Thursday, March 30, 2006
The artist explains his intentions, sporting my new (to me) G.G. Allin and The Murder Junkies "Terror in America Tour" shirt, blood stains compliments of Toby Rosa. When Bryn, I, Butthead Bill and a hole in my memory went to see him in Oakland in 1989 some guy punched Bill in the face right as he stepped of the AC Transit bus. Later we brought pieces of cloth partly soaked with G.G.'s blood back to Barrington, banged the shit out of the old piano carcass, got told to shut up. Our eyes were scratchy from pepper spray and our innocence had lost several layers. Maybe I'll find mine (bloodsoaked cloth, not much hope for the innocence) somewhere someday, sell it for big $ (smile here). We didn't see the Murder Junkies then though. I believe he was with the Gutter Dolls, and a crew of roadies made up of young translucent skinheads covered in devil tattoos channelling the devil devilishly with their shirts off. Holy cavalcade of blood that show was beyond, too disturbing to describe in detail here.
One morning last weekend the boy brought me his plastic tambourine, went to grab a rattle, then deftly and suddenly initiated a downhome jam session that was all the way live. Those new tambourines have a much better sound than the kind I had as a kid. I thought his choice of the rattle strange and babyish, until we traded for awhile. The rattle can sound like a bell, a rattle, and two types of washboards, actually a very dynamic instrument. We took turns practicing our rock & roll whooping Owwws, dancing to our own mix, laughing and shrieking along. The session went on and on, partly because he would urge me to trade instruments each time I suggested ending it, but mostly because the fun flowed like sweet hippy wine. Momma finally put a stop to it, but we had tired by then anyway (so had she apparently). The memory of it must have stuck with him because he busted out my tablas that night, and we had a more subdued lesson-type session. All planting the seed of the father-son band I plan on co-opting him into.
Toddler memory is an interesting thing. Maira came over to watch him the other night, and I asked him,
"Do you remember Maira?"
"I remember the cake."
he clearly enunciated.
He saw Maira last at my birthday party a couple weeks ago, so he was right on the money. Later while sitting with Maira where they had sat during the party, he asked, out of the blue
also right on the money because Maira had come with Annie & Jed. When he heard us talking about how much he remembered about that day he volunteered:
which it took us a couple seconds to get, but was also true of that crispy Saturday, which got me to thinking,
"How much detail is this kid picking up? And for how long will he retain it consciously?"
I have good access to many of my early memories, and hot damn parenthood rocks my world.