Nothing but memories here today. No politics. No analysis. No dissent. Just memories plain and simple. Very fond memories.
This has been a banner year to indulge our appetites for celebrating anniversaries, especially those weighty ones like 50th anniversaries. We got off to a good start with the 50th anniversary of the Beatles’ last public concert, from the roof of Apple Studios. We have just finished (mostly) a celebration of the moon landing, and Woodstock’s 50th lies just ahead.
I recorded my part of the narration for the PBS Woodstock 50th anniversary documentary film almost exactly 2 years ago. Exactly was this past Thursday. I finally saw the film this weekend — twice. And participated in 2 Q&A sessions after the screenings, along with the director.
I love the film. (“Of course you do” says everyone.) I think it is a seriously fine piece of historical documentary filmmaking, narrated by the original participants. The film is comprised of 80-90% never before seen footage, shot by Michael Wadleigh’s crew but never used in his epic Woodstock film. And the views are almost all down on the ground with the people, in and of the crowd, not on stage.
The many friends who accompanied me (thank you again!) said they came away feeling they had a whole new idea of what it felt like to be there. It’s an entirely new take on Woodstock.
It’s still opening in theaters around the country. If you went to Woodstock, you should definitely check this out. You might see yourself in the film – “never before seen” footage, right? Check the sked at this link. Coming to PBS in August.
The history of grassroots activism abounds with classic stories of struggle against all odds, and tales worthy of telling around a campfire. History is the important element.
My own campfire tales were told around a flickering TV monitor last night. Owing to my impending retirement, I felt free to invite myself to be the guest on the monthly TV program that I produce and host.
Elliot Margolies’ interview was a marvel.
My goal for this blog is to tell more of these stories. Old and new.
I lost a dear friend recently. A friend of nearly 30 years. He was by trade and by nature a jazz musician. So I thought I would improv some memories of Michael Allan Slaughter.
As a professional jazz musician, Michael was of course licensed to invoke the word cat, as in cool cat. Most who are thus privileged do not use the term anymore, I believe. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think it has become … mossy. I think I would inwardly cringe if I heard it in conversation. But Michael employed the word frequently, easily. And it never sounded one bit mossy to me coming from him. I never understood that.Continue reading “Improv memories on the passing of a friend”→
The first time I was hauled into a police station for thoughtcrime was in 1968. I was 16 years old.
I volunteered for the Eugene McCarthy for President campaign that year. In an unlikely turn of events for the suburban New Jersey town where I lived, a McCarthy campaign office had opened in a former pet shop (“former” being just the week before). I happened across it on the way home from school and dropped in.Continue reading “My First Thoughtcrime”→