How's it different...?

Tonight, late, tired, post-work haze, walking home from the acursed busstop, I asked myself "What am I even doing here?"

Glanced up and saw this guy, maybe 60-65 yrs old---build and demeanor of a badass 225-pound steamfitter or master industrial plumber---rumbling along, two frisking Scottie Dogs in front of him. Did a doubletake because this man was unlike anyone swaggering down the sidewalk in the Bronx, Boston, Baltimore, Philly, Chicago, or Portland Maine: he was wearing a flowered wool skirt with a bun in his hair. That's how San Francisco is different.

Things like that lighten my heart.

dear Gregory Isaacs...RIP

I came to the Gregory Isaacs' party late. This September I was transcribing a radio interview with Keith Richards and was intrigued by this part, which led to going on a Gregory Isaacs discovery jag - the song below is one of my very favorites.

INTERVIEWER: Gregory Isaac's voice is Jamaican national treasure, you've said. Why's that?

KEITH: He's got a voice like velvet, effortless delivery, but the amazing thing is he came up in handcuffs - beautiful guy...

And then, in vintage Keith Richards' fashion, Keith couldn't resist adding to the above in the interview: "He still owes me 400 bucks." Keith's such an odd duck. He makes these jokes...I can relate...doesn't mean to be a jerk. Just sees an opportunity for a quip and makes it, despite whether it's tasteful or will come back to haunt him. Like the whole "tiny todger" comment about Mick Jagger.
RIP Gregory Isaacs.

public transportation as necessity & art

Tuesday morning...way to work

We’re supposed to love public transportation. But I don’t. My friend Peter and I were discussing public transportation the other day. In NYC Peter would much rather take the bus; in fact he actively “likes” the bus. Peter hates the subway, because you can’t look out the window and are just packed in with anonymous people. I’m the opposite. I’d rather any day go underground into a sensory deprivation chamber and hurtle unimpeded by traffic and street-level anomalies, forward thrust punctuated only by the occasional and efficient letting off and getting on of new people.

You’re not supposed to, but you can drink coffee on the subway. Buses hurtle and sway side to side and rock and lurch unpredictably. I’ve tried 3x to drink coffee on the bus and it’s not pretty. Unlike the subway, arrival times vary based on unforeseeable elements. And you’re still jammed in as with a subway, check by jowl, but it’s harder to ignore because you’re slamming and jamming and rocking into people unless you’re fortunate enough to snag a seat, at which point you’re often on like a park bench--nowhere to look but your book or the people across from you.

Sometimes public transportation is fun. For example, last Friday Anestes from Maine took me out in Berkeley because he’d been able to alight in SF briefly as part of a clump of business travel. He went to my work, met my boss, and then he and I swooped onto the BART train for my first trip to Berkeley—very exciting to be in that town with so many associations of radical activity in the ‘60s—where we had an amazing dinner (forget the name of the restaurant), one of my very best eating experiences in SF.

Afterward, as Anestes stayed on to play in Berkeley, and I hopped back on the BART and took these notes...

BART train - Oakland City Center Station - 10:45pm Friday October 15, 2010

A guy is eating an entire Ziploc bag of what looks to be chocolate chips. Tipped back head, hundreds of little globblets pouring down his throat. He’s got a steer’s horn on a rawhide string that he’s draping from one of the handlebars to the next. He’s in a chair covered with orange and pink fur, mounted on his lowrider bike which is covered with red lights, and lavish bouquets of seagull and peacock feathers. Also on the handlebars are what looks to be hunks of the insides of someone’s sofa cushions, painted Halloween orange and black.

He himself is incredibly handsome, like modelesque, with beautiful bone structure, chiseled features, and thick brown and grey hair in a sectioned-off pony-tail to the middle of his back and a Che Guevarra cap. He’s got a broad back and straight shoulders and muscular legs. He has some kind of sound system attached to his bike, and was listening to the Marshall Tucker Band song that repeats “I’m getting closer to my home” about 365 times in a row, and now the train is so loud I don’t know what his soundtrack is. He sits there fiddling with the ornaments on his bike, adding a magnet to this metal tube mounted  between the handlebars and stuffed with orange feathers.

Cold grey day...warm mug of velvet Bowie...

Happy

...working in an ad agency is, as they say in Maine, different. I texted a friend who works in an ad agency in NYC and asked whether it's a heavy drinking culture there; she said yes, and basically, "See: Mad Men." The pace is swirly, the vibe is madcap. AOL was the Devil's Workshop; this may be the Devil's Playpen.

I guess I always reckoned ad agencies would be like this. Toys and quite hilarious tchotchkes everywhere. Today around 3pm someone hit a landmark on a booze account and every top shelf liquor was out and flowing freely, people at their desks with 4 fingers of scotch, G&Ts in the kitchen, tequila shots. There's a bottle with just a swig left of warm amber carribbean rum sitting at eye level on my cube wall - the sun shines through it - it's gorgeous. Even tho my desire for alcohol passed about 15 years ago I might actually move this bottle. It's too pretty. And too "almost-finished."

The pace is frenetic. I don't know how I feel about it. Having just come out of such a--as my friend Bill Gray said today--perfect storm. I think I can probably hack it, but I need to wind down, seriously. And the work is cool and will be satisfying if I can pace myself and be on-site at the agency the right amount of time. Tomorrow I'll work from home.

Maybe it's kharmic...this past month yearning for more connection, and now all day at work nonstop constant interaction buzz and connection...of a type. I didn't need frenetic nonstop connection. Just more than an occasional exacted inscrutable murmur. Now it's full volume.

Alas!

and some cool things...Everything atthe agency is wide open, so you can hear everything. Unlike Autodesk--also open seating, but which fluctuated between tomb silent and aggressive engineering pontifications and arguments--the din at the agency is continuous and agreeable. Conversations, even when shouted across vast spaces, don't pierce the ears. Something about people's tones here vs. Autodesk...not cutting, no gasping convulsive or derisive nerd laughter, generally merry jolly and funny, frivolous, and sometimes good-naturedly catty and snipey, but easy to tune out. 

So today this guy was writing a song. It started with what my boss accurately dubbed "a moody piano interlude," a piano riff, and over the course of the day he composed this beautiful interesting song adding percussion and tonal color, different instruments, and then--at the end of the day I was staying late, and so was the team he's on--he synced it up to the video for this commercial, and after hearing the piece coming together all day as I worked, was able to see the creation of an actual commercial -- stood by at the end and watched as they tweaked the arrangement of the song until it all meshed to fit the video. Had never seen anything like that. It was wonderfully creative.

And then...I was soooo tired. And couldn't get a cab home. Kept missing the bus. I would wait and wait, and then go into a store and buy pants, or try on boots

 or grab dinner to take home (got an amazing dinner), and the bus would come while I was doing that, and no cabs came and still no cabs...and I was very sad. Then this stretch limo pulls up across Market Street and this old black dude in a cap leans out his window "You wanta ride? Get in!"

So I do. I hop across Market Street and bop into the back of this leather cushioned behemoth. So it's me, and him and his little white dog Kip. And we're riding around, listening to John Lennon singing Revolution, and I shout up front "I don't have any money except credit cards and I really don't have enough dough to pay for a limosene(sp)"

And he says "Well, I could sure use some gas"

 So I say "Sure, I'll put some fuel in your tank!"

And we drive on, in the colorful warm San Francisco night. He takes me through parts of SF I don't know yet, and it was beautiful. Looking back upon downtown from gentle hills, the Bay twinkling, in the far distance off beyond the buildings, which were twinkling in their own right the way they do here. Even the sidewalks twinkle here. And the sun on water twinkles...in a way I've never seen elsewhere. So, eventually we get to the gas station. And I put $13 in his car which I think is fair--a bargain for me and he was happy. And just sat back in the comforting plush opulence of this car...and as we drove....I relaxed completely, for the first time in WEEKS, maybe longer. And as I breathed and relaxed further into the dark cushions, someone taking care of bringing me home safely, set to a good soundtrack and no worries, I just started falling in love again with San Francisco. The spark started flickering again--I'd recently taken my enthusiasm for SF and applied it somewhere it didn't belong. Since my 2nd day here, I'd been so filled with besottedness for SF that eventually I think I sought to have it embodied in a person, which naturally didn't work. Walking around in love abstractly with a city is an odd thing, but beautiful. So I return to that place of infatuation and innocence and wanting to know who San Francisco's 4th grade teacher was. And it's happy to connect back with me and welcome me inside.

Ocean Beach w/Christy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walk through Tenderloin with full moon & martinis

After the Dylan show last night I walked to catch a bus in the Tenderloin. The night was balmy, foggy,and very quiet.

Wonder whether Hotel California is what that awful song was based on.

that blue light is the full moon

From Tom Wolfe's Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test

...Out the back of the truck the city of San Francisco is bouncing down the hill, all those endless staggers of bay windows, slums with a view, bouncing and streaming down the hill. One after another, electric signs with neon martini glasses lit up on them, the San Francisco symbol of "bar"--thousands of neon-magenta martini glasses...

Bob Dylan - rare treat at the Warfield!

The announcement started on message boards--and soon after appeared in the regular media:  Bob Dylan would be playing a small show in downtown San Francisco, at the Warfield.

Dylan came up with the concept himself.

The concert was to be deliberately "low tech" (his words), meaning....

--> No internet sales

--> No Ticketmaster

--> No credit cards

--> $60 cash in hand

--> only 1 ticket per customer

--> tickets go on sale at 5:30

--> get in line, if you choose to, from noon onward

--> OR take your chances and not wait in line -- show up between 5:30 and 8pm when the show starts

--> once you're in, you're in (so people can't leave and scalp)

_________________________

I loved the premise.

Haven't seen Dylan in 10 years. And only see bands in small venues. And I have some flexibility with my days.

Around 11:45 I took the bus from Pacific Heights to the Tenderloin to scope out the situation.  Walked to the theatre.  It was a gorgeous day.

The Tenderloin is seedy, smelly, impoverished, beautiful, gentle, and old-fashioned.

The roadies, lighting and sound crews, and friends of the band were there.

Around the corner, there were only 100-150 people in line. The media made it sound like it would be mayhem. Not so!

I stepped into line and met some people from Alameda, Rick and Anni--and we made an agreement. I needed to go back home to meet with my landlady, but would bring them back sandwiches and water if they'd hold my place.

On my way home I passed another line of people - maybe there's another show!

But it was the Glide Foundation.  Serving lunch to the homeless.

 Returned to the Warfield by 3pm. The people who said they'd hold my spot did so. I'd made them giant sandwiches, and brought drinks, snacks, cookies, etc.

It was an amazing scene. Sterotypically or prototypically San Francisco.

Guys on stilts, jugglers, people playing hacky sack, chick in a spangly boustier and hot pants strolling around giving people nicknames and playing the accordian. Homeless guys playing chess and renting lawn chairs for $1. Guys jamming on guitar and drums, lots of open weed smoking (not that uncommon in San Francisco but it still feels very outlaw to me). People from their 20s to their 70s.

Many cool people and fun convos. Dylan freaks and fans, people who snuck out of offices---as well as the self-employed, the under-employed, the unemployed. Entrepreneurs w/Blackberries and iPhones--the Warfield provided wifi for all--students, old people in tie-dye, artists, writers, poets, musicians, as well as some pretty fringe-y people. "Saints and sinners, losers and winners, all kindsa people you might wanna know..."
At 5:30 they started packing us in. I went straight to the front and joined maybe 40 people at that time sitting on the floor directly in front of the stage like it was someone's livingroom. I was 3 people from the stage, which is about my preferred spot at shows.

Great people in that pack, very convivial. (Met an interesting guy in that front section - rare for me, because I'm secretly shy - talked 2 and 1/2 hours we were waiting)

We were told early on not to take pix or record audio or video - if we did, menacing men would take our equipment (I had put my camera down my pants because otherwise I would've had to have turned it over to theatre staff--in DC they pat-search you  but here they asked on the way in: "Do you have a camera?"  to which I answered "HI!" and they waved me in).

I planned to take some snaps and record the show. But my new show friend, Pete, had some compelling ideas about why Dylan might not want us to be doing that. So I didn't.   So no photos.  I do have a 2 minutes of audio.

Dylan came on around 8:30 -- and was phenomenal. Completely on - great setlist. Started off with Rainy Day Women, to which the crowd pulsed and jumped as one. Went almost straight into Senor(!) which was fascinating, eerie, spellbinding.  An unfolding conversation--with singing. Alternately demanding and beseeching Senor tell him things. "Son, this ain't a dream no more. it's the REAL THING" it walloped the solar plexus. And when he sang "Ready when you are...Senor," it was somber resigned dialogue with the devil or death, something very serious and not undoable.

Reviews of recent shows had said he's not singing at all, and that may have been true for other nights, but not tonight. He was singing. Lots of guitar. Good solos, trading off and blending (not quite weaving but close at times) with Charlie Sexton. His harmonica playing is phenomenal. Has gotten very minimalist, not a wasted note or breath - very beautiful. I was smiling the whole time, and in awe, he was so on. The band couldn't have been tighter. In Ballad of a Thin Man Dylan was looking into the audience, freestyling lyrics, one of which rhyming with Mr Jones was: "And maybe next time you can turn off your cell phones."

Charlie Sexton was a-writhe with rock star moves and preposterously beautiful, but musically fit well with Bob. I preferred the other guitarist tho. There were actually 2 others--one guy looked like he was playing electric banjo at one point--don't know what else it could be; like a miniature straocaster body with 5 strings. That guy also played pedal steel, fiddle, mandolin. And of course Tony, who is phenomenal--he and Dylan are mind melded, playing together for so long.

Back in the small club show in DC Tony was all grins and eye contact - but here, he and everyone, even the preposterously vain CS, kept their eyes focused on Bob at all times; only Bob could look into the audience. The band was hawk-eyed on Dylan's every move. I wish I knew more about what exactly was going on musically, because there were times when Bob was doing stuff on the organ (not electric piano; it was real organ) that was making the multi-instrumentalist in the back crack up--he'd be fiercely watching Dylan and basing his playing on what Dylan was doing, then his face would register "Are you kidding me?!" and Dylan in response would sometimes turn around, cackle toward him, or shrug. I know Dylan's notorious for being in the moment and changing keys etc, but I couldn't hear that from an audience perspective.

Dylan can be such a great performer when he's on--and he was on last night, and also just having a lot of fun--cracking up, smiling, doing weird herky jerky punctuations of lyrics and lines, dancing.

Dylan and I had a good deal of eye contact, which was thrilling because he's creating in the moment, so expressive, spontaneous and, most importantly, completely hilarious. Basically if you're close to the front and are looking at him he'll sing to you on and off. A lot of people just stand at the front and dance and do their thing, which is cool, but I'm pretty much spellbound with what's going on, on stage. We were doing well, with many expressions and shrugs and mugs and eyebrow cocks my way, and then I could stand it no longer. I sneakily snuck out my camera during the encore, and thought I could get one shot--and he saw it. He winced and moved across the stage to the other side. And for the rest of Like a Rolling Stone he wouldn't make eye contact with me.

At the end he went of the concert to the lip of the stage, around 12 feet from us (I'd moved up to 2nd from the stage then), and said thank you to us who were up front. He pointed at me and shook his finger HARD, tilted his head, and gave a wry smile.

The show was really amazing. Intimate, Bob was on fire, the crowd ADORED him! A great night - so grateful to have had the chance to see him under these circs!

SETLIST
San Francisco, California
Warfield Theater
August 25, 2010
source: boblinks

1. Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 (Bob on keyboard then guitar)

2. Señor (Tales Of Yankee Power)
(Bob center stage on harp, Donnie on lap steel)

3. Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues (Bob on guitar, Donnie on lap steel)

4. Simple Twist Of Fate (Bob on guitar, Donnie on pedal steel, Stu on acoustic guitar)

5. Rollin' And Tumblin' (Bob on keyboard, Donnie on electric mandolin)

6. Desolation Row
(Bob on keyboard, Donnie on electric mandolin, Stu on acoustic guitar, Tony on standup bass)

7. High Water (For Charley Patton)
(Bob center stage on harp, Donnie on banjo, Tony on standup bass)

8. Man In The Long Black Coat
(Bob center stage on harp, Donnie on lap steel, Stu on acoustic guitar)

9. Most Likely You Go Your Way (And I'll Go Mine)
(Bob on keyboard then center stage - no harp, picked up guitar at end but did not play it, Donnie on lap steel, Stu on acoustic guitar)

10. My Wife's Home Town
(Bob on guitar, Donnie on electric mandolin, Tony on standup bass)

11. Highway 61 Revisited (Bob on keyboard, Donnie on lap steel)

12. Ain't Talkin' (Bob on keyboard, Donnie on viola, Stu on acoustic guitar)

13. Thunder On The Mountain
(Bob on keyboard, Donnie on lap steel, Stu on acoustic guitar)

14. Ballad Of A Thin Man (Bob center stage on harp, Donnie on lap steel)

(encore)
15. Jolene (Bob on keyboard, Donnie on lap steel, Tony on standup bass)

16. Like A Rolling Stone (Bob on keyboard, Donnie on pedal steel)

__________________

Afterwords

Show did not sell out. People could have walked in the door at 8:30 and gotten a good seat in this 2200-capacity theatre! There were about, I'd say, 300 empty seats.

So, the people who did make it--as said--were people who could make it downtown in the middle of a Wednesday. So that includes people who took off a half day of work--(1) diehard fans (there were lots of them) and (2) fans who for one reason or another hadn't seen him in a small venue - and knew it would be a special show and (3) spontanteous free spirited people who thought it would be a great lark for a beautiful summer afternoon.

It also includes a large collection of: people with nontraditional work schedules self-employed, artists and musicians, emergency medical people and Coast Guard guys who work 4 days on 4 days off, students, unemployed, disabled people, quasi-homeless people. As well as tourists who happened to be strolling by and decided: what the heck! And people who couldn't ordinarily afford to see a Dylan show. It was a rag-taggy, non-upscale-non-internet/expensivo ticket-buying crowd.

What that meant to me: it was a radically democratic, meritocratic, very interesting, and appreciative audience.

I wish when it was nearing 5:30 the promoters got the word out through twitter and FB and email lists and traditional braodcast and print media that the show was not near sold out. I counted at about 5pm and there were maybe 1500-1700 people in line. If more people knew AHEAD of time they could swing by after work and they might make it in (they could have!) Dylan would have made his numbers.