It Might Get Messy

I’m not dead yet. Which, all things considered, is rather remarkable. It was early in 2011 that I was diagnosed with a massive tumor on my tongue with a secondary malignancy occupying what was, until it lost the battle, my right parotid gland (which is a large salivary gland that runs up along the back of the jaw just behind the ear). Through 2011, I endured the standard hell of cancer treatment: radiation, chemotherapy, surgery. Having the disease in my tongue struck me as kind of a sick joke on the part of the universe. I’ve made my living by teaching and public speaking. And I was just learning how to write, sing, and record songs, and had geared up the hardware—including a state-of-the-art 32-track recording deck—to do so. 

Music meant a lot to me. Hell, it still means a lot to me. So losing my tongue (after the cancers reconstituted themselves and made a second attack on my oral cavity after the first round of treatment) was about as bad as it could get. Tied together with my love of food and cooking and wine and whiskey, it was a double punch. Not being able to teach (and leaving the ecological risk assessment class teacherless just after the semester began) or talk (talking being basically what my job was) just added to the savage kick in the ass delivered by the cancers. 

Now I’m a couple months out from the last of six rounds of chemotherapy that followed the radiation that followed the surgery that treated the second appearance of the cancer. In terms of my own music, I’m reduced to working on instrumentals. Given my clumsiness as a guitarist, this is a losing battle. The only real “positive” outcome of being slammed by cancers is having time to read and listen to music. Oh, and of course, take photographs. Unfortunately for the latter, it’s far too cold outside for my now-stabilized 160 pound frame (a weight I believe I last saw as a high school freshman, on the mimeographed roster for the freshman football team) to walk around. But I still manage to get some useful photos.

So, let’s make a virtue of necessity. Some quick reviews of the music I’m listening to right now, and I’ll leave you with a few photos on the way out. I’ve pretty much swapped out compact disks for MP3 files. I have several massive external hard drives (special thanks to Tim for his massive contribution) holding the bulk files. I usually keep a smaller selection on the hard drive of this MacBook for ready headphone listening. Let’s see what’s here.

First, there’s gospel. But not just any gospel. I’ve been in the mood for raw, rough, savage stuff. The kind of music I would have needed when I was younger to get me moving on a Sunday morning after a hard-partying Thursday through Saturday. Of course, Blind Willie Johnson, whose entire recorded output fits on a double CD set (easily available via Amazon), is the master at this, and Reverend Gary Davis (much larger recorded library, also easily obtained) his disciple. I want to put you onto a really weird and impressive set. Pick up the three disk set titled “Fire in my Bones: Raw + Rare + Otherworldly African-American Gospel 1944 – 2007”. This stuff will amaze and delight you, from the guitar instrumentals through gravelly a cappella, to rockin’ sermons backed by drums, banjos, and dancers. Amazingly, for one of the most stunning collections of music on the market today, Amazon offers the entire three disk set as MP3 files for $12. The CDs run $27. Either way, it is worth every freakin’ penny. This stuff is simply and overwhelmingly awesome.

Next, let’s take a crack at the Grateful Dead. As early (in fact, the very first) adapters of the “sell everything on tape to compete with the bootleggers” (who they also didn’t generally discourage, being a pop music oddity—people who cared more about the art than the money), stuff’s been available from barely listenable audience recordings to unmastered soundboard recordings to the generally excellent studio stuff. One of their sets with a reputation for being the best of their live releases was “Europe ‘72”, a two disk set, beautifully recorded, on nights when they were hitting on all cylinders. Well, recently, a mass of tapes from that 1972 European tour have been worked up and offered for sale. There are at least 15 multiple disk sets available now, and every single one is as good as the Dead ever got. Both the artistry and the recording are first rate. I assume you own both of the comprehensive box sets pulling all their “officially released” recordings as of a few years ago together. But, to be honest, if I wanted the best of the Dead, stretching both their repertoire and their skills, I would collect this entire stack of 1972 recordings. It is that good. In fact, even though it’s live, it is recorded as well or better than most of their studio stuff. High powered. No household should be without. 

Let’s do one more. I’ve only recently discovered these people, so I may be behind you on this. The “modern roots” movement has bubbled up a group of experts. Experts not just at the music, but at the roots themselves. This is Cross Canadian Ragweed. Despite the geographical sounding name, these are U.S. kids, writing, singing, and playing at insane intensity, with equally insane imagination, humor, and depth. In keeping with the present model of musicians trying to find a way to make a living in a world full of digital reproduction, they’ve released tons of titles. Near as I can tell, they’ve done so without diluting their quality one bit. I do have an approach I recommend for starting out approaching their stuff. I suggest you snag the two disk live set “Back to Tulsa—Live and Loud at Cain’s Ballroom”. This is a great introduction. Then, grab the incredible bargain five CD, one DVD set “Box of Weed”, available for an incredible $27 at Amazon! At that point, you’ll be hooked and you’ll dig up the rest of their stuff, including awesome YouTube bits and dozens of disks and files, commercially released (e.g. Amazon) and at their web site. These kids sound a lot like Uncle Tupelo on steroids. And since Uncle Tupelo imploded after 5 (or so) albums, Cross Canadian Ragweed fill in a deep hole in modern Americana.

OK, that’s probably enough music reviewing for this entry. A quick catch-up on my health. I’m getting stronger and stronger. I’m desperate for warmer weather so I can get out and walk. My breathing seems to be ok—whatever cancers are left in my lungs, throat, sinuses, and oral cavity do not seem to be impacting my respiration. I continue to have a hell of a time maintaining my weight—I just can’t get enough of this liquid formula into my gut to yield the necessary calories. But I’m working on it. My pain, after subsiding for a while, seems to have reached a plateau, but the drugs I have access to are more than enough to deal with it. So, all in all, it could be a lot worse. I could be anywhere from dead, to dying, to back in horrific treatments at this point. Instead I’m perched in my hospital-style bed, reading, practicing guitar, photographing birds at the feeder, watching movies and TV. It’s not a bad life for the moment. But I really want spring to come. I’d hate to regress back to terminal cancer (which day is coming, it’s just a question of when) without having one more spring time to photograph the flowers, spiders, snakes and frogs. Now it’s just a race between my immune system, residual malignancies, and the natural turn of the seasons. Stay tuned weekly here at this blog to see how it plays out!

Finally, I leave you with some photos. The Coopers hawk was long-range shots of the bird on a fence. I knew it was somewhere in the neighborhood, because the song birds didn’t show at the feeders. And they’re usually there in crowds. Coopers’ favorite food is songbird, so it was wise of the dickie birds to huddle out of sight. The remaining photos are from a bouquet brought as a very nice house gift by recent visitors. 

Thanks for being here, everyone. Live ‘em while you got ‘em. They are NOT forever. And with spring coming, you want to be sure you’re here to see the blossoming of the woodlands and the snakes emerging from hibernation. At least I do!