fans’ favorite song, a mature and mysterious tune with touches of Spanish guitar, and a Tijuana Brass-styled horn break. “Old Man” is similar to Neil Young’s later, much more popular song of the same title. It may be more than coincidence, since Young was at one time considered as producer for FOREVER CHANGES.

(In 1997, Sundazed Records released a collection of Love-era MacLean demos that MacLean’s mother had discovered, on the album Ifyoubelievein. They were followed in 2000 by CANDY’S WALTZ. These minor-key romance songs are amazingly perceptive and ingenuous, and it’s a shame Arthur Lee vetoed them from Love).

Two other songs on FOREVER CHANGES that I should mention are “The Good Humor Man He Sees Everything Like This” and “Maybe the People Would Be the Times or Between Clark and Hilldale.” I won’t make an attempt to understand why “hummingbirds hum” or the significance of “pigtails in the morning sun.” I’ll just say, “Why can’t musicians create imaginative song titles like this anymore? Is it that difficult? Seriously, do we have to bring back Owsley acid?”

***

If I was stranded on a desert isle and only had a certain number of records to spin on my self-propelled turntable in my palm tree perch, I’d probably choose either of the first two Love albums, LOVE or DA CAPO, because they’re so much fun to listen to. FOREVER CHANGES doesn’t have their exuberance. But it does have a musical sophistication, an enticing marriage of instrumentation, arrangements and words that, along with new music by Lennon-McCartney, Brian Wilson, Bob Dylan, Syd Barrett and others, helped push popular songwriting into terra incognita. FOREVER CHANGES never sold many units, but it’s music that holds up very well 50 years onward.

The band broke up after FOREVER CHANGES. It’s the old story: drug abuse and interpersonal squabbles. But maybe they were also just exhausted. Arthur Lee later formed other Love bands, but it wasn’t the same. Years ago, the late Ken Forssi proudly told me: “We could do no wrong…We had something, and they call it magic.” I believe him.

Thanks for permitting me to share my love of Love. In closing, I’ll allow Love to have the last word. This elliptical slice is from “A House Is Not a Motel.” Until next time, Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah, and I’ll see you down on Go-Stop Boulevard with Plastic Nancy:

You are just a thought that someone
Somewhere, somehow feels you should be here
And it’s so for real to touch,
To smell, to feel, to know where you are here.

Love “Forever Changes”

November 19, 2017May 29, 2019 / greenpete58 / 19 Comments

50 years

love story 3

Scanning my recent posts, I can see I’ve been laying on the hot sauce pretty thick lately: xenophobia, white supremacy, Vietnam War, religion… ouch.

Maybe it’s time for a music break.

Earlier this year I profiled four albums on their 50^th anniversaries. I picked them because I love good rock music, and these records are some of the best that rock has to offer. They include the debut albums by the Doors, the Velvet Underground, and Pink Floyd, plus that perennial list-topper, the Beatles’ SGT. PEPPER’S LONELY HEARTS CLUB BAND.

Now, I’d like to review a record that is far less popular than PEPPER. It’s not nearly as influential, either. But I consider the music just as good, if not better. It’s strange that so few people know about it.

The record is FOREVER CHANGES by a band called Love. It was released on November 1, 1967.

Sixties-era rock critics, who are getting fewer each year, justly regard Love as one of the great West Coast bands, right there with the Beach Boys, Byrds, Doors, and Grateful Dead. But for the past 50 years, Love has been all but ignored on American FM radio – where most American rock fans get their music. Like certain American jazz and blues artists forgotten in their homeland, Love is more popular outside of the states. And since the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame appears to show no interest in this great band, it’s up to cultists like me to spread the word.

Much of Love’s latter-day fame rests on the band’s third album, FOREVER CHANGES, considered by those in the know a psychedelic masterpiece. I’ll attempt to review it here, but I should probably first offer some biography, and (try to) explain why I love Love, from their evocative name to their unique mix of music and words.

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Love was formed in Los Angeles in 1965. They were originally called the Grass Roots, until another (less talented) band stole that name. Led by an African-American named Arthur Lee, a former record producer who had worked with Jimi Hendrix when Hendrix was still “Jimmy,” Love was the first integrated rock band (Butterfield Blues Band was also mixed-race, but their music was closer to urban blues than rock).

Love was the first rock band signed to Elektra Records, a label previously known for its impressive roster of folk artists. In 1965-66, Love was one of the most popular bands on L.A.’s Sunset Strip. They performed at hole-in-the-wall clubs like Brave New World and Bido Lito’s, and crowds queued in the street to get in to see them. Neil Young (then in Buffalo Springfield) was a fan, and Jim Morrison cited Love as one of his favorite bands. Morrison later co-opted Arthur Lee’s brooding, punkish singing style.

Love’s first eponymous album included one of the first versions of the garage-band standard “Hey Joe,” as well as one of the first anti-drug songs, “Signed D.C.,” about the band’s original drummer, who was often too strung out to make gigs. The record also included a cover of the Burt Bacharach-Hal David song “My Little Red Book,” which Lee had heard via English band Manfred Mann’s version in the movie WHAT’S NEW PUSSYCAT? Lee’s version was less poppy and more sneering, though. Bacharach heard it and, not surprisingly, hated it. (Much, much later, Bacharach collaborated with Elvis Costello. What’s up with that?). love poster

Invited on Dick Clark’s popular music show American Bandstand, Love lip-synced “My Little Red Book” and “Message to Pretty.” For the performance, Lee wore sunglasses with different-colored, polygonal lenses.

The album LOVE featured a strong folk-rock, Byrds-ish sound, but there were also odd splashes of acid and surf. I interviewed two members of Love, at different times, and each admitted this record was merely their club act transferred to the studio. In my opinion, it’s one of the lost treasures of Sixties rock.

The band added a second drummer and a flute/sax player for their second album, DA CAPO, bringing the lineup to seven members. The second side of this LP has another first: a 19-minute sidelong cut, a blues jam called “Revelation” that Love frequently performed live. But the real goodies are on side one: “Stephanie Knows Who,” “Orange Skies,” “7 and 7 Is,” “¡Que Vida!,” “The Castle,” and “She Comes in Colors.”

I have a reputation for being frank, sometimes to my own detriment. I won’t stop now. I’ll frankly say that side one of Love’s album DA CAPO is one of the most perfect sides of music ever recorded (“Orange Skies” and “7 and 7 Is” are alone worth the price of a boxed set). Proto-punk, flamenco, bossa nova, free jazz, bubblegum, lounge, baroque pop, and acid rock all merge seamlessly on these six songs (and the categories”punk,” “lounge,” and “baroque pop” didn’t even exist then). For “She Comes in Colors,” Lee nicked part of the melody of the Rolling Stones song “Lady Jane.” The Stones heard it, then borrowed the lyrics of Love’s song for “She’s a Rainbow.” Trust me when I say “She Comes in Colors” far surpasses either Stones composition.

I could rhapsodize for hours about these six songs, but my stated goal is to review FOREVER CHANGES, so I’ll stop the blubbering. I’ll just say that “7 and 7 Is” became Love’s highest charting song, reaching #33 on the Billboard charts in the summer of ’66. It’s one of the few songs, along with the Surfaris’ “Wipe Out,” where the drums are the lead instrument. It took Lee and drummer Alban “Snoopy” Pfisterer over 40 alternating takes to perfect the turbo-charged drum pattern, which may explain why the song ends with a recording of an actual atomic bomb blast. This song is punk rock with panache, conceived while Johnny Rotten was possibly still listening to the Monkees.

After DA CAPO, Love was right on track. The band had a minor hit. Lee was a colorful and confident frontman, and exceptional songwriter, with an intoxicating aura of danger and strangeness. Guitarist Bryan MacLean was also a talented writer, specializing in well-crafted songs about romantic love, chocolate, and orange skies, a sort of Paul McCartney to Lee’s John Lennon. Love also had the respect of its peers, and was making regular jaunts up the California coast to dazzle Haight-Ashbury stoners at the Fillmore Auditorium and Avalon Ballroom.

Other Los Angeles bands of the 1960s had become, or were becoming, household names: Beach Boys, Byrds, Mamas and Papas, Turtles, Buffalo Springfield, Doors. Arthur Lee and Love were just as talented as any of them.

But several things happened that kept Love locked in the underground:

First, they were unreasonably hostile to interviewers… when they allowed themselves to be interviewed.

Second, leader Lee had already been burned in the record business, and he was afraid of making the wrong moves, to the point where the band was paralyzed, never venturing outside the comfortable confines of the Golden State.

Third, although they’d been invited to perform at the seminal, career-making Monterey Pop Festival, they turned down the offer. (David Crosby of the Byrds acknowledged them while introducing “Hey Joe.”)

Fourth, Elektra Records was busy promoting its new act, the Doors, leaving Love to “sit here and rot,” according to bassist Ken Forssi.

And fifth, the band members were squabbling over royalties. (Lee had set himself up for the biggest cut.) They were also drifting into hardcore drug use.

When it came time to make a third album, as Forssi relates, “They had to find a time when we were not too high, when we could be found, when the studio was available.” At first, the only Love member present in the studio was leader Lee, surrounded by session musicians, including members of the famed Wrecking Crew. When the other four were finally gathered together (at this point, the band consisted of Lee, MacLean, Forssi, lead guitarist John Echols, and drummer Michael Stuart) … and they saw that session players had usurped their roles… they realized what they were about to lose.

Engineer Bruce Botnick remembers tears being shed. Forssi said they finally came to their senses and pulled together one last time to grind out what he called Love’s “white album.”

(As usual, I’ve rambled too long… please stay tuned for side two of my essay, when I’ll discuss the music on that white album, FOREVER CHANGES.

Love_-_forever_changes

A Best Friend’s Unconditional Love

March 2, 2014 / greenpete58 / 6 Comments

(I submitted this essay to the NPR series This I Believe several years ago, after our dog Brownie died. Anyone who’s lost a beloved pet knows how difficult it can be)

I open the front door and step onto the tiled hallway floor. I grasp the brass doorknob of the coat closet, turn the handle, then reach in and shuffle the hooks on the coat rack. Before draping my jacket over the wire, I hear a flurry of rapid clicking sounds on the porcelain. By the time I hang my jacket, he’s lunging at my waist, panting heavily, gaping jowls and eyes afire.

__________________

While he was alive, I never thought of Brownie as being my best friend. He was the one, more than anyone else, who anticipated my arrival home. Sometimes, instead of accosting me at the coat closet, he’d rush into the den, and I’d hear his big paws thumping the carpet, in joyful harmony with the sound of his favorite squeaky toy. Happy because I’d finally returned.

Brownie and I both loved to run, and he treated every evening jog like an exotic vacation. There were all sorts of smells to be investigated, squirrels to be corralled, fenced-in dogs to strut in front of, shrubs and street signs to be marked. As we approached home, I always felt refreshed, but also relieved that my exercise was over. I’m not sure how Brownie felt. But I have a feeling he’d delay even his evening meal to do it all over again.

One often hears the expression “unconditional love.” I believe that phrase was coined over a dog. Yes, children too offer love without condition. But eventually they mature, lose their innocence, and often grow distant. One time my temper got the best of me after Brownie became, shall we say, “casual” with the carpet. He patiently tolerated my yelling until I made the mistake of grabbing his neck fur. Then, only in defense, he let me have it (I still bear the scarlet letter, on my right palm). But only seconds later, he was nudging up to me, pleading for my love and forgiveness.

Brownie was an Australian Shepherd, or “Aussie.” This breed is very family-oriented and protective. Brownie was happiest when the whole family was together. He expressed his contentment by laying at the nucleus of our little circle in the den and licking the carpet. “Brownie, stop licking the carpet!” my wife would scold. It didn’t bother me. Perhaps this was his way of licking all of us at the same time.

We didn’t know Brownie had cancer until it was far advanced. One evening I led him out the front door on his leash. But this time he didn’t prance in front of me. The leash suddenly became taut. I turned around, and saw Brownie sitting like a lump on the front walk. Something was wrong. “I’m leaving Brownie inside tonight,” I yelled inside to Lynn. “I don’t think he feels good.” As I walked down the driveway, Brownie gazed after me through the glass, his fluffy ears upright as if to say “Why aren’t you taking me with you?” I walked slowly until I was outside his range of vision. Only then did I start to run. When I returned home, he was waiting for me by the driveway. While I stretched my legs on the grass, he ambled over to me, his head lowered. The vet later said that the moisture under his eyes was probably caused by a fever. But I don’t know.

So now I’ll be running alone. I knew this day would come. But, as when a close family member dies, I never expected it to hurt so much. My partner, my compatriot – my best friend – is gone.

I believe that, even though I didn’t know it when he was alive, Brownie knew he was my best friend. That thin little pink line on my right palm reminds me. Strangely, the scar doesn’t elicit a bad memory. The brief anger I felt toward my friend – a very human moment of weakness – was obliterated by what transpired immediately afterwards. Something far more powerful: Brownie’s unconditional love and forgiveness.

Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, Part One

July 22, 2013August 8, 2013 / greenpete58 / 4 Comments

Rolling Stone magazine recently stirred anger over its rock star-styled cover photo of Boston bombing suspect Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. Marketing to young people’s fascination with beauty, celebrity, and danger is nothing new for RS. They’re good at selling magazines, and they’ll undoubtedly sell a lot of copies of the Tsarnaev issue.

The RS Tsarnaev issue controversy deserves a blog post by itself, but that’s not what this one’s about. RS is a bedfellow of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (RnRHoF). And I’d like to talk about Halls of Fame here.

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Since Jackie Brenston‘s “Rocket 88” in 1951, rock music has had the power to galvanize young people. I’m one of those who believes that the best rock also has integrity and adult appeal. In the ‘50s and ‘60s rock music was the anthem of a generation. Today it’s more the anthem of Chevrolet and Monday Night Football.

But, for better or worse, rock’s impact on popular culture is undeniable. Unlike classical, jazz, country, or other types of music, rock is flexible in its form and delivery. There are very few rules. It can blend different genres. It can have words (“Rocket 88”) or not have words (the Surfaris’ “Wipe Out”). It can be strident (the Clash’s “White Riot”) or peaceful (the Grateful Dead‘s “Dark Star”). It can be poetic (Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale”) or a crude street rap.

Procol Harum, circa 1968

It’s also brutally honest. I can’t imagine classical, jazz, or country doing a musical equivalent of John Lennon’s “Woman is the Nigger of the World.”

Rock is also cross-cultural and multi-generational, and it’s rarely static. I listen to Bruce Springsteen on Friday evening after work, and Joni Mitchell late at night, alone, while wearing headphones. Depending on the song, rock’s a drug that can affect the head, heart, or nervous system. When I’m a little depressed, a soft-rock tune like Loggins and Messina’s “Brighter Days” can actually make me feel less isolated. Sterling Morrison, the second guitarist in the Velvet Underground, once said that he considered music more important than politics. I heartily agree.

Steve Jones of the Sex Pistols might agree, too. Jones has his own memorable quote: “Once you want to be put in a museum, rock & roll’s over.” Someday I’ll delve into what I feel the RnRHoF is all about, and why a lot of it is “bollocks.” I’ll need a few beers for that one, though.

Sex Pistols, circa 1976 (left to right: Sid Vicious, Steve Jones, Johnny Rotten, Paul Cook)

Sex Pistols, circa 1977 (left to right: Sid Vicious, Steve Jones, Johnny Rotten, Paul Cook)

But since the RnRHoF is obviously here to stay, I feel a need to rectify some wrongs. So for this blog post, I’m inducting the first five of ten artists not yet in the RnRHoF, but which I feel should have been inducted long ago. Steve Jones won’t agree with this list, but that’s okay. I love his band anyway.

Most people favor the music of their youth – me included. But I’m not biased strictly out of nostalgia. I really believe the high-water mark of rock music – with apologies to Elvis, Buddy and Chuck – occurred during the mid-1960s to the mid-1970s. So don’t expect Goo Goo Gadget on this list.

As Spinal Tap documentarian Marty DiBergi once said, “But hey, enough of my yakkin’… let’s boogie!” Here are five artists to be inducted into the longitudes’ Rock & Roll Hall of Fame:

The Zombies: most baby boomers know their three hits: “She’s Not There,” “Tell Her No,” and “Time of the Season.” But anyone who has dared plunge beyond these knows this band had a treasure chest of beautiful, carefully structured tunes that should’ve been hits. Colin Blunstone’s breathy vocals were unique, and the group had not one, but two exceptional songwriters in Rod Argent and Chris White. Next to the Beatles, the Zombies wrote maybe the prettiest melodies of any band from England in the ‘60s. Not sure why the Dave Clark Five is in the RnRHoF and this band isn’t.

Jethro Tull: Tull began, like so many other Brits from the 1960s, as a blues band, but soon drifted into English folk. They made a bunch of excellent albums: Stand Up, Benefit, Aqualung, Songs from the Wood, and the part-live double LP, Living in the Past. They were one of the most exciting bands to see in concert in the ‘70s, with leader Ian Anderson’s simultaneous humming and flute playing (inspired by jazz multi-instrumentalist Rahsaan Roland Kirk) and elaborate group costumes and theatrics. Tull managed the trick of appealing to “heads” while also achieving commercial success in both the U.K. and U.S. Often classified as “progressive rock” (loosely defined as rock that borrows from classical or jazz, and frequently using organ, woodwinds, strings, or brass) they were actually quite unusual, mixing hard rock with blues, folk, and even baroque: challenging and intelligent music that was also listenable. The RnRHoF likes “listenable,” but maybe not “challenging and intelligent.” But Traffic was inducted nine years ago, so why not this similar group?

Roxy Music: another unclassifiable band, though often lumped in the progressive and “glam rock” genres, Roxy was one of the most visually exciting bands of the ‘70s. The leader was a stylish former art student named Bryan Ferry. He had a unique tremolo voice that could fluctuate between heavenly highs and deep lows. He was also a gifted and underrated songwriter. Early on, Roxy was the quintessential “art rock” band (the visionary, multimedia artist/producer Brian Eno was an original member), but by the early ‘80s Ferry was writing more mainstream songs, though on a higher plane than most radio-friendly acts. Roxy was very popular in Europe, but couldn’t get beyond cult status in the U.S. because they were too weird and sophisticated. The RnRHoF likes weird only when it’s unsophisticated.

Moody Blues: the Moodies are a difficult case. They wrote some of the most pretentious lyrics in rock, but these were accompanied by luscious arrangements and melodies. The main songwriter was lead singer and guitarist Justin Hayward. Hayward was extremely prolific, writing the FM classics “Nights in White Satin” and “Tuesday Afternoon,” as well as “The Story in Your Eyes,” “The Question,” “It’s Up to You,” “Lovely to See You,” “Your Wildest Dreams,” “Gypsy,” and many more. The other members also occasionally chimed in with great songs like “Ride My Seesaw,” “Legend of a Mind” (“Timothy Leary’s dead…”), “I’m Just a Singer in a Rock ‘n’ Roll Band,” etc. The band started in 1964 in Birmingham, England as part of the British beat boom, and they still tour today, although now they’re primarily an expensive nostalgia trip. But their endurance, song catalog, and distinction of being the first progressive rock band have me scratching my head as to why only longitudes has inducted them.

Love: unless you were a hippie who lived in California during the late ‘60s or a rock critic with grandkids, you may not have heard of Love, rock’s first racially integrated band (along with the Butterfield Blues Band). But they made one album that has guaranteed them rock immortality: Forever Changes, a psychedelic masterpiece that many rock historians rank with the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper. They started out in L.A.’s Sunset Strip in 1966, sounding like a garage-folk-rock band on acid. Their legendary status rests on their first three records: Love, Da Capo, and Forever Changes, all of which feature some of the most innovative music and lyrics in rock. Jim Morrison (the Doors) and Robert Plant (Led Zeppelin) idolized them. The RnRHoF is still sleeping.

To be continued!