PRINCE-MADNESS – ODD-MAN OUT
The stage-management of it all might have been a conspiracy of nature and the departed personage himself. As the shocked, disbelieving throngs seemingly, are mechanically drawn to the Paisley Park palace, a soft rain of insinuated, purple passion pelted down upon them piteously. Then, as if to consecrate the passing of this brief, frenzied existence, suddenly a rainbow doth appear, converting every tear into a spectrum of its own, multi-hued audacity.
Apparently, I leaped right over that Zeitgeist. When Prince was born, I had been around for 30 years. By then, my musical tastes already were well established. Growing up in a city rife with culture and the fine arts, at a time when those things were reflected in the schools, from “K” upward. Classical and Broadway music, along with the sophisticated American Song Book, all were everyday staples of natural sustenance. Sanitized jazz was just beginning to creep into Carnegie Hall. The blues was eschewed by respectable people. The beautiful simplicity of Stephen Foster was taught, with all of its “black Joes, mammies, massas” and “little darkies rolling on the cabin floor.” The Jewish cantor’s son, Al Jolson, passionately sought his “Mammy” through black-face, while on one knee. Strip away the era-tolerated, lack of ethnic sensitivity, and the music was quite good. Not only that, it was EVERYBODY’S MUSIC! Somewhere along the line, music became sectionalized. So, let it be with the departed Prince and his ilk.
Of Prince’s musicianship and extraordinary theatricality, there is no argument. Because of the compartmentalism of the music of this era, I am not familiar with the body of Prince’s work. I cannot hum even a few bars of any song of his. “Purple Rain” is the only title I know. I did see the movie, and remember only that there was a motorcycle involved – I think. In the past few days, I have heard lots of Prince’s music for the first time. What I did hear, along with the lyrics, have impressed me not. With all of the hullaballoo, I feel that I must have missed out on something magnificent and moving. The only time I recall seeing Prince on TV, he was wearing a pair of pants with the ass out.
There is an observation about the music I have been hearing for the past few days. It seems to be a weak, falsetto imitation of Michael Jackson’s strong singing voice, with an absence of imaginative lyrics. In contrast, I well remember the haunting, “She’s Out of My Life” and many of MJ’s other gems. I have heard supportive critics of Prince say, “Yes, he borrowed a little here, a little there – but, in the end, it’s all Prince.” Is that what I missed – a purported musical genius, snapping up bits of other genius, and expelling it badly? I suspect that may be the trend today, sans even Prince’s basic musical talent. It is a travesty that practitioners of rap and hip-hop even be referred to as, “musicians.” They neither sing nor play music! Further, in the grand spectrum of entertainment, they do not fit the character of “artist.” But, then, that is grist for another mill.
Back to what Wolf Blitzer referred to as, “Purple Haze.” Acknowledging Prince's genius for playing musical instruments, it is a pity he was not exposed to the grand extend of music. He would have developed a fuller appreciation of perception, interpretation and expression, in both note and word. Likewise, his many devoted fans throughout the world similarly would be endowed. Are you listening school boards and local governments everywhere? You cannot continue to price the fine arts out of the curriculum, and expect to have a well-rounded citizenry. Sure, private schools and academies will remain well balanced, but must we continue on the road to becoming a vassal state, culturally?
***** ***** *****
The Prince of Purple has succumbed.
His music has left me benumbed.
They say he’s a hit,
And don’t give a shit
That only I am thusly bumbed.
horsey ô horsey IV
horsey ô horsey
ebony horsey
beloved
beautiful
black
beast
come
to cage
sea shapes
from shadow
of stones
without souls
sea
sorrow's stone
sea's
memory of moon
ghosts grip
book of birds
wear rags
to worship
hands
tongues
carried in cloth
close
so close
to wound
bodies broken
by fruit
falling
into augustine's hands
exquisite echo
of tombs
birds beat
wings
invincible until infected
hear hoisey howl
like locusts
hear horsey howl
sorrow
of sea
surface
of sea
in flame
breath
hammers heart
breath battered
by memory
memory of blood
why
are you writing
in blood
of horses
step
on stones
behind bones
strike
stick against stick
twig against twig
crying
last lasting
crying continually
constant
crying
irreparable
immutable
ineradicable cries
cries
without end
only beginnings
of beginning
maim
memory
horsey ô horsey
ebony horsey
beautiful
black
beast
night heron knows
now in night
in night's night
wheels on fire
let legba
into heart
ô let legba
into your heart
let him
wash wound
under black sun
meet in morning
place pebbles
at feet
foretell
what passed
before eyes
milk
in
blood from murdered
moon
flame
space
breath
force
body
destitute
flame
weeping
remember
endure
go
silence
river
remember
remember
remember
Still
time
labour
of lamentations
burnt
bodies
count
number
within number
fete
on flesh
Ocean
beloved
beloved
fire
being time
Memory
disappearing Dead
end of end
embrace
body
night
mouth
night
beginning
cry
count
sing
hear
howling
so
close
opposite
ends of earth
shadow to shadow
end
of distances
horse’s
hours
hours
matter
whisper
under breath
in dark
number
close
relinquish remains
beyond
river
sing
across sea
time
fall
down
river
memory
remember
depth
centre
encircled
beginning
breath
elegy
time
wake
night
follow
channel
ebony ocean
count
sing
songs
skin
shatter
sun
enraptured
ghoul
in garden
time
enters time
wash
field
still
burning
burn
now
come
time
numbers
ominous
time
crossing
time
form
thread
skin
cloth
damned
corridors
cure
crevices
stone
sand
body
torment
still
lament
time
deluge
dead
language
speech remember
traces
wreckage
field of flesh
in flame
man
mud
foundation
poisoned
other
a lone
architect
of light
go
with ghoul
horizon
harvest
hell
call
out
cry
remember
perish
maelstrom
master
done
deal
bone’s
bargain
walk in
secret
secret of serpent
& stone
enter
executioner
embracing émanations
night
descend
night
death
saliva
tongue
blood
photograph - La Nga Tai par La Nga Tai
alison from adelaide
1
wanted
to wash
you weeping
white mini
skirt so short
& white
wanted
to wash
you from within
held brush
against back
biting tongue
so taut
i wasn't
breathing
any more
just murmuring
against white
wall with
white painting
weeping
white
so
white
fanon fought
we would be
released in rings
of circles
from your feet
to these lips
these
beautiful
lips
i still
possess
while dying
it is so
easy to remember
way we walked
into each other
weeping
futures
thrown
from crevasse
with other
wings
that was
yours or mine
body bleeding white
on white
transparent
too
that was so
hard falling
& falling
so
hard
in that
country i came
from
fields
prisons
& oceans
telling truth so
crudely you cannot
listen & i can be
left
to this solitide
that keeps on
getting me
through
baby
i built
beds death beds
from those tears
those incalculable
tears
tore
after me
in milan
montreal
stockholm
hong kong
berschtesgaden
here
& there
witnessing you white
so white
weeping skin
from
my
back
my broken back
carrying
arms
i would always
carry arms
never left
your bones
i beat out
sounds
in strangers cities
so they would
remember
you who
built
a tank
of me
a tank
that weeps
a tank
that fires
directly
course i say
so coarsely
coughing
red
brown blood
into white basin
not knowing
whose
body
is being
this night
white
so
white
bent
over basin
crying centuries
trying to climb
back
black
into you
ô darlin
into you
close
to tuo
tou still
showing last
scenes
from
this
or
that
scripture
2
stripping
skin
rolled
between teeth
your tongue
turning
& turning
come
come
coil to coil
coil
to
spring
spring
to sweat
drink
each other
whole
waves built
up in
us in
side out
of hole
whole
worlds
evaporated
under your arms
tangling
torsos tearing
apart all
affinities
being
certain
sperm sustain
interrogation of i
& i & you
& you
way we became
white
sheets flying
over oceans
licking
our
locks
on
end
to end
believe our bodies
ô believe
our bodies
pain
so pure
pure as powders
covering
our
calculable
carcass
until
time bent
way to window
i never
wanted
to look out
to gaze
at anything
other
than white wing
you became bird
of flight
of light
inside
me i
was
never
foolish enough
to think
i was anywhere
beyond cusp
of you
you who
came
right in
felt about
& furrowed
what
i had
forgotten
never
forgotten your
ghost's
grandeur
legs
on ladder
crying
christ's
last words
tho
you
never forgave
knots
men make
imagine it
art
you
came
down
lips
upon lips
hip
cascading
over hip
wearing
each other
out
inside
out
offering oracle
totem
of torsos
we were
skin seas
of skin
see see
johnny garfield
might have
whelped to
some hood
but
we
clean
come
knocking
at door
of that
danger
& other
innocent
crimes conceived
on lake
sperm
sustains
who were we
holding then
weep washing
triangle terror
takes
to
end
of end
just
so just
just so
sperm sustains
breath
before
after
night
tore
into us
as it always
did
entangled
in tears
of rope
palace
we shaped
with rhythm
of our loving
prayers
drowning
out
declarations dread
demands
we were winds
darling nature
no
no
kingdom
we
came
from
from where
we came
barely human
saliva
sperm
bloodbath
i became
every night
i went out
alone
coming back another
construction
your teas
sewed skin
back
to skin
back
to
bones
we
washed
together
in
bath
bath bloody
boat
swimming out
to one
another
another
this
night
red brown basin
clean with chemicals
that
in another
time
would have run
like rivulets
through
veins
remember
i so
clean
blood left
by another
sortie
can you
place that
cannula
carefully
breathe
on little reed
you took from
mekonng
make
me
melody
darling tune
time
now
no
later
now no
later
3
bedded
in death
bed white
as water
scattered sheets
of paper
paid for
with pores
since start
some pool
of blood
rusted hospital
for old
soldiers
strutting
corridor
to
corridor
without limbs
sticks
& stick
calipers
clicked
& clicked
their crazy
beat
scrawl
your name
over
&
over
again
& again
hearing you
incant
name
i once
possessed
possession
fates lost
one morning
somewhere near soil
forest you furnished
with paintings
you proceeded
to burn
one
by
one
letting tongue
loose
inside you
legs
wrapped
wave after
wave
over
& into us
us
one
arm
behind
back biting
lips
& cheeks
until my blood
ran into you
mouth & teeth
red
red
so red
carnal
calisthenics
cleaned of all
except
alphabet
of
anatomy
dared
to dive
deeper
than diagrams
described
following fingers
to each part
we practised
over
&
over
again
& again
presuming
you would
pick up
brush
but
but
you turned
into corridor
clouded by emanation
so sombre
so difficult
to define
features
except that
of phantoms
attempting
without art
to find
where you
were
only
odor
of semen
sustains
then you went
up
in white
smoke
pity pity
we will
not return
to chelmno
we will not
meet again
hearing how
we fell
in forests
we are
here
together
still
still
come
cold
wraiths
will wrap
what
is left
over
&
over
again
infinity passes
you
in
inches
simple
measure
maelstrom
melbourne
early eighties
simple
measure
longitudes learnt
from
latitudes
wherever
we lay
down
down
further
into
one
another's
fathom
further
tongue
& teeth
digging
their
way
down
downward
wet
we
were
so
wet
with
each
other
wet
with
each
other
beginning
to bathe
within
walls
of
one
another's
want
want
washed
us
away
washed
away
where
no one
waited
to
see
how storms
swim
how storms swim
wouldn't wait
to be
washe
we were
so
far
down
wids
were
of liite
concern
carnal
whether
we
would
ever
escape
or would
want
to
turn
against
time
time
too
hollow
her
ô her
worlds
rubbing
her & man
i am
Image: improvisation 240 pour le mémorial de l'abolition de l'esclavage
“BLUES, BOOZE…” and VIDEO ON DEMAND
For more than 20 years, MusicalSoCal.com (MSC) and its predecessor have been producing stage-musical works. Adjusting to ongoing changes among stage, video and film production, MSC is in the process of altering its output to conform to the new reality. The first step in this process has been to create a video presentation of MSC’s one-man musical, “Blues, Booze and Attitude,” which is now available on Video on Demand (VOD).
In the video, Tommy Dodson repeats the stage performances he gave in Los Angeles, Long Beach and San Diego. Utilizing basically the same stage format, Dodson artfully masters the piano, vocal and dramatic requirements of the piece. Action takes place during the Great Depression. Thad Johnson, who is a popular church musician and vocalist, ekes out a living for his family by taking on the persona of “Spats Dollar,” who plays piano and does raunchy vocals at a local bawdy house. Veering slightly from the stage presentation, Tommy extends his talented output by also adopting the character of the church’s pastor, into which he—off-script—injects dialog and characterization drawn from personal experience.
All of the music produced by MSC is the original composition of Tommy Dodson, who is a noted cabaret performer in SoCal, including, currently, Palm Springs. For several years he toured the world with Crystal Cruises as a featured artist. Tommy also creates the arrangements for MSC productions, performs the instrumentation and most of the vocals. Yours truly provides the librettos, dialogs and lyrics.
Tommy Dodson and I created MusicalSoCal.com. All of our efforts would have gone to naught without the constant and complete devotion of Richard Taylor, an exceptionally talented sound and video engineer. Richard also directs stage, and now video, productions.
Horace Birgh has been a true and faithful friend of our efforts from the beginning. Not only does he provide moral support, he assists in so many of those behind-the-scenes, administrative functions without which we would be stymied and at a loss. Apart from those quotidian chores, Horace has contributed to the artistic quality of our work by providing his mellifluous tones as voiceover for many of our projects.
In a further attempt to hone our output to the demands of today’s zeitgeist, MSC has invented the “Micro Musical Video.” The idea is to take the stage-musical concept and pare it down to a VOD bite-size, for easy consumption. Two such ideas are in current production:
- “Oney” was an enslaved, mulatto girl, assigned to pamper Martha Washington. With micro-musical intensity, we tell her tale of permanent escape to freedom.
- Denise Bravell, a totally blind colleague of mine at the Braille Institute for the Blind, has written a hauntingly beautiful song that we intend to use in conjunction with a micro video dance performance. Mike Hadley lends his beautiful tenor voice to the lyrics I was honored to provide, under the title “Twilight in Chiaroscuro.”
Musical SoCal invites input from my Idiot Free Zone readers and members of other groups.