TubaOrNotTuba

Another day of second guessing the weather. Rain began around lunch time; now, five hours later, the sump hole remains dry. Why does that matter? Well, it IS winter, and the ground is frozen. Any new liquid precipitation has to go somewhere, and a basement is as good a goal as any. I’d hate to be surprised, so I’ll eyeball the situation until normal temperatures prevail. In passing, there is still no ice out in the Strait.

Two things that have always been there: food and music. Now, my needs have varied, over the decades, but I’m fortunate. I’ve never had a long stretch with food I didn’t like, and the music has always come back around to something I appreciate.

I have a friend that celebrates his birthday on an alternate date. It began as a professional subterfuge, and then when social media started reminding the rest of the world that greetings were due, he just let it ride. I mean, it doesn’t actually change much. Already done with being born, etc. Tonight, I decided to celebrate the (alternate) occasion with some musical retrospection.

I’m on a quest. Out there, in the shadowy world we call the Internet, there are thousands of radio station streams. Forget that old-fashioned idea where you have a box on the counter, tuned to the local DJ. I’m talking about the world being your musical oyster.

The difference between intentions and actions? Look no further than this afternoon when I received a call inviting me to spend some time musically. I found the amps and we sat in the room with two similar bass guitars, and other than a few minutes of comparison – nada. You can’t jam with a pair of bass guitars. So, we did the next thing and talked for several hours. Edging around politics, for the main part. Odd way to spend the practice.

Who said that buying music was dead? A local band, who now boasts an international footprint, has a new CD/vinyl offering coming out in two weeks. Thanks to their marketing team, two singles are out on YouTube, and I am convinced enough to have ordered my copy already. I may only unwrap the CD long enough to rip and transfer to more user friendly devices around here, but the band gets the cash just the same. I’ve also gone to see them in concert, a couple of times; guess that means I am one of the fans the press likes to wax on about. And for the record, when I was out and about (seems like a lifetime ago), I rarely bought merch. Too much work to wait at a table in the back of the hall. With websites and instant money transfers, it’s all so much easier. Why, we could have kept the Beatles going, if we’d had consumer friendly tools like this.

A sure sign that summer is over: when our seasonal neighbours retreat south. Snow fear? Anyhow, a minimum of two different sets will be gone by next week, and this evening we had an invite to a kitchen party. A real one, in a kitchen, with music and musical royalty. If this is my only musical memory from the summer of ’19, at least it is a quality one.

An unexpected finish to my day; I may have committed myself to going to school. OK, evening school, and only for so long as my interest is maintained, what with the proposed requirement of 75 minutes of travel time, but formal study, just the same. In a basic Irish language course, taught by a musician!

Where was I in 1975? At a guess, I was on the dance floor, at GJs, and doing a pretty tame version of The Bump. There, my confession. I knew what it meant, to be involved in the disco era. At a local level, to be sure. No aspirations to visit Studio 54. My wardrobe featured a pair of brown corduroy coveralls. No shoes that could be construed as a desire to be taller. I was just doing what everyone else did.

Almost fifty years ago, some decent musicians and a lot of observers got together in a big field in upstate New York. The place name we all remember is Woodstock, although it actually was near Bethel (about an hour away). Unsure why the confusion; maybe the posters had been printed before the field was available. I’ll check (later).