Steinski.com

A post Tuesday about a gig Saturday…

steinski — Tue, 31 Aug 2010 15:03:24 +0000

I’ll never learn. In any case, I’m playing 5:30 – 7 PM this Saturday in Montreal, at the big ol’ outdoor party they call Piknic Electronik. Stop by. People say it’s off the hook; I’ll fix that.

“Strange Brewski” from The Poolroom Loafer

steinski — Thu, 26 Aug 2010 19:06:10 +0000

My friend The Poolroom Loafer, a talented DJ/producer, sends along this short but interesting piece of audio he just finished. It’s based on the song “Str**** Br**” by the British trio Cr***. Just in time for my upcoming gigs in Montreal (Piknic Elektronik) and San Francisco (benefit for the EFF). More about the gigs tomorrow (I hope), but for the moment, check out the latent funk.

strange brewski 3.4.3

It’s a spoken word thing #5 (Bridey Murphy)

steinski — Wed, 11 Aug 2010 02:36:02 +0000

In 1952, the US was in the throes of several different varieties of hysteria. The Korean War was pounding away; another confrontation between good (us) and evil (them). The US economy entered a stratospheric delirium, drunk with an unprecedented infusion of wealth that created the modern middle-class. Anti-Communist madness – led by the one, the only, the dipsomaniac Joseph McCarthy – led to thousands of people losing their jobs and homes because they refused to sign unconstitutional “loyalty” oaths. Negroes were beginning to make some long-overdue noise about their status as third-class citizens, upsetting the idea of a stable society. Flying saucers were sighted practically everywhere. And a Nazi invention – magnetic particles affixed to thin plastic tape – made its way into the hands of US engineers, who promptly pushed aside unwieldy, lo-fi wire recorders to usher in the modern-era tape recorder.

Morey Bernstein, exploring the beyond

In Pueblo, Colorado, Morey Bernstein, seen above fondling the brand-new, old-school portable reel-to-reel job (with included speaker, please notice) put his new device to an interesting use. An amateur hypnotist, he placed a local woman named Virginia Tighe into a series of deep trances. He progressively moved her back in recollecting her earliest memories, and in the spirit of experimentation, asked her to “remember back before you were born.”

Zowie. Under hypnosis Ms. Tighe morphed into the Irish brogue-spouting spirit of a woman named Bridey Murphy, who she apparently was in a previous life. She recollected in some detail the life that once she led in 19th-century Cork and Belfast, married to a lawyer. Bernstein wrote a book about the sessions, called The Search For Bridey Murphy, and hit a vein of hysteria running through the media, with apparent proof of reincarnation. People believed the Communists were taking over the US government, the schools, and the motion picture industry, they saw UFO’s with great regularity. Reincarnation is real? Why not?

The book was a best-seller. Growing up in the 50’s I remember seeing copies of the book at people’s houses everywhere. It was one of those fads that seemed to happen then, like Davy Crockett, or Elvis.

Over time, I heard that the whole deal was suspicious, and it eventually turned out to be bogus, but in an innocent way. Nobody stroking their mustache, gloating while they counted the money, or anything.

Our Motto: "Get lost."

These were the dim memories stirred the first time I saw the sleeve for the Bridey Murphy sessions LP at Colony Records (on the ground floor of the Brill Building) in 1983. Well, waddya know. I’d picked through enough spoken word bins by then to realize this might actually be worth the $25 the Colony was attempting to clout from the populace. But nothing is easy; the sleeve was all they had. The actual record had been lost/misplaced/stolen long before I made the scene, and it was years until I found a copy. But find it I did.

Recorded on the home tape machine Mr. Bernstein poses with above, the audio has the predictable fuzziness of the time, and the mumbling of the hypnotized subject is barely understandable. Nontheless, it has a certain otherworldly vibe, and the mix of Korea, commies, and UFO’s is helped along by an actual tape recording of some Colorado woman’s past life.

An excerpt from the above LP, in all its black and white, 1950’s glory. 5.6 meg download.

If you’re the rights holder, or you were the rights holder in a past life, and you have a problem, let me know.

The hypnotic regression thing caught on. Cheap, easy, and anyone can play:

Click here to view the embedded video.

In an interesting side note, Bridey Murphy has herself been reincarnated. As a kickboxer.

Click here to view the embedded video.

It’s a spoken word thing #4 (Hard Times)

steinski — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 20:53:39 +0000

One of the most affecting books I’ve ever read is Hard Times, by the recently-deceased Studs Terkel. It’s an oral history of the United States during the Great Depression of the 30’s. Terkel interviewed every sort of person that lived in the US at that time; both the destitute and the people who were so wealthy they doubted the existence of the “so-called” depression, and fought Social Security and Unemployment Insurance because the very ideas were “un-American.”

After I discovered the book, I read it several times. Much of the content was amazing to me, both because I didn’t pay a lot of attention in history or social studies classes in school, and because – if I remember correctly – the Depression was something that was covered in about 40 minutes in school, as the period between the Roaring 20’s and WWII, when some people had to stand on breadlines for a little while.

The book brought home to me that the United States had been on the brink of true revolution in the early 30’s; not because people with bellbottoms and long hair and flowers envisioned a world of peace and love, but because so many people were starving, jobless, homeless and disenfranchised – that when Franklin D. Roosevelt was inaugurated and he rode with Herbert Hoover (the outgoing president [Republican] and the architect of the disaster) along Pennsylvania Avenue, their route was lined with army troops who mannned machine guns, aimed at the crowd in order to keep Hoover from being lynched.

Mr. Terkel

Terkel was responsible for a host of other wonderful oral histories, covering work, WWII, race, the American Dream, and a few other topics. My familiarity with audio interviews always made me curious about what the actual tapes sounded like that Terkel’s staff transcribed for the books.

One day, while going through a crate of spoken-word records in a shop, I ran across the heart-stopper: a 2-LP set of interviews from Hard Times (apropos of nothing, I currently own 3 copies of the set).

It’s exactly as revelatory as I’d hoped when I was dreaming about the tapes. There’s no doubting that the printed transcriptions in the book are heart-wrenching, but there’s also no doubting that listening to people speak about their experiences carries an emotional vibe and a quality that print can only hint at.

I’ve edited together 3 people speaking about their experiences:

The first voice is Pauline Kael, an author, and film critic at The New Yorker when it was an exceptional magazine. Kael grew up in San Francisco, and reminisces about the atmosphere in her neighborhood as the homeless and hungry appeared at the door.

Hobos chalked symbols on gateposts, sidewalks, and walls to indicate the prospects of work, shelter, or general welcome they found.

The second voice on the tape is Emma Tiller, an African-American woman who cooked for white families in the Deep South during the depression. Her recollections of who was charitable to who when there was a knock on the back door certainly give one pause. Her voice is like music.

The last voice in this excerpt is Terkel’s wife’s. She became one of the first social workers for the first poverty agencies in the Midwest. Simple dignity was the first thing that went out the window when dealing with impoverished families. After all, if you couldn’t find a job and feed your family, and you had the nerve to ask for charity so your kids could eat, you must not deserve to be treated like an adult. She speaks here of the inspection people had to endure in order to qualify for the meager benefits.

Studs Terkel Hard Times The original tapes on which the book was based. 6 meg download

Caedmon TC 2048 (2 LP set)

You the copyright holder? You all upset? No problem; just get in touch and down we take it.

What if the Tea Party were Black?

steinski — Mon, 19 Jul 2010 15:10:41 +0000

Moron assholes

The wife brings to my attention this truly excellent article – simple, short, well-written – by Tim Wise. It won’t take long to read, and instantly puts current events in perspective:

“Imagine that hundreds of black protesters were to descend upon Washington DC and Northern Virginia, just a few miles from the Capitol and White House, armed with AK-47s, assorted handguns, and ammunition. And imagine that some of these protesters —the black protesters — spoke of the need for political revolution, and possibly even armed conflict in the event that laws they didn’t like were enforced by the government? Would these protesters — these black protesters with guns — be seen as brave defenders of the Second Amendment, or would they be viewed by most whites as a danger to the republic? What if they were Arab-Americans? Because, after all, that’s what happened recently when white gun enthusiasts descended upon the nation’s capital, arms in hand, and verbally announced their readiness to make war on the country’s political leaders if the need arose.”

Harvey Pekar, R.I.P.

steinski — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 20:20:12 +0000

Harvey Pekar, 1939 - 2010

Harvey Pekar was an extraordinary individual. A lifelong file clerk at a Veterans Administration hospital in Cleveland, he was a record collector, jazz critic, literary scholar, and one of the great comic book writers of all time, bringing a true literary sensibility to the form. His talent shone through his continuing series of American Splendor comics dealing with his day-to-day life and interests, his gripping collaboration with wife Joyce Brabner about his treatments for lymphatic cancer in Our Cancer Year, and the excellent screen adaptation of his overall existence in the movie American Splendor (starring Paul Giamatti).

There’ll be a lot written in the next few days about this perceptive artist. I’ll add only that I was standing in St. Marks Comics one day years ago when this cover by R. Crumb (a frequent Pekar collaborator) caught my eye, for obvious reasons.

The story inside about becoming an obsessive record collector – although Pekar was worse than I ever was – struck home mightily. And while it was illustrated by Crumb, it wasn’t weird, or underground funny; it just… was. How excellent.

I was never partial to Pekar’s appearances on Letterman, where he was treated as some sort of hipster sideshow attraction, so I’m not going to post any of those clips. But I highly recommend the movie adaptation of American Splendor, as well as his various collections.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Joyce and Harvey

It’s a spoken word thing #3 (Richard Pryor)

steinski — Mon, 05 Jul 2010 19:15:46 +0000

When I think of Richard Pryor, the general impression is that of the profane, irreverent, comedian of the insanely funny live performance videos, or Gene Wilder’s goofy buddy in the movies, or even the live-wire star of his own tv show (briefly) back in the 70’s.

The man in fine form (and a red, red suit):

Click here to view the embedded video.

When I began buying up comedy LP’s, I discovered Pryor’s early, unauthorized recordings; a blending of his own background as the grandson of a madam and the son of a prostitute, growing up in a brothel in Peoria, Illinois with the warm, popular storytelling comedy of the 1960’s popularized by Bill Cosby (“To My Brother Russell,” etc.). On Pryor’s album “Supernigger,” I love this rambling piece about Saturday night social life. Portraits of all the players in the bar, including pimps, hookers, gamblers, fences and a belligerent cop highlight Pryor’s keen eye for the funny detail.

It ain’t as if people don’t know who Pryor is, so I’m going to leave it here. The only thing I would add is, if you ever have an opportunity to see the (apparently) never rerun Lily Tomlin TV special from 1974 called Lily, check it for the performance of Pryor and Tomlin answering a questionnaire. Superb. And they kiss at the end of the skit, which was the end of the world in 1973.

Saturday Night. (8.52 meg) From the Laff LP A224. I would venture to guess this is a bootleg, badly recorded and edited with a dull blade.

It’s a spoken word thing #2 (Pete Barbutti)

steinski — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 14:28:59 +0000

(I imagine you’re wondering what the Grainger logo is doing here. And where is Pete Barbutti? Please be patient; all will be revealed in the fullness of time)

Last Saturday morning, I woke up to discover that our attic fan (known also as a whole-house fan) had ceased to work. I am not the most mechanically-inclined individual (pause here for raucous laughter offstage), but we don’t have a ton of money to piss away on the local fix-it guys unless it’s absolutely necessary. So I heaved my butt up into the stiflingly hot attic and made my way to the eaves in a sweaty, crouched shuffle to figure out what the problem was.

The belt connecting the motor to the fan blades was lying loose on the floor underneath the installation. Further inspection revealed that a large chunk of the side of the metal pulley wheel that guided the belt on the motor had simply broken off and retired after lo, these many years, leaving a large, jagged shard on the floor.

Even with my lack of knowledge regarding matters in the physical realm, I realized this was a part too specialized to be found at the local Home Depot or Lowe’s. And because it was Saturday, it was unlikely that I would be able to poll local specialty stores – ventilation specialists? Electrical supply? How should I know? – about something as esoteric as a single replacement pulley wheel for our ancient fan.

I recalled a place our former landlord (a particularly handy person) used to go for beyond-the-pale specialized parts; a series of warehouses run by Grainger Industrial Supply. Grainger is staggering in the depth and breadth of their stock. I had their physical catalogue at one point a few years ago; even printed on the thinnest paper, it weighs several pounds, and runs over 3000 pages, if I remember correctly. There’s almost nothing mechanical they don’t carry, most of it available at each mammoth warehouse.

Feeling exceptionally clever, I internetted my way over to their site to find out if there was a Grainger open on the weekend. There’s one warehouse in the entire state of New Jersey that’s open on Saturday. The DIY home repair gods smiled on me; the place is only 15 minutes away from here.

I grabbed the busted pulley and the belt and hightailed it over there.

At Grainger, like most warehouse operations (Pep Boys, AutoZone, etc), the employee/customer interface is a counter on the border between the stuff and the street. Two of the people behind the Grainger counter were speaking with customers, I approached the third, a young woman, and placed the busted pulley on the counter.

I tried to sound knowledgeable. “I’d like to get a replacement for this pulley thing,”

“Got an account?”

“Uh, no.”

“Purchase order?”

“No.”

“Who you work for?”

“I’m self-employed.”

“Well, we’re not open to the public. Just, you know, companies. Sorry.” She pushed the piece back at me. I saw visions of the wife and me spending the weekend sitting in our underwear in front of a fan and a block of ice. I let the desperation seep into my voice.

“Please. I can’t get this anywhere else. It doesn’t say on your website that I have to have an account. Please.”

She looked at me, at the part, and at one of the other people back of the counter, a slightly older guy, who was waiting on someone else but clocking our action, as well. “You know, we get three or four of these every weekend, and I complain, and they don’t do anything about it ” he said, looking at me. “We’re here for the contractors, not the homeowners.” He was beginning to get worked up.

“Man, I’m sorry about this, really, but I have no idea where else I can go. We’re screwed if I can’t get this part. Maybe I can apply for an account right now?”

The guy looked disgusted. Lame-ass homeowners wandering into the joint every weekend, can’t let the goddam contractors pick up their goddam parts in goddam peace. He shook his head slowly, torn, but still (thank heavens) too human to let the rules get in the way. “Get it for him. One-time sale.” He looked at the pulley, then at the belt I brought along, not knowing what I’d need to get replacements for. “You need a belt, too?”

“Yeah.”

He turned to the young woman. “Get him a belt. Check to see if this one’s stretched. If it is, make sure the replacement is the next size under this one, not a bigger one.”

She looked at him with a hand on her hip, I swear. “You think I don’t know that?” She snatched the belt out of his hand, took the wheel, and walked over to a computer, where, muttering and shaking her head, she compared numbers from the screen to one of the actual catalogues, and began writing down part numbers.

I felt like I’d wandered into the mother temple of Skull & Bones or something. The infidel homeowner that stormed the gates of The Contractor’s Retreat. No account, even! And what’s worse, I couldn’t even pass myself off as a pro; I had to whine like a… a… homeowner.

Which brings me to Pete Barbutti.

Apparently very popular as a comedian in clubs and on TV (Steve Allen, Carson, Leno, Letterman, everyone), I’d never heard of Barbutti (what do I know?) until I got a cassette of “Jazz Humor” Mal Sharpe put together, with this routine, The Hip Mechanic. Larded with a fair amount of beat and musician slang, it’s about how mechanics wanted to appear hip when going to jazz clubs, but manage to give themselves away unconsciously as non-hipsters. The converse, of course, was when musicians went into a garage to buy parts to fix their cars and couldn’t answer the hard questions. That kind of nailed my situation at Grainger. The “pulley wheel,” incidentally, was not that at all; it’s a one-groove sheave. I actually made the repair myself (using the new sheave and the old belt) in about 30 grotesquely sweaty, dusty, dirty, profanity-filled minutes under the eaves. And yes, I straightened up too fast and hit my head on a rafter. Twice.

I’m sending in my application for Grainger account (one bank reference, two trade references) tomorrow, in case you were wondering.

The Hip Mechanic. (2.4 meg, 2:37) From the album “Here’s Pete Barbutti” on VeeJay (VJLP-1133), recorded live at The Slate Bros., Hollywood. You a copyright holder and you got a problem with this? Let me know, I’ll take it down. We don’t mean no bad.

And here’s Barbutti on Carson, doing what I gather was one of his best-known routines, about the ‘ccordine.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Latest newsletter from the Electronic Frontier Foundation

steinski — Tue, 29 Jun 2010 00:06:24 +0000

The latest issue of Effector, the EFF newsletter, just hit my incoming mail. If you have even a hint of interest in the civil rights and privacy aspects of our society’s cute little online existence, you might ought to subscribe.

One of the highlights this issue is a new Firefox plug-in that protects privacy by encrypting searches.

It’s a spoken word thing #1 (Boris Karloff)

steinski — Fri, 25 Jun 2010 17:11:59 +0000

I’m sitting on a real treasury of spoken word recordings in all manner of formats, and I want to bring some of these to a wider audience than just me, sitting alone in the basement and grinning like a fool. Both my cassette players busted from age, and until I get a replacement for them, and until I get the CD’s sorted out and shelved, I’m culling from vinyl, just picking out some favorites.

The first is Boris Karloff (pictured above) reading from Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories. It’s called “The Butterfly That Stamped,” from “The Cat That Walked By Herself And Other Stories” one of a number of Just So readings he did for Caedmon Records in the early 1960’s. I think I have them all on some combination of vinyl and cassette, and I like this LP best because, if I remember correctly, this is the only one that didn’t have some sort of musical accompaniment. I believe the latest version of Caedmon has reissued some of these on CD, but I haven’t heard it.

Of course, Karloff is best known for his scary creepy horror movies – Frankenstein, The Mummy, and like that.

Click here to view the embedded video.

When I bought my first copy of this, I don’t remember having any expectations of what it would sound like. I knew it couldn’t be some scary reading, and it wasn’t very expensive, because who gave a damn about this?, so I wasn’t taking a very big chance.

It’s fantastic. Karloff reads with an exquisite sense of British sophistication and real understanding of the story, without condescension. It’s presented with very little editing (you can hear swallows and long breaths), so you get a real feel for his sense of timing. The slight hesitation on the line “Oh my lady, and jewel of my felicity…” lets you see the raised eyebrow, the quizzical expression. And the dynamics and the certainty of the phrase “He understood everything” always make me smile.

He sounds like the best possible Grandpa.

Directed by Howard Sackler.

Give it a listen. (14 meg download, 15:30, 128k)

And, of course, if there’s a hassle with a copyright holder, I’ll take the clip down forthwith. I mean no harm.