Search

Joseph E Bird

Let's talk about reading, writing and the arts.

Open Search
Tag

music

How to win a Nobel Prize for Literature

In the early 1960s Bob Dylan heard Robert Johnson for the first time.

“From the first note the vibrations from the loudspeaker made my hair stand up. The stabbing sounds from the guitar could almost break a window. When Johnson started singing, he seemed like a guy who could have sprung from the head of Zeus in full armor.”

In his book, Chronicles, Volume One, Dylan comes across not as a musical genius, but as a man who was always doubting, always searching, always trying, always learning. When the music of Robert Johnson shook his soul, he needed to know why. Dylan had this to say:

“I started meditating on the construction of the verses, seeing how different they were from Woody’s [folksinger Woody Guthrie]. Johnson’s words made my nerves quiver like piano wires.”

Of course there is some measure of genius in Dylan, but it wouldn’t have come forth had he just sat back and waited for inspiration. But he didn’t have to be told that creativity involves hard work, because part of the reward of being creative, is in the toil it takes to create.

“I copied Johnson’s words down on scraps of paper so I could more closely examine the lyrics and patterns, the construction of his old-style lines and the free association that he used, the sparkling allegories, big-ass truths wrapped in the hard shell of nonsensical abstraction – themes that flew through the air with the greatest of ease.”

And this:

“I didn’t have any of these dreams or thoughts but I was going to acquire them.”

And look where it took him.

 

1

And then there was Bach.

I heard a piano playing.

I recognized the hymn, despite the missed note here and there. Probably coming from the gathering place where the residents sit in wheelchairs on Sunday afternoon and listen to the local Church of Christ preacher.

Except I had already passed the gathering place. The piano sounds were coming from down the hall.

She sat in her doorway in her wheelchair, the keyboard resting on the armrests. She kept playing as I approached.

That’s really very good, I said.

She laughed but she didn’t look up. She was unable to raise her head. She looked at the floor as she spoke.

I play by ear, she said. I can’t read music.

Then I noticed the plastic rat sitting on the keyboard. It was so out of place that I couldn’t bring myself to ask about it. I should have. There’s probably a good story to go with it.

This hand doesn’t work very well, she said as she held up her twisted right hand.

Well, you sound great.

And she did. Not that she was going on tour anytime soon, but I’d love to be able to play at her level.

I went on.

While I was visiting, I heard her playing. One hymn after another.

And then there was Bach. Unmistakable.

The rhythms and the patterns of the master composer. And a familiar tune. Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. Another hymn, of sorts.

As I was leaving, she had quit playing but was still sitting in her doorway.

I heard you playing Bach, I said.

Bach? As if she didn’t know who I was talking about.

Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, I said

She laughed. That’s Bach?

Yes.

She laughed again. Good old Bach, she said. Good old Bach.

2

the girl from the bakery

tripping down the sidewalk
in the lower part of town
going to the guitar store
my e-string’s come unwound

a tune is humming in my head
for words i’ve yet to write
and then i see you through the glass
all dressed in bakers white

ohhh mercy, sakes alive

i slow my steps and strain to look
without giving it a thought
i see you, and you see me
i know that i’ve been caught

maybe i should walk on by
be a gentleman this day
the heck with that, i’ll take a chance
this boy, he came to play

ohhh mercy sakes alive

just look at what you’ve gone and done
when i see you roll those buns
hot bread baking in the oven
but it’s you, oh girl, that i’m lovin

your hair is pulled back in a net
there’s flour everywhere
you glance at me and knead the dough
i barely take in air

you got that look that speaks to me
and yeah, i speak to you
together we can bake all day
have our cake, and it eat, too

ohhh mercy, sakes alive

just look at what you’ve gone and done
when i see you roll those buns
hot bread baking in the oven
but it’s you, oh girl, that i’m lovin

my legs are weak, can’t wait to eat,
but it’s you, oh girl, i’m lovin’

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

Editor’s Note: In his Noble Prize acceptance speech, Bob Dylan said his work is meant to be sung, that it’s not complete as a simple rhyming poem.  Same here with my so-called songs. Of course I ain’t no Robert Zimmerman, but I am, in fact, fooling around with music for these little ditties. Someday I may present them as fully imagined. Probably not, but you never know.

4

This is how you write.

Joe Higginbotham was a great writer.  In 2010 he wrote a piece about his father, who had just passed away.  In doing so, he not only managed to tell us what was special about Emery Higginbotham, but he also took us inside the world of professional music and back in time to the British Invasion of the 1960s.  It’s timely, inasmuch as we are currently celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

If you want to know what good writing looks like, click the link below.

Emery Higginbotham

0

misty

She flies.

All grace, flowing and free.
For a moment she is splendor.
She will always be
a dancer.

She flies.
Into his arms, sure and strong.
Together they are elegance.
She will always be
a dancer.

She flies.
Strength, beauty, trust.
One voice, one spirit.
She will always be
a dancer.

She flies.

copyright 2014, joseph e bird

We can’t talk dance, without talking about Misty Copeland.

2

black or white

I wish I could write.
I wish I could play the guitar.
I wish I could sing.
I wish I could draw.
I wish I could take beautiful photographs.
I wish I could make people laugh.
I wish I could tell an interesting story.
I wish I could make a difference.
I wish I could dance.

Like this:

7

the evolution of tap

a stick on a hollow log
tap
tap
tap
a message

two sticks
tap tap
tap tap
tap tap
yeah

three raps
ta tap tap
ta tap tap
ta tap tap
a beat

head bobbin
toe tap
toe tap
toe tap
rhythm

can’t stop
heel toe
heel toe
tap a rappin tap
dancing, baby

copyright 2017, joseph e bird

dig the Nicholas Brothers

0

almost heaven

tree for web

Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River.

Take Me Home, Country Roads, the signature hit of John Denver, was adopted by my home state, in part because of the first line of the song, Almost Heaven, West Virginia, but also because the spirit of the song is about coming home to the country roads we all love so much.  West Virginians are scattered all over the world, but the mountains seem to have an irresistible pull that tells us we should have been home yesterday.

But let’s talk about the Blue Ridge Mountains and Shenandoah River.  In truth, both of those geographic features, even though they cross the border into West Virginia, are better known as Virginia landmarks. But let’s call it the songwriter’s artistic license.

It’s easy to understand how the Blue Ridge Mountains could inspire Denver and his co-songwriters.  It’s a relatively short drive from my home to the Blue Ridge Parkway, one of the most beautifully scenic highways in America.

Overlooks are everywhere.  It’s an incredible sight to see the mountains fade into the horizon miles and miles away.  Picturesque trees are works of art waiting to be painted. Rustic barns, quaint cottages, and chairs on the hillside make you want to slow down and take it all in.  And at the end of every day is the perfect sunset.

blueridge sunset

Here’s another truth.

Though the Blue Ridge Mountains are part of Virginia, there are places just as spectacular all over West Virginia.  So much so, that we tend to take them for granted. The sunset picture above could have been taken in my back yard. A mountain top view is minutes away.  Babbling brooks and rivers winding through the forest are within an easy bike ride.  It’s the stuff that inspires artists and poets.

Almost heaven, West Virginia.

 

12

did you solve the riddle?

The other day I wrote about finding special moments throughout the day in piece called ninety nine miles.  At the end, while travelling back home, the narrator finally finds some relief as Scott sings, Salina, I’m as nowhere as I can be.  

Did you Google?  Did you figure it out?

Who is Scott?  Answer, Scott Avett, of course.

The song, Salina.  It starts out as just another nice Avett Brothers song about being away from home. Then near the end, the music takes on a symphonic quality.

Click the link and stay with it.  No video on this clip, just great music for a rainy Saturday night.

1

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑