Rick's songs: Kancamagus' Git-tar and BC/AD

 I have a lot of songs that I never really get to play, so I did a live stream of a couple of them on Facebook.  That was fun, so I may keep doing it.  The link for them is:

https://youtu.be/IAvhJbGmyhE\

Kancamagus' Git-tar

Nobody sits on Hammurabi's bar stool

They don't want to disrespect the dead

Kancamagus' git-tar hangs on the wall

Take it, and you could get slapped upside the head

Pliny was talking to Madame Curie last night, Pliny says

'If I'd had access to Gutenberg's printing press,

I could have told the whole truth about Trajan

Spread it around and had him all up in a mess'

_

I work in a bar where all the greats hang out

I wipe down tables, make sure the ashtrays are clean

Nobody notices me if I just keep busy

I should be fired, but the boss ain't that mean

The history makers come here to relax

They're loaded down heavy and deep in debt

I coulda been one of them, but I'm not that unlucky

It's a good day if no one's cussed me out yet

_

The great mystery of the uncaused cause

The lamb's blood, the lion's claws

He's with them all, the worst and the best

He's Dad's strong arm and Mommy's breast

He's in the leaf, but he's not the leaf

He's in the sea, but he's not the sea

He's in the wing, but he's not the eagle

He's in Peanuts, but he's not the beagle

_

I was out watching the big parade

Sipping some wine and sitting in the shade

I thought I saw myself going by

But it was just an illusion that the shadows made

Nobody sits on Hammurabi's bar stool

They don't want to disrespect the dead

Kancamagus' git-tar hangs on the wall . . .

    - R. Clogston, 10/29/2019

BC – AD

My old distorted mirror has been shattered

Nothing I see in it ever mattered

There were times when this world had me for its slave

For the thrill of the week, everything I gave

My motto was, question authority.

The only thing in life that was important was me

And I knew there was a light shining deep down inside

And there was no place for me to hide

My friends all used to say, boy, you is crazy

But they didn't mind 'cause I sure put on a show

The things that I fueled up on made me lazy

And for all my education, there's a lot I didn't know

Meanwhile, somebody's shaking his head and looking

Offering me love while I was hooking

Finally got me backed into a corner,

said there's only one way out

And the only other choice is straight down

I used to do, I used to be,

I used to say, hey, but that was BC

Now I am found, now I am free,

No longer bound, you know, this is AD

Now, one day I was driving down the freeway

Couldn't keep from hitting things that got in my way

So I let somebody better than me drive

And the road I'm on is straighter, and I'm glad to be alive

Now I'm a servant of the holy King of Kings

And he has me do such wonderful things

He brought me out of darkness and showed me the dawn

And all I've gotta do is have faith and hang on

Now my friends all say to me, come on in, brother

My family stretches all throughout the earth

My father is the Lord, I'll have no other

And heaven celebrated on the day of my rebirth

Well, I think my father's pleased to know I love him

Every chance I get, I'm thinking of him

He says, boy, there will be times

when this ol' world's just gonna hate you

But when it's all been said and done, son,

you'll be right here by my side

I used to do, I used to be . . .

    R. Clogston, March, 1984

San Francisco

 This is one chapter from my novel, "Nobody From Nowhere."  It's the story of a young man in the mid-to-late 1970's who becomes the lead guitarist for an up-and-coming band, The Wolves.

Dawn Kelly is the lead singer.  She's considerably older than James Grant, the guitar player.  She used to be in a group in the '60's named Medicine Stones, which was part of the San Francisco scene.  The band fell victim to a number of problems, from infighting to drug addiction.  It ended when she got busted for heroin and went to prison for a year.

When she got out, she formed The Wolves.  In this chapter, the current tour has taken them to San Francisco.  It's the first time she's been there since Medicine Stones broke up, and she's giving James a bit of a guided tour.

- - - - -

11 – San Francisco

Dawn and James stood at the corner of Post and Steiner streets outside the Winterland Ballroom. In a few short hours, they would use their 20 minutes to try and make an impression on the music fans of San Francisco.

“Union Square’s just a little ways up there,” she said, pointing up Post Street. “We used to jam there. Played at the Fillmore, People’s Park . . . s***, I don’t think there’s any place in this town we didn’t play.”

She was trying to have a good time showing her young guitarist some of the city she knew so well. The trouble was, everything she laid eyes on dredged up ghosts from the past. Too much of it made her want to run into the bus and put her pillow over her head. Or, find a dealer and score some smack.

James, on the other hand, was fascinated. He’d been to Boston a couple times, Manchester and Concord, New Hampshire, but from here he could smell the Pacific Ocean. “Then you must have known Janis Joplin?”

“Oh, man, I knew ‘em all!” she said. “Loved hanging out with Big Brother. Used to get high with Jim Gurley all the time.”

“Wow! I love his playing!”

Dawn was surprised. “Really?!? He plays entirely different from you.”

“Yeah, but it’s some bad s***,” James said. “Just hang on and let fly. You can’t make that stuff up!”

Dawn laughed. “Professor, you never cease to amaze me.”

“So, you said you guys played Woodstock. Did you do Monterey Pop?”

“No, but I went as moral support. In some ways, it was like a battle. San Fran versus Hollywood, with some Brits thrown in. Who knew Hendrix was gonna steal the whole show? But the Frisco team did well, I thought. And it all proved to me that the first two letters in ‘lame’ are LA.”

They walked down the street, James continually pumping her with questions. She was usually close-mouthed on the past, but was getting comfortable around the kid. It gave her a chance to remember the good stuff. Riding her thumb from Boston, finding kind strangers, the Haight in the Sixties, opening for Santana and Quicksilver Messenger Service at the Fillmore, busking for quarters at Fisherman’s Wharf. She even admitted about the time she slept with Janis.

“No way!” James said, a bit shocked.

“I have a hard and fast rule,” she said. “I try to only do what feels good. And the things I like . . .” She gave him a wink. “. . . I try ‘em again.”

He blushed a little. They hadn’t slept together since that first night, but she knew he was getting lucky on a regular basis. How could he not? With that face, and his ‘aw, shucks’ demeanor, he was irresistible. She was sure that every girl he nailed thought she was his first. She made a mental note to find out if he’d learned anything in the interim.

She was about to regale him with the tale of her passionate love affair with the other girl singer, Angel, just to shock him some more when they went around a corner. When she saw who was coming toward them, she stopped short.

“Gotta quarter?” the disheveled man asked.

She gave him a sour look and dug around in the pocket of her jeans. She found a coin and handed it to him. “Hi, Tom,” she said, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

He accepted the coin and squinted at her. Then, a huge grin split his matted beard.

“Dawn?”

“The one and only,” she said. James could see how tense she was.

The scruffy man aimed his gaze at James. “So . . . this your kid?”

She laughed. “No, man, just a friend.”

James stuck out his hand. “I’m James. I’m the guitar player in her band.”

Tom looked at the hand, then shook it like he was handing someone a dead fish. Dawn shot James a quick shut-up glance.

“James, huh?” Then the rest of the information seeped through and he turned back to Dawn. “You got another band?”

She shrugged. “Just futzing around.” James held his peace, having gotten the message.

Tom’s gaze wavered back toward James. “So, she probably told you all about me, heh?”

He gave Dawn a glance, looking for direction. He had no idea who this person was.

“James, this is Tom Hayes. Oh, I’m sorry . . . Apollo. Like the Greek god, right?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed, and he looked back and forth between his old friend and her new one. “Dawn and me, we were in a band together,” he said finally. “We all had stage names. She was . . . well, she was Dawn. Couldn’t top that. Dawn, Angel, Frazz, Mikey . . . No, wait, he was . . . Hey, what did we call Mikey?”

“Dead.” She gave her old band mate a look that indicated that her patience was at an end. “About a month after Angel. Or at least, that’s what I heard in prison.”

Tom scratched the back of his neck absently. “Oh. Right.”

She turned to James and cocked a thumb at her old band leader. “This is the clown that drove Angel and I up to the Emergency Room door and bailed.”

“Hey, I saved your life,” he said with a scowl.

“And your rich lawyer daddy hung that bus full of dope around my neck,” she spat back. “The judge said he’d have given me life, but his kids liked our music.”

“Now, look, that wasn’t my –“ he protested, but Dawn cut him off.

“This is also the bastard that got me addicted in the first place,” she told James. Then, in a sing-song voice; “You snort it, you can't get hooked.”

“Why, you . . .”

Those were the last coherent words out of either of them for the next minute or so. The air turned blue as the two old bandmates screamed bloody murder at each other. James saw Tom – or, rather, Apollo – rear back to throw a punch at his lead singer. Before he could, the young guitarist grabbed the pinky finger of his other hand and wrenched it hard. The scruffy man immediately dropped to one knee and began to keen loudly.

“It’s been a pleasure to meet you, sir,” James said with a lot more calm than he felt, “but we really should be going.” He gave Tom Hayes, former leader and rhythm guitarist for Medicine Stones, a shove. The man plopped on his back and continued his whining, cradling his injured hand in the other.

James and Dawn made haste, around the corner and back toward Winterland. When it became apparent they weren’t being followed, they slowed.

“Can you believe that f***ing bastard?” Dawn roared. “What kind of f***ing bulls*** was that? Why, that s***y, lousy, f***ing . . .”

James just walked along silently. Dawn could tell that he was upset. She took his hand in hers. “Okay, Professor, it’s fine. You did well. You okay?”

James gave her a wan smile, remembering something his grandmother once said to his older brother.

“Y’know . . . when every third word out of your mouth is ‘s***’ or ‘f***,’ it reveals a lack of imagination.”

Dawn’s jaw dropped. Then she laughed and plunked her head on his shoulder.

“Point taken,” she said.

They walked along until they got to the back of the auditorium that they would be playing in a couple hours.

“I’m not mad about the jail time,” she said out of the blue. “I deserved it. What makes me mad is the fact that I used to believe in that so-and-so. You’d never know it now, but he looked like he could have been Apollo. And, man, could he weave his webs. There were three girls in the band, and he had us all in bed and begging for more. Sometimes, all at once. We had two singles on the charts, got to be on Shindig . . .”

She stopped and looked James hard in the eye. “That, my young friend, is what heroin does to you. What you saw right there is a dead man walking. He had everything, and now he has a monkey on his back, and it will ride him to his grave.”

The Last Hippie Muses

Titles for instrumentals I don't remember writing:

Furby's Last Friend

Lisa Marie's Deep Brown Crown Victoria (for which she traded an old Mercury Montego before finding out it was really a used police car)

Tickling the Nickels

Buried Beneath Somebody Else’s Barn

Jerry Orbach’s Car (We’d have called it Jerry Orbach’s Eyebrows, but we don’t know anything about his eyebrows.)

The Last Hippie Muses

". . . and that's when the Illuminati had him assassinated," the Last Hippie said solemnly, punctuating his statement with a long pull on the fat doobie in his hand.  "Stupid bastards . . ."

We sat nervously, not sure whether to believe a word the scraggly old freak was saying.  It didn't matter.  He kept right on saying it.

"The Secret Army was never really behind him anyway," he said, blowing out the lungful of smoke.  "Half of them thought he was crazy, and all of 'em were just there for the free donuts.  But the Navy . . ."  Another drag.  ". . . They were the real deal.  They believed."

The Last Hippie shifted in his chair and examined the glowing end of his joint.  "Of course, the Colonel was a hundred percent behind it.  He even paid for the training.  I think what it was, people called him the King for so long, they got to believing it."

He sighed, the smoke now thick in the air.  "Anyway, after the funeral, the Army just disappeared.  You find one of them rats now, they'll deny everything.  The Navy hung in there as long as they could, but with nobody making the loan payments the banks eventually took the pontoon boats.  It didn't matter.  Elvis never told 'em where he buried the ammo anyway."

He got up and strode slowly to the window.  Then he laughed.  "Jimmy Carter still has no idea how close the bullet was that he dodged."

Interview with Albus Dumbledore

This is an interview with a man who really needs no introduction. Lead guitarist for The Order Of The Phoenix, he later went solo, while continuing to do the occasional Phoenix project. It was thought that he would go on to be bigger even than the Beatles or Elvis, especially after he shut down Gellert Grindelwald in a guitar duel at the Isle of Wight festival. 

Instead, he devoted himself more and more to the business side of the music industry. His own records have shown remarkable growth for an artist over the years, as he preferred to follow his own muse over the winds of popular acclaim. Even so, his legacy is more firmly rooted in the young artists he’s nurtured over the years.  

Known now as “The Professor,” he is the Chief Executive Officer of Hogwart’s Group, one of the oldest music companies in Great Britain. Covering the recording industry, music publishing, management, and even an advanced music academy, it is believed that Albus Dumbledore has had at least as much influence over the music we hear today as he might have following the star of his own popularity. It was a rare privilege to sit with this great artist for a private interview.

  ------------------- 

 RC: Thank you for the gracious invitation to speak with you today, Professor. 

AD: The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. 

RC: It’s not many artists who can boast the recent release of their seventh Greatest Hits album. 

AD: Strictly a business decision, I assure you. There’s not a great deal of recent material on it that actually made an impact on the charts, but the release puts a little life into the old catalogue. (Laughs) Not that I need the money any more, but one likes to create the illusion of being relevant. 

RC: I think your relevance is pretty firmly established, if I may say so. Far beyond your sales figures, and they are impressive. 

AD: Thank you for saying so. 

RC: There are those who would say, beyond your artistic accomplishments, you are quite simply one of the most powerful men in the music industry. 

AD: Oh, do they now? And just what does that mean? 

RC: (After a significant pause) Well, simply that . . . you have a great deal of influence in the world of music. 

 AD: And where might that world be? Hmm? 

RC: I’m not sure I . . . 

AD: Quickly, what’s the biggest hit you can think of? 

 RC: Biggest hit? Song? Oh, probably . . . Stairway to Heaven, or Hey Jude . . . 

AD: Let’s say Stairway to Heaven. A classic, to be sure. Hardly anyone between the ages of sixty and ten would fail to recognize it. In a hundred years if you were to dredge up the name ‘Led Zeppelin’ that song will surely spring to mind. I understand it is the most broadcast song in history. And yet, to someone driving down the road listening to it on their car radio it’s seven minutes of their commute; nothing more. It was preceded by another song, and followed by yet another. If Stairway To Heaven had never been written, the DJ could substitute Hey Jude, or anything else. 

RC: I suppose so . . . 

AD: So what kind of power is there, really, within what you consider the ‘world of music?’ 

 RC: Well, you know . . . the power to increase wealth, to grant fame, establish a legacy – 

AD: But all relating to a luxury item, essentially. Popular music is the sort of thing that gives one power on the scale relative to the amount of money you earn from it. When I was young, we were trying to achieve real power. 

RC: What do you mean, real power? You mean, use your fame as a platform to, say, run for public office? 

AD: (laughs) My dear boy, a pop star already has more power than a Prime Minister or a President. A politician’s powers are clearly delineated, and he owes his very soul to outside interests who exercise their power behind the scenes. But even somebody like, for instance, Hannah Montana can affect the very way people think. Now, that’s power. And we were looking even beyond that. 

RC: I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I’m following you. 

AD: All right . . . here’s an example. How many cycles per second is the A below middle C? 

RC: 440, I believe. 

AD: That is correct. And an octave above? 

RC: 880? 

AD: Correct again. And an octave below is 220, and below that is 110, and so forth. To get an A that is one hundred and ten cycles per second, you’d have to take the bottom string on a five-string bass and tune it down a whole step. An octave below that would be 55 cycles per second, and on and on. Now, can you tell me what note the planet Earth is playing? 

RC: . . . er . . . planet Earth? 

AD: In order to know that, you have to know how many seconds in a year. And not just break 365 days down to hours, minutes, and seconds. It might be in some scientific journal somewhere, and I’m sure there’s a little flexibility of a few seconds every year, but it would be possible at that point to halve it, and then again, and finally get a note within the hearable range that would be a relative octave with the note the Earth is playing. Or Mars, or Saturn, or Mercury. 

Now, to a student of astrology, this could potentially have more of an impact than the chart position of a song. If you wanted to influence destiny, of a person or the planet or any other subject of a song, you would write the song in Saturn’s key, because Saturn is supposed to be the planet of destiny. 

RC: I’m beginning to see. 

AD: That’s not the only example of the potential power of music, either. There were musicians who were trying to reproduce the state of mind attained through transcendental meditation, or psychotropic drugs, and for the listener as well as the performer. We were all reading about how the pyramids must have been made by telekinetic energy, and we were even trying to tap into that. Through the intelligent use of music, anything seemed possible. There are still those who strive in these directions, I’ve no doubt. 

RC: So why did you stop? Or did you? 

 AD: I did, and the reason is simply this; power corrupts. I found that out the hard way, unfortunately, during my ill-conceived partnership with Gellert Grindelwald. 

RC: I’ve seen the articles about that. It created quite a stir when that information became public. 

AD: He was attempting no less than mass hypnosis, and in experimentation I was quite frankly shocked by the direction things began to go. We had half an album in the can, and I don’t mind telling you that I burned the tapes as soon as Gellert left. I am happy to report that no bootlegs of those sessions survived. He carried on alone, which is why I stood against him at the Isle of Wight. 

RC: I hate to say it, but . . . I can actually see some benefits to such things. You know, if the right people use the methods you were exploring . . . 

AD: Congratulations. That’s the same kind of thinking that gave us rock stars like Adolph Hitler and Mao Tse-Tung. It’s tempting to take power and put it in the, quote-unquote, right hands. Trust the word of someone who’s held power in his hands; it’s dirty. You can’t use it to make things clean. Believe it or not, Hitler, Mussolini, Mao, and their ilk honestly believed that they had the best intentions when they set out to do the things they did. The people we should fear the most are the ones who believe they are on a mission from God, and are seeking to power to BE a god. 

RC: But isn’t it worth the risk, in order to – 

AD: Every child knows that there are powerful people in the world who are abusing their power. The people who populate our daily newscasts don’t even have the tenth share of the real power, and everybody knows that, too. The answer is not to replace one form of bondage with another. The answer is to give people the power to free themselves.  

(At this point, I leaned back in my chair and quickly skimmed over my notes. I suppose I had a look of concern as I turned my attention back to the old Professor.) 

RC: Excuse me, but . . . 

AD: Is there something wrong, dear boy? 

RC: I’m sorry to say it’s . . . beginning to sound like an advertisement for impotence.  

(Dumbledore blinked rapidly and smiled.) 

AD: I beg your pardon? 

RC: It sounds like you’re saying that power is bad, so don’t have any. Enjoy being nothing. 

AD: (laughs) Nothing so Zen as that, I assure you. First of all, it would be terribly hypocritical of me to take that attitude, don’t you think? The one with all this power in the world of music? By all means, go ahead and do whatever it is that you do, and accept the benefits gained. 

But then, what will you do? Will you grasp what you’ve gained, or will you open your hand? Will you keep these blessings for yourself, or will you choose to be a blessing to others? That was the biggest disagreement that I had with Gellert Grindelwald. He did not trust his fellow man. 

In a way, I could see his point. Unlike many others, I believe humanity is a fallen race. And yet, if we’re going to change the world, these are the people we have to deal with to do it. A perfect world will have to be populated by perfect people. Unfortunately, there’s only one person whose life I have any real lasting control over; my own. 

Grindelwald had ideals, but he thought the thing to do was make everyone else adhere to them. He couldn’t even adhere to them himself. He never realized that people behaving correctly requires that they trust one another. Unless you make mindless robots of them, of course. But if people are to have free will – and they most certainly do – then we simply have to trust each other. 

RC: But didn’t you just say that you believe humanity to be a fallen race? How can we truly trust each other? 

AD: We bite our tongue and do it anyway. Not stupidly believing everything that everyone says, of course, but as a means of bringing out . . . what was it one of your Presidents once said? The better angels of our nature?

RC: Abraham Lincoln. 

AD: Indeed. The Bible says that we should keep our minds on that which is excellent, praiseworthy, beautiful, and so forth. How can we do that at the same time as we’re finding fault with everyone? Finding bad things to think about is ridiculously easy. My job, as an artist and a teacher and promoter of artists, is to fill the world with so much good that the bad gets crowded out. It’s easy, and even profitable, to shock people. I find it much more fulfilling to inspire them.

Sugar, Sugar

Just before Christmas, I sat down with an artist who I've been an admirer of all my life. He was a founding member of one of the most influential bands of the late '60's. 

From humble beginnings in the small suburb of Riverdale, Reggie Mantle rose to the top of the charts with a handful of friends whose only goal was to form a little garage band and have some fun. 

It all started in the waning days of the British Invasion, when it seemed that any teenager with a flashy smile and a used guitar could rise to riches and fame overnight. 

Reggie, along with friends Archie Andrews and Jughead Jones, had a little pop-power trio, their beat-up equipment squeezed in beside the battered hot rod that Andrews drove to school every morning. As the host of the jam sessions, Archie took the lead guitar spot and Reg moved over to bass, with Jughead on drums. Soon, two local girls, Betty Cooper and debutante Veronica Lodge came on to play percussion and keyboards respectively. 

Andrews was the front man, but it was clear from the outset that Mantle was the brains behind the outfit. Now, nearly thirty-five years since The Archies' last album was released, I had the once-in-a-lifetime chance to sit down one-on-one with one of rock and roll's true icons. 

-------------- 

PP: The question remains, was The Archies a true collaboration, or were you Archie Andrews' back-up group? 

RM: (laughs) I guess it would be easy to think that. We practiced at his place, and he really was, at least in the early days, the most relaxed on stage. He was also a very good guitar player, so I didn't mind stepping back. What people tend to forget was that everybody in the group sang. Even Jughead, although we only let him sing lead on the Christmas tunes. 

PP: I remember his Christmas album. 

RM: That was my first stint as a producer. Not exactly high art, but we had a good time. (laughs again.) Of course, that was right at the start of Juggy's substance abuse period. We tried to keep it quiet, but I'd have to say that was the beginning of the end for the band. That, and his fling with Ronnie.  

PP: Now, wait a minute. Did I hear you right? There was a romantic link between Veronica and Jughead? 

RM: She'd deny it, of course, but it was pretty hot and heavy for a while. Surprisingly, Arch was the last to figure it out, and when he did he went nuts. We were doing a session, and they were late. I mean, hours late. Archie keeps asking questions, and Betty and I tried not to answer them. Eventually, he put two and two together, and then he trashed Jug's drum kit. 

PP: Wow. 

RM: The whole thing was fueled by Columbian marching powder, of course. We finished the record, and the tour was a disaster. Ronnie had a lucid moment and went into rehab, but the band was finished. 

PP: And Jughead? 

RM: He spent a couple years in denial, but eventually got his act together. Did it the hard way, too. Just stopped. Didn't know he was that strong, but he's stuck with it. Going to a good church, married, a couple of really nice kids, but he left Riverdale, won't talk about a reunion tour, nothing. Wants nothing to do with The Archies. Can't say I blame him, considering.  

PP: Were you disappointed that Betty married Archie?  

RM: It kinda stung, but I guess I expected it. Of course, the public thought that Arch and I used to fight over Ronnie, but she . . . Let's just say that she's independent. Didn't need either of us, when you come right down to it. 

PP: She was playing you?  

RM: You said that, not me. (laughed) The Archies was a thing to do. She was good at it. She's good at everything. She's running Lodge Enterprises now, and her father's smiling through his golden years. 

PP: What about your brief marriage to Midge, and the falling out with Moose? 

RM: I told you we werent' going to discuss that.  

PP: Your stint at Betty Ford? 

RM: This interview is over! 

(Reggie stood over me, scowling, for a full minute. I was tempted to apologize and beg him to continue, but I stood my ground. Don't ask me why. A range of emotion played on his face. Finally, he sat down.)  

RM: I've got a good life now. I may not have a wall full of grammies, but there's a few gold records. I'm a producer in L. A., and there's a lot of people who would give their right arm to be me. I put out a solo album every few years, I work steady . . . I got the monkey off my back. It was tough, but it's done. One day at a time. 

PP: Do you keep in touch with Archie and Betty? 

RM: Oh, yeah. I get back to Riverdale every now and then, and they've been to L. A. a couple times. Betty's even put background vocals on a couple projects I've worked on. I'm expecting them to come out to Cleveland later in the year for the induction into the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame. I'll call Ronnie and Jug, but I don't expect them to show.  

PP: So, no new Archies music? 

RM: I'm remastering the first two albums. There'll be demand after we're inducted, and it's a chance to finally clean up the mix, which I never liked. 

------------- 

We talked for another hour. Eventually, he forgave me for invading his privacy. He understood that he owed his fans an explanation. He also understood that he owed them his regrets, and his victories. It was a good time. It's not often in your life that you get a chance to share an afternoon with one of your heroes.