Epistle 23 – Java

I have a Starbucks gold card, which I think means I hang out there a lot. It’s like your friendly, neighborhood bartender having your “usual” set up on the bar before you even reach your stool. It’s comforting to know there is someplace you always belong. Of course, the barrista (Spanish for bartender) changes more than my shirts, but somehow, despite a bewildering array of ways to serve you a cuppa Joe, they always add a personal touch. “Room for cream?” they ask, genuinely concerned for my every wish. I never request room, thinking I’ll get more for my money, which leaves me anywhere from a half empty cup to a puddle in my lap when I add my own.

How did we ever order coffee in the good ol’ days, without lattes, mochas, cappuccinos and tarantellas? (I think that last one is some sort of dance, but it sounds like it should be on the menu.) I can even remember when decaf was invented—Sanka, I think—so not a lot of menu choices before that. My grandmother ran a diner and all you got was a white cup (made of real glass), with a hot, strong (very strong) dark brown liquid beside a beaker of sugar and a small pitcher of cream, which was probably really milk. But none of this sissy non-dairy creamer or white stuff in little paper bags.

No, sir. Not in the good ol’ days. You ordered coffee, you knew exactly what you were getting. The food service was about the same concept. Regardless of the daily Blue Plate Special, my grandmother gave you a plate of brown, green and white stuff mixed in a glurpy swirl. Her theory was that it all got mixed up in your stomach anyway, so why not give it a head start. Ambiance was supplied by the curly strip of flypaper hanging from the ceiling. One look at that, and you didn’t care about the presentation either.

So much for mellow nostalgia. Back to Starbucks where my gold card (it’s really coffee brown) also allows ol’ Starbuck free access to my checking account so he can make sure I never run out of money while I’m in his store. God forbid I should run out of credit and swoon from a frappuccino attack right in front of the barrista. Talk about service! Oh that my bank should treat me as well as the Bank of Starbucks, which didn’t even get a federal bailout.

And what about the snob appeal? Here I sit, sipping my cardboard Venti, in my overstuffed chair, thinking I should have a cardigan sweater and a pipe. I’ll bet everyone in here knows I have a gold card. The staff continually fawns over me, genuinely concerned for my every need. In fact, just this morning the barrista asked about me.

“Room for cream in that?”

We Will Win

Playing the acoustic guitar and specifically the blues is one of the most enjoyable and enriching things to do.

As challenging as it may be in learning to play the guitar, once you master just a few chords, you are able to play multiple songs and as you become more comfortable and allow your creative juices start to flow you will find that picking up on some other chords is much easier.

It surprises me that with six little string and some 20 frets the infinite amount of music that can be created is infinitely abundant On top of that, playing blues music has its own subtle note changes that are separate from the conventional scale. This happens by bending the strings to adjust the pitch until it gets to the right sound.

The blues music players from the South had very inadequate means; in fact some had homemade guitars. These instruments were made from just about anything that they could find. Some were made of cigar boxes and wire for strings. One of the most notable blues music player of all time is Chuck Berry whose style was a unique as your personal signature on your check.

The point is this, if you are passionate about blues music and love the guitar. Just pick one up and start strumming a few chords. After some practice and persistence you will be on your way. Just don’t expect to be an overnight sensation or sound like Chuck Berry. Over time your skill will improve and who knows, your friends may actually stick around if you decide to burst out in to a private jam session.

No matter what level of playing you’re at now or which musical instruments you may know how to play, learn piano blues and you’ll be much better off for it regardless of the level of expertise that you are at or even if your focus is another instrument.

Playing the piano is invaluable for musical ideas, arranging for other instruments and just plain fun, relaxing and will open up opportunities when you can accompany other performers.

By learning piano blues you will have also learned many rock and roll songs as well since that technique developed out of blues music.

By simply learning some simple and easy patterns you can get in to the spirit of the blues. Before you know it, you will have mastered those patterns, develop some more complex version of those patterns and develop that are slightly more technical and before you know it you’re playing some very decent boogie woogie blues.

This style of blues with a bit of speed is very impressive. The boogie woogie style came directly out of the blues and is one of the best ways for a pianist to show off their technical ability.

If you ever get the chance, stand behind or next to a blues piano player and just watched what they do with their hands. Watching what they do will really allow you to see what’s going on with both hands and how these repetitive riffs are being implemented.

Just take it slow, analyze and study you will surprise yourself how easy things can really be. Then, like anything else, and a little commitment to some daily practice your peed and dexterity will come. Sure, kids usually pick it up quicker than adults or even easier than us boomers, but anyone who has the desire to learn can do it regardless of age.

Even if you decide to only learn to play the blues, think of the enjoyment that you can have at a jam session. Blues is the international language of music and who know learning to play blues music may spring board you in to other styles like gospel and jazz.

Epistle 22 – Y2K Revisited

Ten years ago I bought my last bundle of firewood. It is still waiting patiently to make it from the garage to the fireplace. Apparently, we’re not what you’d call warm-and-cozy-by-the-fire people. Maybe that’s because our first house had a nifty raised hearth fireplace beside a plush white rug that I tried to set on fire with a fake log made of sawdust and cardboard. According to the natural right-out-of-the-forest paper wrapper, the log would burn with multi-colored flames while it crackled romantically in your fireplace. It also exploded when combined with a match.

Anyway, this is not about my lifetime of fireplace misadventures. It’s about the end of the world, which was supposed to happen at the stroke of midnight on December 31, 1999 as the globe spun from the Dark Ages to the bright new millennium. That’s because computers under the evil influence of Hal from 2001—A Space Odyssey had taken over the world and would bring total chaos to planet Earth with one tick of the clock. Electricity would stop electrifying, motors would stop motoring and all the beer would turn warm. Critically ill patients undergoing open-heart surgery would be left in the dark on the operating table; planes would plunge from the sky; and telemarketers would never be able to interrupt your dinner again. The end of time ain’t all bad.

Well, ten years ago was the last time I bought firewood and the last time I stayed up until midnight on New Year’s Eve. I guess I figured if the world was going to come to an end, I should be around to witness it. Now, how much sense does that make? Whether I was awake or not, who was I going to tell about it? Maybe somebody from Borneo who didn’t have a computer, but how was I going to get in touch? Mail him a letter? Maybe. The odds of my letter making it couldn’t have been much worse without the Post Office.

As I sat nervously watching the clock and my wife (if she got hysterical, I would have to slap her), I thought about all those other times people predicted the end of the world. They usually had robes and ponytails instead of computers, but the message was always the same. Whether we were to be vaporized or depart in an alien spacecraft, it was all over and there was nothing we could do about it. Except sell all our stuff and follow the prophet to the mountaintop. But why sell all the stuff? What were we going to buy with it? I guess prophets have a lot of expenses.

I’ll bet by now you boys and girls have figured out that the world did not come to an end at the stroke of midnight on December 31, 1999. Not even geeks could kill it. And I figured out to whom I was supposed to give my money. The fake firewood seller.

We Will Win

Ever since the 1920s, Memphis has been a Mecca for blues music lovers all over the world.  If you’ve ever been to Beale Street in downtown Memphis then you know that this is the heart of the Memphis music scene.  And it hosts every style of music from jug bands to jazz, and of course the blues.

After WWII, the electric instruments were born into the Memphis Blues.  And during this time musicians flocked to Memphis with these electric instruments.  They would all gather on Beale Street, and soon there became recording studios up and down that street.  One of the most famous studios being Sun Records, who recorded the like of Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley, just to name a few.

The Memphis Blues is so self expressive, and was an attempt to capture that sound of the singing sharecroppers and workers.  At first, the sound was nicknamed the gutbucket blues, but settled into simply the Memphis Blues.

Still today on Beale Street songs are written and recorded in small studios by artists with a dream.  And the streets of Memphis are just as alive as ever with the sound of the Memphis Blues.  Go there and you’ll see the bars and clubs filled up every night with tourists and locals who will sit and listen for hours and be touched by the music.

Why does the Memphis Blues have such staying power?  Many people believe it’s because it is so much more than just music.  It is a culture and a lifestyle that just continues to get passed down generation after generation.  And chances are it will continue to be enjoyed for many generations to come.