Booker T & the MGs featuring Eddie Floyd

Live @ the Dakota
June 15-16 • 7:30 & 9:30 PM each night

Booker T & the MGs featuring Eddie Floyd:
Booker T. Jones, organ
Steve Cropper, guitar
Donald "Duck" Dunn, bass
Steve Potts, drums
With special guest Eddie Floyd

Bobby Blue Bland @ the Dakota: "I've Got You Covered, Baby."

Bobby Blue Bland @ the Dakota, March 31, 2010 (photo from somewhere in time).

The warm up act Divina and the Vagabonds: what at first blush is a pretty good Billie Holiday impression gets old quickly. Then again, maybe it wasn't a Billie Holiday impression at all just a bad overbite. Nice material and band, especially trumpet player kinda cool, like if Curtis A played trumpet.

Main Event:

The Man, old (80). The voice, still has it but the legendary growl a little phlegmy. Incredible band including great 4 piece horn section, great rhythm section and killer guitarist. Bobby was assisted onstage where he performed seated. This put him at eye level with the rich white folks at the expensive tables. As soon as he turned on his mic, he transformed from a frail elderly man into what I call the Black Sinatra, except better band and better material. Talk about presence, and I don't mean the kind under the Christmas tree, he controlled the room, put down boisterous lady fans shouting "I love you Bobby!", to which he would reply in a Barry White baritone, "Bobby's got you covered". He did a little over an hour set hitting most of his big hits, which is saying alot but the best part of the evening is how he, good naturedly, at least outwardly, f**ked with the rich white folks. My peeps did not disappoint and rose to the level, making fools of themselves whether responding to Bobby's passive aggressive line of questioning: "Hey big fella, can you handle it?", "Are you married?" or "You ever get the blues?" or falling over from too many martinis like the rich corporate type sitting in front of me who rolled around on his back like a turtle, to his wife's horror, who quickly escorted the rich lite weight out before the end of the show.

For food I had the Dakota wings with Tabasco molasses sauce, a trash can sized basket of fries and Bearnaise sauce and many summits. Oh, a cute waitress to boot.

More Miles Than Money: But Escovedo & Band More Than Worth the Trip

Trying to get ready to leave, for even a two day bike trip, is an exhausting experience for someone wired like me. I put off several tasks ranging in time to complete from several hours to the better part of a day and then try to accomplish them all in just a couple of hours prior to leaving. The end result of which is that I become so frazzled I just say f*** it and take off with the uncomfortable feeling that I forgot to do something or left something important behind.

First stop is the Hitching Post by my gun club to see if I can get my motorcycle serviced. The guys in the service department take pretty good care of me and get me in without an appointment and out the door with an oil change, fluid and battery check in less than an hour. I use the down time constructively by having a couple of cold ones at Nick's down the street. I had been waiting for my friend and gun club manager to join me for a drink but he got held up and since they finished my bike so quick, I decided to drop in to the club and say hello on my way out of town. My timing proved fortuitous as I got to meet the newly elected club President, Mark, as well as getting to see the outgoing President and newly elected Vice President, Gene. I greatly admire Gene for serving many terms as club president, many years by default, as it is a thankless task to be on the board or an officer of a non-profit. As far as I can tell by observation, much of your time is spent refereeing adults who act like children. The King is dead, long live the King! May you enjoy your Bidenhood Gene.

As it turns out, my timing continues to prove good as I leave the club around 2 P.M. beating rush hour traffic on 694 and before I know it I'm on I94 heading east with the warm afternoon sun and a light wind at my back. The weather and ride could not be more beautiful. I get a little carried away and anxious from my abortive Steve Earle Bayfield, WI no-show (by me, I misjudged the distance and missed the entire show; showing up as it ended!) and I open up my throttle arriving in Madison in 3 1/2 hours. Don't do the math.

As usual, I am flying by the seat of my pants, i.e. traveling without a map. Hell, I thought, I made it from Minneapolis to New Orleans without a map, why would I need a map to go just to Madison, WI? Well, I almost found out why but luckily took the last exit to Madison before I was committed to taking the turn off to Chicago. I went South on Highway 30 until I saw an exit for East Washington which, I remembered, was the street the club was on. The club was the High Noon Saloon and was where Alejandro Escovedo and his Band were playing later that night. I follow East Washington toward the state capitol and almost pass the club without recognizing it as it was nothing like its name implied. Instead of a faux western ghost town facade, the club was located in a low-story brick office building which resembled an old bank building or Carneige Library. Great I found the club, now my hotel must be nearby.

Unfortunately I booked my hotel in advance online thru Hotwire and although I got a great rate, they won't tell you the name of the hotel before you book it. Hotwire's description of the hotel's location was between .5 and 5.o miles from the state capitol. You see I prefer to walk to a venue, especially if drinking will be involved and especially if I am in a strange town. I therefore find myself stopped in a lane of thru traffic in front of the state capitol looking for a high rise hotel, oblivious to the rush hour traffic barreling down on me. A passerby, who must have sensed my impending danger of being run over, offerered assistance with a quizical: "Looking for something?" "The Sheraton by the capitol." I answer back. The man said with a look of disbelief, "I know there's a Sheraton out by the XCel Center but I never heard of one around here" he says. I tell him I'm pretty sure its right next to the Capitol, but before I can finish my sentence he has it pulled up on his Blackberry and gives me directions to John Nolen Drive. As it turned out, my hotel was a short drive (3 or 4 miles) down John Nolen Drive which runs between the two lakes with the state capitol at one end and the Xcel civic center at the other, across a bridge.

My $59 room was over the top and I enjoy a couple hours of nodding in and out of consciousness watching the local PBS station on my room's high def t.v. Before I know it, it is 8:30 P.M. and time to head for the show. Madison is actually quite a beautiful town I think to my self as I ride over the bridge on a gorgeous full moon night. I am heading toward the orange glow of the capitol dome with the lights of the city reflecting off the two lakes, one on either side of me.

Madison Blues? Hardly, Rather A Celebration of Life

Within the hour I will be jumping on my motorcycle for an early Spring ride across the upper Midwest to Madison Wisconsin. Why would anyone in their right mind take a cycle trip when in an instant the weather could change and leave one stranded by a not so unusaual Spring blizzard?

The simple answer is Music. But not just any music. The music of Alejandro Escovedo, the greatest, most talented singer songwriter of his generation and his excellent band including the baddest, most powerful drummer this side of Eric Gravatt, the incomparable Hector Munoz! So to all my friends and colleagues who would rather play it safe and see a children's movie, all I have to say is: "This ain't no disco, this ain't no Mud Club, no CBGB's and I ain't fooling around..." (to paraphrase David Byrne).

Palm Sunday Reflections on Armageddon and Jerusalem

No, this long procrastinated posting to the Great Roll Call is not about so-called Bible Prophecy, although it does come on Palm Sunday. No this is not going to be about the impending tribulations, rapture and armed showdown as prelude to the second coming, although if you listen to the minority leader of the House of Representatives, Republican John Boehner and his minions in the Tea Party aka the 21st Century's version of the Know Nothing Party, you would know, of course, that Armageddon was the natural consequence to something so Christian as universal health care. No, I leave that to Jack Van Impe and his lovely wife Rexella. Besides, I can never understand what will be left for Jesus to reign over after thermonuclear war. This is one big reason, though, why the pro-Zionist, born-again Chistians for Israel, AIPAC lobby and Bush administration policy of unconditional support for Israel was and is so misguided. For me at least, doing things to hasten the beginning of End Times should be avoided at all costs. One of the more beautiful and wise tenets of the Jewish religion, as I understand it, and I paraphrase, is that you make your own heaven and/or hell here on Earth, while your alive. To me then, the only rational and logical course of action should be to say to ourselves, to quote the wise but severally beaten Rodney King: "Can we all just get along?"

The title actually comes from a night of interrupted sleep and the fact that my clock radio is left on all night tuned to the best public radio station in America which broadcasts BBC News all night from 11 P.M. to 4:30 A.M. weekdays and until 6 or 7 A.M. on weekends. Now that I am of the age where my body wakes me up at least once a night to well, as Elvis would say, TCB (i.e. Takin' Care of Business), I enjoy catching up on how we Americans are perceived by others, even if it is from our cousins with bad teeth across the pond. Being self-absorbed by nature, it is helpful to be reminded from time to time that reality, that is the real world, does not consist merely of your own or your own group's mentality or perceived reality, it also consists of how you are perceived by others.

Which brings me to, why would the Israelis insist on doing something as unproductive to the Peace process as announcing the construction of an additional 1600 residences in occupied territory, during a visit by the U.S. Vice President, unless, by virtue of sheer arrogance, they thought they could get away with it. Where the Israelis miscalculated was that the Obama Administration is not the lap dog Bush Administration and unlike the Bush Administration approaches problems with intellectual curiosity and intelligence not merely what is best for your wealthy or powerful political contributors. Therefore it does not take a Bible prophet to predict that something as potentially dangerous to U.S. military personnel, engaged in two wars in Muslim countries, as this news would not be well received by Washington. Why the Israelis would, in essence, flip the bird to the world, including the U.S. and continue with their construction on occupied Palestinian land, belonging once to both Muslim and Christian Palestinians, is beyond my comprehension.

Along a similar vein, why are thousands, if not millions of middle and working class Americans so vehemently opposed to something that eventually will be in their and everyone else's best interest as universal health care? I suppose for the same reasons that would compel otherwise rational middle and working class Americans to belong to an organization like the Republican party that works against their own economic interests for the benefit of a few percent of the population who by virtue of serendipity, birth or illegal and/or quasi-legal means, become grotesquely rich: fear of change and others not like themselves, ignorance and conscious or unconscious bigotry.

Which brings me to Boehner and the Tea Baggers. Any group or person that spits and hurls racial and hate-filled epithets at members of Congress as they attempted to make their way into the House Chambers or make speeches from the floor of Congress equating the reform of medical insurance abuses (like rescission and pre-existing condition exclusions) with "Armageddon" like the minority leader did, or announcing, a lot belatedly I'll note, that the Republicans are done working with the Obama Administration in times as difficult and troubled as the present, like the formerly straight talk express John McCain, recently did, in the company of the Queen of Ignorance Sara, no less, is utterly reprehensible and leaves little doubt in the minds of thoughtful Americans as to who are causing the oxygen sucking divisiveness and gridlock that is Washington.

Listening to the Brits last night, it is amazing how clarifying a little perspective can be. In summarizing the weeks news, the BBC newscaster noted that the health care bill that recently passed was very similar in concept to the plan advocated by the Republicans in 1993 in opposition to what they then dubbed Hillary care, and the mandate the tea baggers are falling over each other about railing "Unconstitutional!" is taken right from the pages of Republican and then Governor of Massachusetts Mint Romney's health care reform law. So if it is not really about the message, but the messenger, it leaves little doubt as to what the real motivations of the Republicans and Tea Baggers are. Just a hint, it's not patriotism.

SPECIAL REPORT****WEATHER ALERT****SPECIAL REPORT

Residents of the state of Louisiana, you have less than FOUR HOURS notice to vacate low lying places (like the SuperDome) because Hurricane Brett is coming and is expected to hit land at 5:40 PM on January 24th.

"Who dat?" It's the Vikings and we're coming to pillage. SKOL VIKINGS!!!!

Massachusetts Massacre and Supreme Court Decision Bode Ominous Times Ahead for Dems

As if the news this week were not bad enough for Democrats and informed working class people, what with the Cosmo pin-up boy toy Scott Brown fiasco in Massachusetts (which just goes to show that sex sells), the U.S. Supreme Court delivered an even more crushing blow with its decision in Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission released yesterday.

In a 5-4 split decision, the conservative majority in the Supreme Court struck down the Bipartisan Campaign Reform Act of 2002 (BCRA), a federal law which prohibited corporations and unions from using their general treasury funds to make independent expenditures for speech that is an “electioneering communication” or for speech that expressly advocates the election or defeat of a candidate. The Court held that because the question cannot be resolved on other, narrower grounds without chilling political speech, the Court must consider the continuing effect of the speech suppression upheld in a previous case, Austin. The Court then expressly overruled Austin stating that it no longer provides a basis for allowing the Government to limit corporate independent expenditures.

Now the Republicans will try to convince the ignorant masses, the Know Nothings and the Tea Baggers that this is a great victory for free speech, apple pie and the American way, just like pin-up boy's victory in Massachusetts, as the court's decision also frees up spending by the red menace, labor unions. But make no mistake, the average citizen, even united, even all the labor unions in the country combined, will prove no match for the corrupting power of billions of corporate dollars. Doesn't anyone remember or even care about the K Street Scandal? Hopefully Congress can come up with a counter in the form of legislation that will meet constitutional muster or there will be dire times ahead for the middle and working classes which are the backbone of this country.

Countdown To Vikings Victory: Five Reasons Why Minnesota Will Beat New Orleans

Reason #5. Drew Brees is the illegitimate step-child of Pierre a.k.a. Breezy Bear.

Reason #4. Brett is a more masculine name for a quarterback than Francis is.

Reason #3. Brad Childress' rousing "Win One for the Gipper" speech dedicated to the memory of Sen. Edward M. Kennedy.

Reason #2. Surrounded by all those horns, a horned-up Reggie Bush will mistake the posteriors of the Williams Twins for the Kardashian Twins and will keep running into the arms of his tacklers.

Reason #1: A Vikings Victory will drive all the bitter crybabies, also known as Packer Fans, Wisconsinites and Fair Weather Favre Fans, out of their tiny little Cheese-Head minds!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Robert Gordon & his Gang Can Still Hang With the Best of Them

The hottest ticket in Minneapolis this past weekend was not to the Metrodome and the Vikings Annihilation of the Dallas Cowboys 34-3 in the NFC Divisional Playoff game on Sunday, but rather the Rockabilly Event of the year at Lee's Liquor Lounge: Robert Gordon & the Gang They Couldn't Hang featuring Stray Cats drummer Slim Phantom, original Sex Pistols bassist Glen Matlock and the phenomenal guitar legend Chris Spedding.

Like any music fan who grew up in the Washington, D.C. area in the 1970's I was an ardent fan of the Maryland native, who was easily the greatest Rockabilly singer/stylist of his generation. I have also seen several concerts over the years by Mr. Gordon, both good and bad. The good included the show he did with Chris Spedding on guitar 32 years ago this March at Ritchie Coliseum at the University of Maryland and the bad, like the half hour performance he did with Link Wray at the Cabooze Bar in Minneapolis some years later. Happily last night was a triumph for all concerned.

Taking the stage around 11:30 PM (following opening sets by the Fuck Knights and the Restless Ones, both of which showed a potential for bigger things, if they remember to change it up every now and then and use more dynamics and less energy), Gordon and gang opened with one of Robert's signature numbers off of Fresh Fish Special, "The Way I Walk" followed by "Lover Boy" from his Gatton days.

Robert may be looking older these days, aren't we all, but the real disconcerting thing was that the co-founding member of the Sex Pistols looked in better shape for the years than I did!

Said Sir Glen Matlock, who provided a muscular backing bass line throughout the nearly one Hour and thirty minute performance also was given the reigns for a couple of night's selections, as were the other members of the gang, including a rousing but not snearing, rendition of the Pistols banned hit in Britan, "God Save the Queen" (which the make-up wearing glamour boys in the Restless Ones thought, Carly Simon-like, was about them. Only kidding.)

The weakest and youngest member of the gang, Stray Cat's stand-up drummer, Slim Phantom, had a little fun fucking with the crowd saying there was a good friend in the crowd and sarcastically that they needed his help (Spedding was playing circles around anything Minneapolis-transplant Brian Setzer could do) on the next one before launching into "Rock This Town" to the crowds excited whispers and glee. Sorry folks, no Setzer but who needed him. Certainly not Chris Spedding whose 4 songs were "Lonely Weekend", " Nite Patrol", "Guitar Jamboree" in which he made his Eddie Cochran-style Gretch sound like Albert King's Flying Vee to Hendrix's Strat and every great guitarist, except Danny Gatton, in between, and his signature song about his "Motorbike" (also known as a motorcycle here in the States).

But the true star of this night of musical Make Believe was Mr. Gordon. Robert was having a ball in great spirits, looking alert and healthy and most importantly in fine voice. Nobody, and I mean nobody, except Elvis of course, can sing like Robert Gordon, whose banter with the pretty women up front continued all night long. In addition to the songs previously mentioned Gordon ripped through Minnesota's-own, Eddie Cochran's "'C'mon Everybody", Elvis' "Suspicion", "Look Who's Blue" off of "Are You Gonna Be the One", the song Springsteen gave to him, "Fire", complete with great guitar sample by Spedding, "I Wanna Be Inside You", "Thing Called Rock", "Sweet Nothings", another Elvis, "Devil in Disguise", Dion's "The Wanderer", the King's "Mess of Blues", a good new number "Hot Rod", "You Make Me Wanna Get Next to You", the requested and requested "Black Slacks", "It's Only Make Believe" and the anthem "Rockabilly Boogie". Rockabilly indeed!

Horrific Calamity, Honorable Conduct in Hispaniola While Back in Virginia Beach...

The news coming out of Haiti this past week has truly been horrific. The tiny, impoverished (lowest per capita income in the Western Hemisphere) island located on the Western half of the island of Hispaniola, an island it shares with its eastern neighbor, the Dominican Republic. Latest reports estimate that the 7.0 earthquake has killed perhaps as many as 75-100,000 people.

It has now been a little more than three days since the disaster struck and although there are a handful of reports of violence or looting starting to trickle in, the vast majority of the reports are truly humbling as the Haitian people have responded with self-reliance and dignity. Equally impressive has been, with at least one notable exception, the response of the wealthy nations, most notably, of course, the United States, whose people, NGO's and charities have raised a staggering $400 million dollars in 72 hours.

Now back to that notable, abominable exception. It comes from none other than a leading spokesman for the conservative right, cuckoo wing, of the Republican Party, the irReverend Pat Robertson. Just like after 911, Pastor Pat, a man who does not have the slightest clue as to what it means to be a Christian, lashed out at the victim, implying his perverted concept of God's divine retribution.

"They said, we will serve you if you will get us free from the French. True story. And so, the devil said, okay it's a deal," the televangelist said during the broadcast."

"Ever since, they have been cursed by one thing after the other," in contrast, he went on, comparing Haiti to its more wealthy and fortunate neighbor, the Dominican Republic.

As despicable as the idiotic comments coming out of Virgina Beach are, there is always Rush Limbaugh. Never one to be left out of the running for the "Stupidest Thing Ever Said Contest", Limbaugh is quoted as saying that President Obama was using the tragedy to “boost his creditability with the black community” and said that we already donate U.S taxpayer dollars to Haiti. Spoken like a true role model for his myopic minions in the Tea Bagger Party who want to derail health care reform to most likely their own and the country's detriment.

In actuality, the Obama Administration has handled the matter just about right. Led correctly by its civilian face in the form of the U.S. Ambassador to Haiti and Secretary of State Clinton, the U.S. has taken control of the airport and airspace due to the heavy demands on flight control. Former Presidents Clinton and George W. Bush have been named to lead the U.S. humanitarian response. The far more tricky job is yet to come: that of monitoring the expenditure of aid money to prevent the fraud and corruption that has been the hallmark of Haitian Governments of the past century. Hopefully this time the United Nations, the wealthy nations, the myriad of NGO's and charitable organizations and most importantly, the Haitian People will get it right. May God Bless Them.

Steaming Mad In Minnesota

Listening to Liz Cheney opine her ridiculous garbage on ABC's aspirational named segment, the"Roundtable", (the Algonquin Room they are not) this Sunday morning makes me scratch my head and wonder out loud whether there is anybody besides her father and herself so inbred and so stupid to believe their made up criticisms of the President and the current administration. It would be one thing had the Cheneys, Micheal Steeles or John Boehners or their likes on the Republican side been offering any constructive input or even constructive criticisms, over the course of this past year, be it on health care reform, counter-terrorism or the economy, but unfortunately of course they had not. Instead they have been a one hit wonder of negativity and obstructionism to the point where they appear just plain old downright silly.

I mean to complain that it took 12 or 24 or even 48 hours for the current President to respond to the Christmas Day attempted bombing in Detroit when in comparison it took the former Commander in Chief, George W, 6 Days to respond to the shoebomber, Richard Reed attack is just so pathetically hypocritical as to be silly. If they cannot come up with one serious thing to say they should just shut up.

Another example of the vapid commentary coming from the right these days comes from none other than their fearless leader himself Oxycontin Man a/k/a the Big Fat Idiot a/k/a Rush Limbaugh. Upon being released from the hospital recently, the degenerative drug addict proclaimed, and I paraphrase, "my recent hospitalization and the excellent care I received is proof that there is nothing wrong with the American Health care system". Spoken like the typical neau veux rich pig that he is. Of course, the ever empathetic Limbaugh cannot see past his big fat pig jowls and gold-plated health insurance plan with unlimited coverage for drug addicts like himself, to the over 38 million uninsured Americans, who find his proclamation on the health of the U.S. Health Care system to be a little less than reassuring.

You know, if one did not know any better, one might think that it was an actual strategy on the part of the right wing in this country to promote a policy of such acerbic public discourse so if they could not win one over to their side with rhetoric they would so poison the well so as to turn off the average person by their divisiveness. Oh that's right, this is an actual, documented page out of the right wing politician's playbook as leaked to the press over the last several election cycles. No wonder my less informed friends just throw their hands up over their ears and lament "they're all alike" or "they all do it" which is completely untrue, at least in degree.

So what do you do if you are stuck in Minnesota in the first week of January and in the midst of a streak of subzero high temperatures and a political climate looking just as frigid? You feel the need, THE NEED FOR STEAM. Steam Shower that is. So instead of a panic room, I have elected to build an anti-panic room or steam shower room to be exact, complete with chroma therapy lighting, rain fall shower, six whirlpool jets and surround sound system all enclosed in tempered glass. Who knows, maybe if Liz Cheney will just shut up I will invite her over for steamed vegetable night.

The Real "Fall Classic": the Deer Opener

Deer Season is here
Deer Season is here
It's a wonderful time of the year
To drink beer
To drink beer

It's a wonderful wonderful
Wonderful time of the year
Families and buddies together
No matter the weather
Feasting and fun is the goal
Mickey is making
The meat loaves are baking
To warm up the body and soul

Full decoration
In anticipation of times
Marked with laughter and cheer
A day long awaited
And much celebrated

Deer Season is finally here
It's a wonderful time of the year
To drink beer
To drink beer
Deer Season is here
Deer Season is here

Pride of MN Needs to Accept Responsibility and Move Forward

I was amused by the chord of self-righteous indignation, over-sensitivity and denial that I struck in the little mind of one of the Marchers with my tongue in cheek letter to the Minnesota Daily, the largest circulation daily college newspaper in the country. Like too many of his generation, the writer of this piece of amateur sophistry starts off by mouthing the words of a good talk, but winds up failing miserably at walking the walk. (Much like a crack addict singing "Amazing Grace" at a funeral, apparently lip syncing and humming along with the melody is the best he can do).

Just see what I mean by this excerpt:

"The cliche' 'everybody makes a mistake' has been beaten into the ground that no one really believes it is an acceptable excuse any more. This is mostly a good thing, responsibility and accountability are very important."

Cliche'? "Mostly a good thing"? Well, I have news for you Rosalita, it never was and hopefully never will be "an acceptable excuse" at least not among my generation. After mouthing the above words do you think our dear little drummer boy in fact acts like a grown-up, admits his mistake, even the seemingly (to him) trivial ones, learns from his mistake and then moves forward? Oh no, just read on:

"It is ridiculous to think that if every time I saw an error or typo in a Yahoo! News article that I wrote a scathing letter in to their editor in attempt to destroy their credibility or reputation. That's why I don't, and I feel safe saying that most others don't for the same reason."

"Scathing"? Try gently sarcastic my little sensitive one. "Destroy their credibility or reputation"? You seem to be doing quite well on your own. Here's some more constructive criticism for Cryin' Ryan, turn off American Idol and Kate Plus Eight and do your homework so others won't have to take you to school. If you make a mistake in life for God's sake own up to it, learn from it and move on. Don't act like a victim and lash out with ridiculous ad hominem attacks and lastly, respect your elders.

Oh yeah and word to the MN Daily, first-rate journalists and newspapers do not "edit" opinion and letter to the editor submissions to the point where they change the meaning of the piece to protect their own. Furthermore it is the policy of respectable newspapers not to publish, or at least edit out, ad hominem attacks against other writers of opinion pieces. Since the MN Daily was not up to their journalistic credentials, I felt I had no choice but to defend myself in kind herein. Peace Out.

Letter to the Editor as Published in the MN Daily

Letters to the Editor
Pride of Minn. needs some schooling
Published: 10/06/2009

I felt extremely fortunate to attend my first Gopher football game in the beautiful new stadium — that is, until halftime. The public address announcer and the scoreboard announced that the University of Minnesota marching band would perform a tribute to Stevie

Wonder.

During the retrospective of Wonder’s musical career, the “Pride of Minnesota” performed a song from Wonder’s album “Innerversions” and, subsequently, a tribute to the legendary “jazz singer ‘Sir Duke’ Ellington.”

Hmm … is it too much to ask that an institution of higher learning get its facts straight, especially when doing a “tribute”? I believe the album was “Innervisions,” and I think any member of the marching band could tell you that Duke Ellington was this country’s greatest composer, band leader and piano player — not a jazz singer. Who will the marching band’s next tribute to a legendary jazz singer be? Neil Diamond?

(Plainsense)
University alum

http://www.mndaily.com/2009/10/06/pride-minn-needs-some-schooling


*Note the editorial changes made by the Daily staff to try and make the Marching Band look not responsible for the errors. Since the script the announcer was reading from was being scrolled across the "3rd largest jumbotron" in college football, the director of the Marching Band was responsible for not proof reading the script submitted to the announcer. Plainsense

"Pride of Minnesota" Needs to Go Back to School

Last Saturday I felt extremely fortunate to attend my first University of Minnesota Gophers Football game in their beautiful new stadium against arch rival Wisconsin, that is, until halftime. The public address announcer as well as the scoreboard closed caption service announced that the Minnesota Marching Band would perform a tribute to Stevie Wonder.

During the retrospective of Mr. Wonder's musical career, the "Pride of Minnesota" performed a song from Stevie's album "Innerversions" (sp) and subsequently a tribute to the legendary jazz singer, "Sir Duke" Ellington.

Hmm...is it too much to ask that an institution of higher learning get its facts straight, especially when doing a "tribute"? I believe the album was "Innervisions" and I think any member of the U's Jazz Band could tell their Marching compatriots that Duke Ellington was this country's greatest composer, band leader and piano player, not a jazz singer. Who will the Marching Band's next tribute to a legendary jazz singer be, Neil Diamond?

Stanley "Buckwheat" Dural and his Band Set Fire to Dakota Jazz Club

September 2, 2009

Last night at the Dakota Jazz Club in Minneapolis, legendary Louisiana musician Stanley "Buckwheat Zydeco" Dural and his incredible band featuring the nucleus of Paul "Lil Buck" Sinegal on lead guitar, the great Lee Zeno on Bass and the baddest drummer on the planet, Kevin Menard reduced the place to ashes in an act that can only be described as arson. Augmented by the talented trumpet player who played with Paul and Lee's band the Top Cats at this year's Ponderosa Stomp and a second guitarist, Mr. Dural and the pride of Lafayette Louisana, Mr. Sinegal and Mr. Lee, turned the vaunted, high class digs of the Dakota into a greasy, craw fish shack sans bibs and napkins.

Following an immensely enjoyable and moving opening set by the gifted Kansas City born but New Orleans influenced keyboardist, Josh Charles, Lil Buck Sinegal, who Eric Clapton calls the greatest living blues guitarist and a mentor to Stevie Ray Vaughn, took the stage and led the band through a blistering Booker T and the MGs instrumental, propelled by the combustible rhythm section of co-conspirators Zeno and Menard. By the time Mr. Dural took the stage the audience was ready for something special which is exactly what Buckwheat and company had in store for them. By the second song, the audience did something I have never seen before at a show at the Dakota, they all rose to their feet at the encouragement of the night's ringleader.

Over the course of the next hour and a half, those Minnesotans lucky enough to be on board took a river cruise down the Mississippi to the bayous of Louisiana ending with a lesson for the new age: Peace, Love and Happiness. One of the night's more memorable moments came when Mr. Dural switched from accordian to the B-3 and reminded the audience that he is a world class keyboard player. Also worth noting is how unique and valuable the addition of the trumpet is to their line-up, which greatly expanded and enriched the traditional zydeco sound and gave it an incredibly jazzy flavor. Simply scrumptous!

The trademark of the club may be "the Dakota Cooks" but Buckwheat and Band definitely Smoke!

Bon Ton Roulet!

*Photo taken by me at this year's Ponderosa Stomp No. 8 at the House of Blues in New Orleans showing Lil Buck and the Top Cats featuring Stanley "Buckwheat" Dural backing Robert Parker.

Gov. Good N Plenty and the Gang Strike Force

Mr. "No New Taxes", Mr. "Go It Alone" (i.e Minnesota Governor Tim Good N Plenty) was the driving force that single-handedly revived what is now documented as one of the most corrupt law enforcement (sic) enterprises this state has ever seen.

On July 25, 2004, the Minneapolis Star Tribune printed the remarks of Governor Pawlenty following his idea of Unicameral state government by refusing the legislature any input into balancing the budget by vetoing all the finance bills passed by the legislature that he disagreed with while squandering precious state resources on Minnesota's version of "Inglorious Basterds", the Metro Gang Strike Force. Governor Pawlenty's statement read in part:

"...Because partisanship has drawn things to a halt in the State Capitol, I've taken extraordinary executive actions to move ahead without legislative action. The budget deficit the Legislature ignored was wiped away with a stroke of my pen. A critical crime-fighting agency, the Gang Strike Force, was slated to disband because the Legislature didn't pass funding. Our administration found the money to keep the group working for Minnesota."

"A critical crime-fighting agency"? "Working for Minnesota"? More like working for themselves!

Today a review panel comprised of former law enforcement officials, including an ex-FBI agent and former federal prosecutor, released its findings that the Metro Gang Strike Force was guilty of widespread corruption and criminal misconduct.

Well knock me over with a feather. I have been telling everyone I come into contact with in connection with my profession as a criminal defense lawyer over the past twenty-two years, be it judges, prosecutors or just plain citizens, that the government strike and task forces were the most disreputable, unprofessional, unlawful and at times, most criminal, organizations in this state. I cannot even tell you the number of times I have said that the behavior of the members of these multi-jurisdictional, so-called strike and task forces, put to shame any illegal behavior on behalf of the groups and individuals they are supposed to police. This specifically includes most of the two-bit, street gang members, organized crime syndicates and/or outlaw motorcycle clubs, the latter of which I have represented many an honorable person. Unfortunately, most of the time, the same could not be said of the strike and task force members.

Like in Watergate, when members of the executive branch of government, the branch of government tasked with the duty to uphold and enforce the law, are engaged themselves in criminal behavior, this is unchecked governmental power that strikes at the very heart and soul of a constitutional form of government, a government of laws, not people, not personalities and certainly not a bunch of badge wielding bullies.

So it is with this in mind that I harken back to those days in mid-June of 2004 when Gov. Good N Plenty, to prop up his credentials as a "law and order" Governor and future right-wing Presidential candidate, made it his personal crusade (for personal political gain) to resurrect the now infamous Metro Gang Strike Force, and what is now the well documented, biggest waste of law enforcement resources in state history. Take a licorice-flavored bow Governor, because like licorice, your conduct in this matter makes me wanna sh#t!

For links to the entire review panel's report including their thoughtful and well reasoned recommendations to abolish all similar multi-jurisdictional (i.e. uncontrolled) task forces and a change in the forfeiture laws as well as links to recent articles on the trials and tribulations of the Metro Gang Strike force see https://dps.mn.gov/divisions/co/about/Documents/final_report_mgsf_review_panel.pdf

Zoo Brings Out the "Real Animal" in Escovedo

Someone unfamiliar with the subject matter probably would not have known what to expect out of Alejandro Escovedo's performance at the Minnesota Zoo's amphitheater last night, Saturday August 8, 2009. Most people who pay any attention to real music in this country have heard the mercurial story of Alejandro's journey to the edge of music's and life's boundaries with bands like the Nuns and Rank and File, how he leaned over the abyss, spit into it and came back. Much like the fabled bird of fiction, the phoenix, Escovedo rose from the ashes of serious illness which had cut him down in Arizona. But just like the true believer son of a prizefighter that he is, Escovedo has battled back to the point of "Real Animal" a reflective mixture of his history as an artist as well as somewhat of an homage to one of his big inspirations, the little, godfather of punk himself, Iggy Pop.

Did I say homage? The music on "Real Animal" is like its inspiration in many ways, bare and open for all to see, like Iggy's chest, with broken beer bottles cuts and blood dripping from its wounds. From the autobiographical tale of living next to Sid and Nancy in the "Chelsea Hotel" to the stark beauty of "Sister Lost Soul" Escovedo has crafted another in his long list of musical tour de forces. Now, to someone hearing about Alejandro for the first time, this would make no sense. No, it makes perfect sense.

My first glimpse of Alejandro on Saturday night, a night so warm and humid that Escovedo quipped that he felt like he was in Thailand, came on the side of the stage. With about three songs left in the set of the opening act, Romantica, Alejandro and his entire band, all four of them, came stage-side to check out several songs from this impressive, up and coming local band. Lead singer Ben Kyle, guitarist and pedal steel player Luke Jacobs, drummer James Orvis, and bassist and old Grumpy's pal, Tony Zaccardi turned in a performance such that Alejandro pronounced towards the end of his show: "I've played with alot of bands over the years; some good, some not so good and Romantica is definitely one of the good ones" and then invited Romantica's Kyle onstage for a raucous, call and response refrain ala Mick and Spleef during "Beast of Burden" replete with audience participation.

But I'm getting way ahead of my self. My son August and I had arrived early, around 5:30 PM as a matter of fact, with plans on catching a quick tour of the Minnesota Zoo's much acclaimed Grizzly Coast exhibition. As the Zoo closes at 6 PM and supposedly does not reopen until 6:30 PM for the concert, we were on a mission, you might say. You see our other plan was to attempt an intervention and rescue my friend and co-worker Esmond from what can only be described as the zoo's version of the bad acid at Woodstock, the Harry Potter Movie being shown at the zoo's IMAX theater. For a guy who supposedly likes good music, the choice here seemed a no brainer: catch the best live music in this year's summer season at a beautiful and great sounding venue or get your feet stuck to the floor and possibly catch the swine flu from the grotty little brats watching some pre-adolescent bore-fest.

Unfortunately my attempt at bringing Lawyers Concerned for Lawyers to cultural matters was unsuccessful despite repeated attempts at locating poor Esmond, even including checking out the Imax Theater Men's (Boy's) Room (I had drank several beers after arriving in the zoo parking lot in that time-honored Minnesota tradition: tailgating). After coming up dry on our attempt to rescue my co-worker it was off to Siberia. Much like the salmon swimming upstream in the Grizzly's faux Siberian river, August and I fought against the stream of leaving zoo patrons until we were all alone in large sections of the zoo. This enabled me to light up and partially enjoy my obligatory (Bob Enos) cigar I take to every live music event (to remind me of my good friend who is not forgotten) while gawking at the tigers and bears, oh my.

Between sets August and I met a cool, fellow music fan, Margaret, who we shared the story of the etiology of August's name and she remembered with us a heart wrenching story of her favorite, kid brother who died in a motorcycle accident over one year ago. We would run into Margaret later that evening as Dad searched for the car (which had apparently been moved by the same character who over-served me those Summit Red and Extra Pale Ales that were going down so smoothly in the August heat and humidity). But just as Margaret was starting to say something I hear the power chords opening of Alejandro's closest thing to a hit single, "Always a Friend" and it was off to the races for our seats. In a role reversal of epic proportions, I was reduced to fist pumping, lyric mouthing adolescence while my son looked over with one eye askance, as if to say "You're not going to embarrass me...again!" "You damn right", I think to myself.

After this point, the evening becomes a blur, or more appropriately, like the hallucinatory montage sequence in Apocalypse Now but to the strains of a better soundtrack. From the aforementioned "Chelsea Hotel"(which made no sense or perfect sense) to the semi-autobiographical cover, "Everybody Loves Me", but I know why. One of the big reasons why is the always excellent side men and women Escovedo brings with him. This particular evening had Alejandro playing as a rock quartet backed by David Pulkingham on lead guitar, a fantastic bassist from Alabama and last but not least, the master of thunder, lord of the thighs, Hector Munoz, pound for pound the greatest drummer in the business this side of Michael Bland or say, Eric Gravat (that one's for Esmond).

Mix in some old gems from By the Hand of the Father, my personal favorite Rosalee and the now customary, welcome back to the line-up version of "Castanets" complete with the absolutely hysterical story of the song's inspiration (female concert promoter in Tampa), who bears no similarity to certain real persons either living or near dead, such as , say a late 1980's version of Keith Richards but certainly no resemblance whatsoever to our own erstwhile Sue Mclean, who deserves Diva status for continuing excellence in concert bookings. As tornadoes and damaging severe thunderstorms were ravaging towns and communities just to the west and north of us, we listened to the final strains of "Beast of Burden". Real music by real animals, just another night at the Minnesota Zoo.

Formerly Reluctant Participant Enjoys National Night Out

This may be hard for those who know me to believe, but until I get to know someone I am somewhat shy and introverted. Hence, in the past, when my neighbors would invite me to participate in our neighborhood's version of National Night Out, I usually deflected the invitation with some asinine comment such as: "I'm a criminal defense lawyer, why would I participate in something that's against my own economic interests?"

It was not until more recently, when I began having trouble with some of my less reputable and certainly less honorable, former criminal clients, that I have learned to truly appreciate and value the friendship and mutual connectedness of my good neighbors. So it was with this important lesson in mind that I pulled my head out of my posterior and proceeded on my motorcycle across the Mississippi River to pick-up my contribution to our pot-luck dinner gathering, some potato salad from Lunds and a six pack of Two Hearted Ale. Sufficiently armed, I rode down our street and into our cul de sac where my neighbors had already begun to gather, and dropped off my contribution with a McArthur-like "I shall return".

Over the course of the next two and a half hours I thoroughly enjoyed meeting the faces I sometimes saw, but never knew the names associated with. As the neighborhood children played flashlight tag, the adults traded stories, (Lenny's fireworks stories won the funniest moment award hands down!), patiently listened to my numerous filibusters and only occasionally commented, like my neighbor Sally did, with "...that's too much information". Despite my sometimes boorish behavior and a late night appearance by Sausage the wonder dog, all in all, a marvelous time was had by all. Thank you to our hosts Bruce and his lovely wife (I know I am still horrible with names) and daughter, Madison.

Fear and Loathing in Cloquet, MN

"The Angels are coming, the Angels are coming! Hurry, hurry and lock up your daughters and bolt your doors!"

It must be sweeps week in commercial media because for the last week in Minnesota all you have heard from the commercial, conservative (I know,I know,... redundant as Hell!) media (i.e the local Fox television station and their philosophical sister-station (with the exception of Reusse), KSTP AM 1500, is that the Hells Angels are having their national rally in Cloquet, MN and the world, as we know it, is coming to an end.

Just like the cowardly GWB administration, the adolescents who host the noon talk show on AM 1500, (they are so bad I can't even tell you their names, they're like a dummied down version of that (former) drunken imbecile,Glenn Beck, if that's even possible, the heir to Rush Limbaugh's throne (i.e the hypocrite's barbiturate commode), would have you throw away the constitution and prejudge thousands of people they have never met based upon stereotypes, fear and more than likely, their shame over their little wieners.

Well after about a five-minute colloquy between some local, know-it-all jack-off, wherein the two boy-hosts of the show fall over each other agreeing with the caller that we should ignore the constitution and use admittedly unconstitutional tactics to try and keep out of this state over an estimated 1,500 motorcycle riding citizens of the United States because they are "afraid", well I had HAD ENOUGH!

I picked up my cell phone, dialed 411 and before I knew it I was screaming my opinion to some poor producer, who, when I finally took a breath, tried to slow me down: "Whoa, whoa buddy why are you yelling at me? You're not even on the air", he said. At least not yet...

I start telling the producer how I am an attorney and have represented plenty of club members over the course of my practice and how these idiot radio Jock's are being so quick to trash our constitution, at which point the producer interrupts me with the famous Ben Franklin quote ("...those that would trade liberty for security deserve neither...") and says : "Hey, I agree with you..." and the next thing I hear is "Jim in Minneapolis?"

I remember thinking to myself, stay calm stay calm...but of course my emotion's get the best of me and the tirade begins (I paraphrase):


"I just had to call in after that last conversation with a caller. I am an attorney and have represented plenty of club members over the last 20 years and, let me tell you, 98% of them were real gentlemen. You people (conservative media and political types) are so quick to proclaim your love for our Constitution and its strict construction, yet seem way too quick to give up the constitutional rights of others. This is terrible how you gladhanders in the media are jumping on the bandwagon, whipping up public hysteria over this issue. Why don't you wait until someone has done something (illegal) before judging them. When clubs like the Angels go on these events they are on their best behavior. You know with the economy the way it is, we probably should not be driving business off."

When I pause for a breath the teeny boppers spray back at me some bullshit about criminal syndicates or something to that effect to which I respond that I had little trouble, in my experience, with the bikers compared with the (criminal syndicate like) behavior of the strike and task forces. Before ending with "I am not even going to go there!" before hanging up. The little boys clap and celebrate with glee as though they actually had won the exchange.

The next caller, a man out for my own heart, opens with: "Finally you got someone on who knows what they are talking about...". The sixtyish sounding man continues with an authoritative, gravelly biker-voice how he lives or owns property out by Sturgis and deals with the Clubs like the Angels every year. He relates how bikers, club members included are people and deserved to be judged on their own actions, not grouped together by stereotypes and discriminated against because of fear. Far more eloquently than I did (or could), this man, no, this Patriot, went on to give a tour de force argument that absolutely eviscerated whatever flotsam and hyperbole that made up the little talk-show weenies ad homonym attack. To show you how stupid the hosts of this excuse for a radio show are, they did not even know or did not have the courage to admit, that they were wrong. That in fact, if it were their rights being violated, they would be crying, pissing and caterwauling all over the airwaves. Now who really are the Patriots in this situation?

26.7 Million Reasons Why We Need Health Care Reform

Dear Senator Franken:

I like the ring to that. Congratulations, by the way. The reason I am writing is to point out a Minnesota connection to what is wrong with the health care industry, as pointed out by Bill Moyers on his program Friday night. Towards the end of his program he did an editorial on the health care industry which included a vignette on a working class person struggling to keep up with the ever increasing cost of health insurance which she desperately needs due to a serious health condition and then Mr. Moyers named three health insurance company executives and their multi-million dollar annual salaries. http://www.pbs.org/moyers/journal/07172009/watch3.html

I almost fell out of my chair when Bill Moyers saved the highest earning health insurance executive for last, something like 26.7 million Dollars in annual salary for John Hammergren of McKesson and flashed up his picture. Could it be? John, my R.A. (resident advisor) in Territorial Hall at the University of Minnesota my sophomore year as an undergrad in 1980-81. While John was certainly capable of telling you to turn down your stereo, not to have beer in the dorm and saying, quite often, "what's that funny smell emanating from your room?", he certainly was no wunderkind and nobody, not even Michael Jordan or Tiger Woods, is worthy of 26.7 million Dollars a year (well, maybe Joe Mauer, but I digress.....).

Just thought this interesting bit of Minnesota trivia might be helpful when countering the naysayers and health care reform opponents rhetoric in the upcoming weeks.


cc: Bill Moyers

Transcript from Bill Moyer's Journal on PBS:

July 17, 2009

BILL MOYERS: This week, Regina Benjamin was nominated by President Obama to be our next surgeon general, charged with keeping the American public informed about our health. She's a member of the Board of Trustees of the American Medical Association and recipient of a MacArthur Foundation 'Genius Grant.'

But more important, she's a country doctor, a family physician along the Gulf Coast of Alabama, serving the poor and uninsured. After Hurricane Katrina destroyed her clinic a second time, she mortgaged her own home to rebuild it. The day it was to reopen, a fire burned the clinic to the ground. Moving to a trailer, Dr. Benjamin and her staff never missed a day of work. Dr. Benjamin will no doubt bring that same ethic to the fight for health care reform.

Many of the folks in Regina Benjamin's bayou town are so poor that sometimes she's paid with a pint of oysters or a couple of fish. She buys medicine for her patients out of her own pocket, and she makes house calls.

Now meet H. Edward Hanway, the Chairman and CEO of Cigna, the country's fourth largest insurance company. At the beginning of the year, Cigna blamed hard economic times when it announced the layoff of 1,100 employees. But it reported first quarter profits of $208 million on revenues of $4 billion. Mr. Hanway has announced his retirement at the end of the year, and the living will be easy, financially at least. He made $11.4 million dollars in 2008, according to the Associated Press, and some years more than that.

That's a lot of oysters, although he lags behind Ron Williams, the CEO of Aetna Insurance, who made more than $17 million dollars last year, or John Hammergren, the head of McKesson, the biggest health care company in the world. His compensation was nearly $30 million.

Here's the difference. To Dr. Regina Benjamin, health care is a service, helping people in need with grace and compassion. To Ed Hanway and his highly paid friends, it's big business, a commodity to be sold to those who can afford it. And woe to anyone who gets between them and the profits they reap from sick people.

That behavior includes spending nearly a million and a half a day--a day!--to make sure health care reform comes out their way. Over the years they've lavished millions on the politicians who are writing and voting on the bills coming out of committee. Now it's payback time. See for yourself here on our website, where you'll find a link to campaign contributions and the politicians who right now are deciding who wins and who loses the heath care debate.

That's it for the week. I'm Bill Moyers and I'll see you next time.

Check Out Time Mr. Popeye, the 9th Ward's Road to Recovery (a St. Named Desire), a Memphis Minute, Ed's Fish House and Where's My Glasses?

Blythville, AK

Why am I writing from Blythville, Arkansas? Well there were no motels in Turrell or Burdette. Besides Ed's Fish House, home of the world's second best catfish, (first place is still McGhee's (sp) in southern Oklahoma)is in Blythville where I took shelter from the storm. I did not think I could ever hit a storm as bad as the one I hit in Iowa on the way down, but yesterday evening, between 6:15 and 7:20 p.m., I was literally fighting for my life.

Having made the mistake of not listening to my inner voice and staying in Memphis, where I had made an unplanned, spur of the moment detour to the Stax Museum. It wasn't just that "I couldn't get enough of a good thang", as Johnnie Taylor sang, my my plan was to pick up my brother Pete (who over the years had hung with me, made sure I had a ticket to a concert I couldn't afford, and stepped up to become a family leader after my father died and especially after my oldest brother Paul passed away unexpectedly and way too young) a long sleeve sweatshirt and give Ponderosa Stomp bumperstickers to the two staff members who recommended my motel and music while in town, only to miss its closing by a minute.

Stupidly I had journeyed on under the delusion that I would impress Jody with my iron butt story of driving straight back to Minnesota, only to get an hour past Memphis and run smack into a greenish black horizon with lightning strikes just off to the west of the highway.

Thinking I could outrun the worst of it, I cranked it up to between 95 and 100 MPH and roared past all the traffic in the right hand lane, which consisted mostly of semis. Oblivious to the risk of a speeding ticket or perhaps a reckless driving (20 mph or more over) charge, my main concern was getting as much distance between me and the much taller metal targets, the big rigs, as I couldn't get over the conversation I had with my ex-wife Cari, who, when I had called to talk to my son August after getting into New Orleans, said "I'm so glad you called as we had heard on the news that a motorcyclist had been killed by lightning in Missouri". (God bless her for saying that and I often thought how much more fun I would be having sharing this trip with her.)

It eventually began coming down so hard that I could not see thru my windscreen. My glasses fogged up completely so I had to resort to pulling them down to the tip of my nose and stretching my head over to the right so I could see over and around my glasses and screen, which even at my reduced speed of 60 mph, felt like needles to the eyeballs, causing them to tear up and my eyelids to involuntarily close. Making matters worse, if that was possible, was the fact that all the truckers I had so cavalierly blown by only minutes ago were now barreling up from behind me and in this complete grey-out with visibility literally about 30 feet, they were probably not going to see the little red dot of my tail light before it was too late. With lightning striking in the fields just to the left and ahead of me I saw the Blythville exit sign and that one mile could not come fast enough.

Luckily just to the west of the highway I spied a Best Western Motel and made a beeline for it. Standing on the mat just inside their doors hoping it would soak up the water streaming off my thoroughly soaked clothing, I shouted across the lobby "How much for a single?". "That would be $65 plus tax" the young female clerk replied, I paused slightly for dramatic effect (I was going to pay it even if it cost $200 a night) before answering back "You've got yourself a deal".

When I asked "where's a good place to eat around here?" The clerk responded, "that's easy, other than the two fast food joints, there's the fish place". "Fish place?" I say. "What kind of fish?" "The best catfish in the world" she replies. "Just take a right at the stop sign and go about a mile west past the graveyard and the car dealer (abandoned Nissan dealership) and its on the south side of the road". "How late are they open?" I inquire as it was now well after 7 p.m. "Until 8 or 9 (p.m.)" she retorts. ("Well, which is it" I think to myself, but then remember I am in the "Natural State" and time really doesn't have the same significance as it does up North.) "Thanks" I add as I hurriedly depart hoping to make the possible 8 o'clock deadline should the rain let up and hopefully after putting on something a little drier from my soft sided and now squishy saddle bags.

I talk to my college-aged daughter Genny (who I am so very proud of) by cellphone who, when I ask if she is keeping up with my blog, comments that it keeps her and her girlfriends (hi girls!) in stitches. Sorry Gen if I too often show my concern with what might seem like negativity or criticism as it was a learned behavior and hard to shed. "Raise with Praise" I once heard a wise African American mother say. Amen to that, it's just hard to put into practice.

And on that note, the rest will have to wait as some of the other guests are giving me looks like I am overstaying my welcome on the courtesy computer terminal in the lobby/cafeteria buffet of the motel. I just have to add before it slips my mind, thanks to the clerk Judy for volunteering to go search my room before I leave to look for my prescription eyeglasses as I typed this. Unfortunately she didn't have any luck finding them which means I left them at Ed's Fish House and they don't open til 4 p.m. Judy again comes to my rescue and writes down the phone number for Ed's so I can give them a call when I get home.

I also want to add that this motel sports the most incredible complimentary full, and I mean full, breakfast including eggs, sausage, make your own waffles (apparently the new trend in motels down South)and something that I have never heard or tasted before Biscuits and Cocoa gravy. They're made by Theresa, the other day clerk/cook and she was so kind as to give me the recipe, which I hope I can remember as I don't have a pen. So with grey skies and ran in the forecast as far as Doppler radar can see, I pull out of the motel around 10 a.m. and bid a fond adieu to Blythville.

After traveling not more than ten minutes the rain is back. Slow and steady at first and then in a repeat of the previous eventing, it becomes a torrential downpour. Always the eternal optimist (and thinking its way too early to start looking for a motel), I press ahead in near zero visibility.

In addition to the precipitation, it was an appreciable 10 degrees cooler than the day before and this added to the precariousness of the situation. As it would later be explained to me by an astute, amateur meteorologist up the road, the hilly terrains combined with the cool wet temperatures had the effect of producing a white, wispy ground fog, especially in the low areas.

Under these conditions, it was extremely hard to see my bike, either oncoming or from behind. But from the side, my idiotic selection of a color scheme made it virtually invisible. " I gotta find someplace to pull off and take cover", I think to myself. Sometime during this period of reduced visibility I must have crossed over the Missouri state line since starting to appear out of the water and wisps of white is the outline of a highway sign announcing, thank god, that a rest area was shortly ahead. For reasons still unknown to me, I park in the side lot instead of just pulling up to the front doors leaving me a long slog through the saturated grass (I should have taken the sidewalk).

To be continued...

Pondersosa Stomp Day 2: Hittin' My Groove, the Muscle Shoals Sound, the Embalmer and his Boston Crew, Johnny Camp's POW Father, WWII Museum and ?

To be continued...

Pondersoa Stomp Day One: Memphis Soul Conference, Remember Me?, Chef Convention, Not So Struggling Artist and My House of Blue Heaven

New Orleans, La.

I now know why funerals are so big down here: the hangovers will make you wish you were dead. It was a busy day on Basin Street. That street is in New Orleans Esmond.

I got into New Orleans around 6:30 p.m. Monday night and after checking into my hotel, the French Market, on the corner of Decatur and St. Louis(?). The incredibly accommodating and friendly staff of Andre and Megan got me unloaded and checked in but I passed on the valet parking and rode around to the parking lot on the back side of the block myself. The attendant, Johnny Camp, one of my favorite people this whole trip, had me park right next to his booth so he could keep a close eye on my ticket to ride back home. The walk back around the block took over two hours and did me in for the night.

New Orleans is like that. You set off to do something totally mundane like park you bike and you wind up meeting new friends, getting drunk and completely losing track of time. Every city should be more like New Orleans in this respect.

I soon discovered that my travel agent, Angelo, (sorry Mary, my MN travel agent who won't book pleasure trips)had made the mistake of putting me in a hotel two doors down from the Crescent City Brewery. Not a wise choice to put this connoisseur of suds in such close proximity to his nemesis. They have three fresh brewed flavors, Red Stallion, Black Forest and Pilsner. Being a lover of malt and hops and wanting the highest % of alcohol, I of course opt for the Black Forest. As the downstairs bar seating was completely full, I ventured upstairs and sat at the bar and promptly started a conversation with an airline worker turned Postman named Mark. I do not mean to label Mark or imply that he is all about his work, like us attorneys, because he definitely is not. Here was a man who has life figured out to the point of raising it to an art form. Upon further reflection, he should give seminars on how to live like you are alive and not just existing. Mark attends the Jazz Heritage Festival every year, spends his August in Seattle/Vancouver and used to live on a 2 acre mountain spread near San Jose.

Before I know it we are swapping music stories and turns out that Mark is a huge fan of my friend Jimmy Thackery. I tell him about Mark no longer drumming for Jimmy and he seemed as dismayed as I was but I cautioned that one should not jump to conclusions as to the reasons for the change, besides its none of my business, "if I do", (sorry I turn everything into lyrical phrases from jazz standards down here). Mark mentions he goes to the Santa Cruz Blues festival most years and I ask if he saw the legendary performance Thackery put on with Bonnie Raitt. Mark's mouth went agape and eyes glazed over and he stammered: "I was there! It was one of the best performance I ever seen" or something to that effect. Hell I was getting a little tipsy and beat from my ride.

We thankfully compared notes on the evenings live music fare and it was a good thing. Turns out I was two days late for the Funky Meters show at the HOB. Mark tells me he is going to the Snooks Eaglin tribute Tab Benoit was throwing at the Mid City Lanes (former site of some previous years of the Ponderosa Stomp). I tell him I will meet him there but I have to take a shower and compose myself before venturing out. Sorry to say, but after my shower I sat down in my towel on the bed and that's how I woke up the next morning.

My first full day in the Crescent City began at 7 a.m. when I left the hotel in search of computer terminal access so I could post. Two hours and several miles of shoe tread later I finally found a business center on the third floor of the Sheraton. I highly recommend this over the access at the public library next to City Hall, which Although free, does not open until 10 a.m. and you have to step over the less fortunate who make their beds outside the front door. Besides at the Sheraton there is a Starbucks on the first floor for grande caramel macchitos and the only stench of urine is my own.


After memorializing the previous day's events it's off to Mothers for a locals New Orleans breakfast. I highly recommend this establishment for breakfast (served all day) or lunch but some fellow travelers had dinner there and turned the noses up at it. However, my experience there was delightful, if you understand their version of hospitality and sense of humor, which seems to be giving a tongue in cheek hard time to tourists (for the benefit of and to the delight of the locals). For example when I enter I ask the greeter/instructor/general manager if they have a bathroom to which he wryly replied: "Yes, but I am not going to tell you where it is". I said not batting an eye: "Okay, but things are gonna get messy then." Whereupon he conceded they were in the back and then shouted "and wash your hands when you're done" as I walked past the long line of customers waiting to order.

After taking care of business (or TCB as Elvis would say) I joined the rear of the line which was next to the kitchen door and the tables where the staff took their breaks at. I asked an older African American woman what's good for breakfast and she recommended the crawfish etouiffe omlete, which comes with grits and biscuits. After ordering I did not know the routine so I sauntered back to the staff tables and sat down at an empty one. The fact that I, as a tourist, was sitting down at a table all the other tourists turned their noses up as they went into the nicer appointed back room endeared the somewhat crusty older waitress to me and she took care of me like I was her son, constantly making me feel like I was not eating alone and chiding the kitchen "why doesn't my boy have his biscuits yet, don't make come in there and kick some butt" which is a paraphrase of the local venacular. She really appreciated the fact that I did not linger and opened up one of her three table tops for a larger party and bigger tip. Karma is everything and is not only for guys named Earl.

In the early afternoon I attended the Ponderosa Stomp Music History Conference session on Memphis Soul with three of the greats, Teenie Hodges, guitarist and leader of the vaunted Hi Rhythym Section, the greatest accompanists in the history of American Music, the legendary soul singer and former Hi artist and a personal favorite of mine, Otis Clay and O.V. Wright collaborator and co-writer, Roosevelt Jamison. The conference was held at the Louisana History Museum also known as the Arsenal, right on Jackson Square, where Bush made his one stop and short speech during his flyover during Katrina. As usual, the group of traditional New Orleans brass musicians where playing outside and I was startled when what appeared to be a statute said hello to me as I walked buy (street performed painted head to toe in golden bronze paint--hadn't this guy ever seen the James Bond movie Goldfinger?)

It was so cool to be in a room of approximately 100 other die hard music lovers, reporters and industry people who care as much and know more about my passion than I do. There were people who came from as far away as Amsterdam and a Japanese doctor, Dochi(sp), and his wife whom I met and although they spoke little English, were some of the most ardent and entusiastic fans you could ever meet. If only the public in this country would turn off American Idol and commercial radio and pull their collective heads out of their a$$es and pay attention to what the rest of the world recognizes as one of this country's greatest and unique contributions to mankind: soul, jazz and rhythym and blues.

I got goose bumps listening to the panel discuss their craft and reminess about making some of the greatest music ever set to wax. Teenie Hodges told the story of writing "Take Me to the River" with Ann Peebles during a stay in Boston when the evenings plan got cancelled due to an unexpected snow storm, so that went back to their hotel and Teenie started talking about his musical roots in gospel and his religious experiences including being baptized in a pond which Ann turned into the "river". Teenie Hodges is a genuine genius but a sensitive and incredibly intelligent man as are all of the panelists. Otis Clay told the funniest story about he and his band backing O.V. Wright and how O.V., one of the greatest, most charasmatic performers and onme of the finest sould singers that ever lived could steal your own back-up band and the show from you right under your very nose. All the panelists laughed and shared stories of O.V. "dictionary" knowledge of music charts and changes which is how he could make any audience line up to "witness" that they feel the blues by lining up to shake his hand during a song to the point where, as Otis described, "...you would have thought they were handing out blenders".

The two most poignant and deepest moments of this day's conference came from Roosevelt Jamison and a reuluctant Howard Grimes, the great memphis soul musician and drummer for the Hi Rhythym section, who was coaxed by the discussion's moderator, the legendary music writer Robert Gordon, out of the audience to tell how he got his start at the age of 12 and attributed his success and love of music and innate sense of rhythm or feel for the music to his mother who played evertying from big band like the Dorseys and Glenn Miller to BB King for him. Having lost my mother just last year it made me realize that my love for music was as a result of my mother playing the likes of the Mills Brothers and Inkspots which I unknowingly soaked up through osmosis.

Roosevelt Jamison made one of the most profound statements about the music industry specifically and the creation of art in general, and I paraphrase "soul music, our music in the 1960's were about expressing our love for our mates, in music and thru lyrics. It was romantic music. It was expressing the great gift God gave to us as humans, which is love. We were so into expressing the great love and beauty that we did not pay enough, if any, attention to the business side of things". Amen.

Day One of the Stomp to be continued here...

I got to run for now to catch today's (Wednesday's) early afternoon conference that is of extreme personal significance to me. Peter Guralnick the world famous music biographer of American Music Icons from England is leading a discussion on Muscle Shoals, my favorite American studio and home to my favorite artist of all time, the late great Eddie Hinton, with panelists and former studio artists/musicians Dan Penn and Rick Hall.

Road to the Stomp Day 3: Biscuits & Gravy, Graceland and on to the Big Easy

New Orleans, La.

Well I made it in one piece to New Orleans but I left a little of my heart in Memphis. Like what Minneapolis is to Chicago, Memphis is to New Orleans: a little city with big aspirations, but unique unto itself. Despite all its recent troubles and bad press about its soaring crime rate, the people of Memphis have a dignity and graciousness that is incredibly endearing.

The day started early as usual. My motto on vacation is "Men plow deep while sluggards sleep". (I stole that one from a beat farmer friend of mine from the Red River Valley.) I scrawled a handwritten "Do Not Disturb" sign for my door handle and headed out at 7 a.m. to scout Elvis Presley Boulevard for a breakfast joint before being first in line for when Graceland opens at 9 a.m. I headed out Bellevue which turns into Elvis Presley Boulevard and did a drive-by of Graceland before making a U-turn and heading into the parking lot across the street to chat up the security guard, who seemed amused at my enthusiasm and naivete when I asked if there would be a line already formed when they opened at 9. I then headed out to a nearby Krispy Kreme and some caffeine and sugar rush. I asked the young black woman behind the counter for a recommendation for a biscuit and gravy breakfast and the only place she could come up with was I HOP. I told her I avoid that place like the plague and after consuming my coffee and donut I left.

As I was getting on my bike I chatted up the maintenance man who was sweeping the parking lot. A very dignified and friendly African American man in his late fifties or early sixties. When I asked him where I could get a real southern breakfast, his eyes lit up and he gave me directions to Brooks Ave and the Kettle where I had one of the best all you can eat southern breakfast buffets complete with pork chops, bacon, scrambled eggs, biscuits and gray and fresh fruit. Janice, my waitress got a kick out of the sun burnt Minnesotan on a motorcycle who was not afraid to try the local establishment over the chain restaurants. When I asked if it was okay to pull out my camera and take some pictures of the buffet she said sure and then asked if she could add my ugly mug to her camera phone collection which included the tourists from England who shared my sense of adventure and weren't afraid nor aware of any color line either.

After my belly bursting meal it was on to Graceland. As it was still only 8:30 a.m. I pulled up in the service lane right in front of Graceland and asked a couple of female tourists from Holland if they would take my picture in front of the gates, which they were more than happy to do. As we were doing this, a couple of heavy set sixty year old white women came sauntering down the long driveway from the mansion, dressed in garish black Elvis t-shirts. I asked if they were on a VIP tour and they said no, the memorial garden was open to the public be ween 7 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. as a free alternative for the faithful. Boy I wished I knew this ahead of time as I was about to drop a small fortune at one of the tightest ships in the tourists business. It was truly amazing how well run this operation is.

I soon discovered the demographics of the early morning Graceland visitors. I was by far the youngest and nearly half the visitors where from Europe, predominantly England. I had a good time chatting with some of the English tourists, like offering to take their picture next to the framed picture and letter from George Bush in the entryway to the "Trophy Room". When I asked the young black guard if they were going to replace the picture of Bush with "something more recent" she went into a rehearsed explanation how it was up there because the President had hosted the Prime Minister of Japan on a visit to Graceland.

I could not help from being struck by how small Graceland actually was as well as the fact that it isn't nearly as garish as one was led to believe. Furthermore, I commented out loud at how incredibly sad it was to which several of the English tourists nodded in agreement. On the positive side, it was very cool that the overwhelming majority of the staff were African American and I never missed an opportunity to remind them that if Elvis was alive today he would be at the Stax Museum.

After spending a small fortune on nick nacks I could fit in my saddle bags I left Graceland and headed out of Memphis with New Orleans and King Creole on my mind.

Compared with the previous two days of riding, day three was rather uneventful except for a bad stretch of road around Jackson, Mississippi and some brief showers in southern Mississippi. About 3 p.m. I stopped at an unmarked exit at a former Stuckey's for gas and what else, some chicken. The place struck me as somewhat strange as it was run by a Hindu woman and staffed by black guys. The toothless local white guy tried to chat me up about motorcycles but his heavy southern accent and lack of teeth made him almost indiscernible. Perhaps he felt a kindred spirit to me in light of my recent oral surgery. Nevertheless, the place had no other business and was giving me the willies so I got the hell out of there before I got mickey finned.

The most memorable and white knuckled part of the ride was the last 40 miles before New Orleans. Right as my fuel light started to blink the one gallon warning I started on the longest elevated bridge over Lake Pontchartrain and the spillway. Being above water there were hardly any exits and certainly no gas stations. Luckily I pulled off the first exit I came to with a gas station riding on fumes. After missing my exit to the French Quarter I wound up leaving New Orleans going over the Mississippi River bridge before doubling back and finding my hotel, the French Market in the heart of the French Quarter.