On the jazz shelf I have by Roy Buchanan: A cd combining his first two releases: Roy & 2nd; Guitar on Fire: The Atlantic Sessions; and Deluxe Edition. All stand alone’s & all stand outs. Filed under jazz as these are mainly instrumentals but his style is blues/rock, not say, John McLaughlin or Wes Montgomery jazz.I had a cassette of his 2nd for decades – one of those rare cassettes that never stopped working either – one of the reasons I was eager to move from cassette to cd was that cassettes would lose tension, unspool or fall apart way too often. But the switch to iPod was even smoother – no more carting around endless cd cases or wallets when I was out for the day. To think at one time I had a cd wallet that held up to 100 cds when I was travelling – now all I need is my trusty iPod & a recharger.
Back to Buchanan – that cassette was too short but his playing was astonishing – I may not have been crazy about his spirituals but I loved his originals Dirty Teddy etc. When I began to upgrade to cd I found the paring of that with his self-titled first release.
Then came time to add more & I found other two easily enough. On Fire has some astonishing playing where one would least expect it – his guitar work on Green Onions blows my mind – his take on Neil Young’s Down By The River gives me chills. Very Pink Floyd.
Deluxe is a compilation from his later studio albums – some great work with Otis Clay but parts of it suffers from the overlay of strings that an idiot producer thought would give Roy more commercial appeal. The booklets with each of these is excellent. Like most brilliant guitarists his history isn’t pretty. If you aren’t familiar with him start with Guitar on Fire & be prepared to be amazed.
Contents of Table
I’m often surprised that I don’t feel any more pain than I do. The bends have been at my joints for as long as I or anyone can remember. The bends support the load of my world. Gentle but firm curves that have held in place without question or hesitation.
Hard hollow steel joints. I guess I’m one of the lucky ones to have only these four bends, to have this comfortable wooden covering that shields my thin bones from much of what I do get to hold.
I’ve seen the wooden ones suffer over the years, kicks, scrapes, chips, splinters that have lead them out of the room, into the beyond. I shudder to think of what lies beyond. I shudder to think of life outside in that room with no walls, no ceiling. How small one would be.
Here I have a purpose that is the same, yet changes with each user. Some place books, pamphlets on top of me. Other cover me with frilly cloth to hold their milk and cookies and sandwiches.
Occasionally someone stick blobs of sticky sweetness on my underside. The blobs tickle at first but slowly harden in to gradually shrinking lumps that itch.
Sadly my underside goes unseen or cared for for long lengths of time. At least my top and sometimes my legs get stroked, washed with warm soapy water, made fresh and clean. I am sorry to have lost one of my little plastic shoes. The scrapping of that foot across the floor sends shudders of startling loudness across my top.
Then there are the long hours of just sitting alone in the dark. It can be days before I find myself pulled out of a stack of other tables for use. When I am not of service the endless bend of my joints pulls my attention to it. Not that it is an ache but a friction, a constant tenseness that leads me to wonder what would feel like if I didn’t have that bend. If my bones were just straight, perfectly straight. Then I realize that would mean my underside would press flat against the floor.
How horrid that would be.
Now I have some distance between me and that floor. But to be pressed so close to it would be obscene. Once I recall my top being flipped over to touch the hard endless surface of the floor. If my legs could have shaken they would have at that disgusting moment. It felt so unnatural, unwholesome to touch the floor when one is meant to face the ceiling. I’d rather face the uncomfortable expanse of the sky.
November 18, Wednesday: judging at Hot Damn! it’s a Queer Slam – Supermarket Restaurant and Bar 268 Augusta Ave., Toronto, Ontario M5T2L9
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