Final show of year and last thoughts.
LAST SHOW (AND EMAIL) OF THE YEAR…AND IT’S A BIG ONE!! presents: Dec 16 – New York City – Bowery Electric – Doors 7:30PM - Tickets Yes, it’ll probably be cold, but hope you all rally and get to the show. It’s for a great cause (The Bowery Mission) and we have a fantastic lineup. The incredible Hollis Brown will be joining us, who so graciously joined me on stage many times on our UK tour recently, along with Diane Gentile – whose warm and beautiful record I was lucky to recently produce…and of course your favorite robot lovers, Beautiful Small Machines (Ms. Bree Sharp). Some of my favorite past shows have been when there was some sort of storm happening…and y’all still came out. Now, I’m not keeping fingers crossed for a storm, but… Oh, and if you want to save a few bucks, GET TICKETS EARLY. More info on Facebook. That’s it everyone. Below are my last missive/stories for the year, touching on a couple random thoughts that have been swimming through my head. For those that don’t have the time to read it, that’s ok. I’ve been mainlining “The Followers” myself. (Watch True Detectives instead!) For those about to continue on, I apologize in advance...there are likely many many grammatical errors! But, that’s what stream of conscious is all about I guess. Happy Holidays Everyone. Be Great. Be gracious. DD * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Old Radios, and The “David Kirchner Catch” * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Old Radios I was explaining the Velvet Elk to someone the other day and showing a few pictures of the studio and house. I found myself pointing out something that didn’t really need to be, as the pictures made it quite clear…I love old radios. I mean, I LOVE old radios. Most that know me are aware of this. Anyone who’s recorded there cannot avoid knowing. They are all over my house. All over the studio. I even have them in the bathrooms! They’ve become something more than a decoration I realize. And by “I realize”, I mean, I just NOW think that I realize why. The radios are all in various states of disrepair. Some are still operating quite nicely, thank you. But I really don’t ever turn on any of them to listen to anything. Out modern world makes it much more convenient to listen to more than crackly AM radio, though that certainly has it’s place. No, they mostly sit on shelves, mantles, medicine cabinets, rafters, amplifiers, mixing boards, and wardrobes. In a couple cases, I do turn them on, but exclusively for the warm amber glow they provide in the recording environment. So why do I keep buying these..sometimes fanatically? I mean, I just recently got off a tour in the UK and went to pick up my mail. There were several packages waiting for me…an early Christmas! I went home and starting knifing through the boxes, not remembering what things I may have ordered before I left. In one heavy-ish box, I tore aside the bubble wrap to reveal a beautiful old 1940’s Westinghouse. It smelled beautiful. I completely forgot I bought it. Of course, I was thrilled, but where would I even out it? Didn’t matter, can’t have enough of them. So it was in explaining this that I finally realized what draws me to these, beyond the antique wonder of them. They remind me of my dad. Or maybe more, they make me feel his long missing presence. Now, this is not meant to be sappy or sad. My father has been gone now way longer than the age I was when he passed. But the strange thing is, he wasn’t a particularly big music fan. Certainly not artistically minded. My father owned a bar in an old train station in Adams, MA, where I grew up. It was called DD’s Snack Bar. It’s still there actually, much nicer in fact, and under a new name. It took me years and years to go back in there after he died. When my dad owned it the bar was so “Goodfellas.” He ran numbers out of there and worked every day but Monday. Morning and night, serving beer and fried wings…something he was famous for there. He would serve these to the infamous likes of “Bear”, “Lefty”, “Red” and “Foo Foo”, who in turn all referred to my dad as “The Fox.” Had I not been so young, it would’ve all been genius. Anyway, it was on those Mondays that he would take the family out to dinner. Every Monday in fact. I’m sure we missed a few here and there but those don’t stand out to me. Usually we would go to this campy Polynesian restaurant called “Laua Hale (sp?)”, but that for some reason we called the “Hooky Lau”. I have fond memories of these Monday trips, at least the going to part and the eating part. The way home from the dinners were memorable for a singular fact, Monday Night Football. As I said before, my dad ran numbers, and with the pending 9pm game approaching, he would dial in the AM radio of the car and listen to sports, and the horse racing results. And by “listen”, I mean he possessed a wizard like ability to translate the wretched static that filled the confines of the Duster. Truly, it was a marvel how dog-like his hearing was when it came to the race results. All we would hear in the back seat was loud and endless static accompanied by a continual ping of a vert staccato “Shh!!” This all happened as we sang “It’s a Grand Old Flag” in a never-ending loop. How my mostly gruff Italian father managed to juggle all this without strangling is was beyond my understanding. But he did manage to issue some response to the chaos, which was his smoky, smelly White Owl cigar that burned for days. Oh god how I remember these awful things. Worse was in the winter. Windows up! We were being smoked out!! Can you imagine that in this era? The cops would’ve have pulled him over for endangering the lives of children. Well, at least until they’d roll down the window and hear us singing “It’s a Grand Old Flag”. At which point they’d probably just say, sympathetically, “as you were.” Today, those smoke filled static AM radio winter torture return trips remain some of my fondest memories of my dad. And seriously, I think anytime I hear AM radio static, I immediately think of the great man I knew my dad to be when I was a kid. “The Silver Fox.” So all those silent radios everywhere in my house…I think they whisper a static hello from my dad. Probably with a wink. The “David Kirchner Catch” I have no idea where in this world David Kirchner may be right now, but I can tell you he most likely is not thinking about what I’m thinking about, and that is his marvelous, legendary schoolyard TD catch in 5th grade. Honestly, this is probably intended for only a handful of people that may appreciate it, but I’ll try and generalize as much as possible. I forget what exactly made me remember this recently, but I will say it’s not a rare occurrence in my life. This catch comes up in my head every couple years or so. I have no idea why. But first, let’s meet David Kirchner. From what I remember, David was a transfer student from south county of the Berkshires. Maybe. Either way, he wasn’t born in Adams, but seemed to make friends fairly quickly on the morning playground at CT Plunkett. I think his sister’s name was Monica. I remember that David may have been the first kid to have a Green Machne Big Wheel. I could be making that up, but I don’t think so. Let’s just say he was. Which, if that’s true, would probably account for multiple schoolyard “cool kid” points he may have accrued. Now that I’m thinking of that Big Wheel, maybe David joined us earlier in like 2nd or 3rd grade…Anyway, Big Wheel = Big Deal. As with many grade schools in rural places, kids would gather in their packs early before the bell rang to signal the start of class. I was in the sports gathering. The sport was whatever sport was in season. The season of this story was winter. A deep, long, cold, snow baked winter. I remember on the playground that there were MASSIVE snow piles plowed to the side everywhere to make some room on the playground for us. Massive mounds. Of course I was only 10 or 11 years old so maybe my memory of the imposing nature of these snow piles was skewed by my pint sized reference point. We’d gather up and quickly pick teams for a pickup football game. The greatest thing about it was that we played with the sensational Nerf football. Man, you could wing that s fast as you could at someone and not hurt anything…though some managed to get hurt anyway. When you’re that young, everything is magnified. Your reference point for what is truly great and what may be, say, pedestrian, is very limited. Time managed to amplify those memories as well. This is probably in that category, but I’d like to think I’m remembering the “David Kirchner Catch” as close to what it was as reasonably possible. This particular day it was cold cold, maybe with flurries, but definitely cold, and well into a snow-heavy winter. We were playing a business-as-usual pickup game, with the score either tied or very close, with the beginning of the school day imminent. What took place next was every kid’s absolute favorite play call from the line of scrimmage. “Everyone go long!!” I mean, think about that strategy. No blockers, no runners, no plan. Just e-v-e-r-y-b-o-d-y go long! It’s organized chaos on the playground. Up to that point, there’s a bunch of stick scribbling in the snow for play calling. Not sure if anyone actually even followed the play, but it seemed like we’d probably be able to coach the Dallas Cowboys if we were given a shot at that age. We were quite brilliant. It’s not surprising how often the “Statue of Liberty” play was called. But that’s another story. So, the quarterback comes to the line. This is where I’m a bit foggy. I remember I would quarterback a bunch back then because I had a decent arm, but that may also be a secret wish to have been the quarterback in this flashback. Because I seem to have a pretty vivid recollection of the actual catch, that probably means I had the vantage point of one of the “going long” receivers. So with that in mind, let’s say it was my Willow Street neighbor Paul Trottier. Yeah, Paul was the big kid on the playground, always picked first, so it makes more sense it was him heaving the dual-toned Nerf downfield for this “play.” Anyway, as Paul yells “hike!”, everyone goes bananas. Bananas. I mean, there’s no mystery to what the play is going to be with our team down and school about to start. So, all the bananas are spastically running towards the end zone, which was essentially over one of the snow pile mounds. That gargantuan ice and snow defender of the flat icy surface behind it. We not only would need to beat all the defenders on the other team, AND make the catch, but also breach the imposing wall of snow…all in the name of a precious 24 hour bragging right. Did anyone see the last episode of the television series “Friday Night Lights?” Well, I can’t say this with any certainty, but there’s some measure of a chance that SOMEone on the schoolyard that day, who also remembers this play, went on to work in Hollywood and casually mentioned this story…which eventually got to the writers of FNL, who in turn said, “hey, now THERE’s our ending!” But it’s just a theory I have. So after Paul jogs back a few steps, he rears back, likely in the direction of no one in particular, and just like the monster he was (unless I did in fact throw this pass…), bombs it downfield towards the frozen tundra touchdown wall. I swear, the school bell went off right at that moment, the ball having just left his hands. Back then, you couldn’t freeze time, but time slowed down and that ball just arched slowly across the grey sky toward no where in particular. Toward no one in particular. The other kids started walking towards the double-doors of the school entrance. The girls had long since made their way. As the ball made it’s descending half of it’s journey, it seemed implausible that anyone would even be near this let alone catch it…certainly not me. Now, besides being the first cool kid to own the Green Machne Big Wheel, I remember David to be one of the fast kids. So likely, he was often designated wide receiver. It’s with this knowledge, that I can recall with a sublimely stunned and wide-eyed look, at David breaking through the banana pack and diving head first, straight out, and arms outstretched for the rubbery foam ball. The thing is, there was that snow and ice wall! Oh shit…man…look out!! Smack! David went head first into that beast, and did not come immediately out. There was (probably a nano-second) the longest and most silent pause. That playground was icy, hard, and unforgiving. It was only a pickup game. Another would be played the next day! Someone ran over to the beastly mound to grab a leg or something of what would surely be a broken-armed David Kirchner. But before he could reach him, David stood up out of that pile, a pre-adolescent Sasquatch, and held out his hand. That effing Nerf was clutched in his palm…an unbelievable if not improbable and injury mocking grab of greatness. Being the young impressionable bucks that we were, as soon as it was acknowledged that David made the catch, everyone ran for the door so as to not be late for first class. No time for a playground celebration or hoisting of the victor. No time for helping David dust off the clumps of ice and snow. But he made that damn catch. And back then, when you do something like that, it’s the talk of the school for the day. “Did you see that catch?!” “Can you believe that?” “I’ve never…” The stuff of legend. The making of a schoolyard hero. Now, things like this were not entirely that uncommon when you’re that young. You don’t really have an awareness of your mortality. Flinging your head into a mound of ice isn’t that daring. And for all I know, maybe it was a 10-yard pass in the early fall season. But I doubt it. There’s a reason this ONE CATCH stands out to me. I wonder if I’m the only one? It seems a silly thing to remember, but I think what it really represents is that innocent time in your life when things like this really mattered most. Your life was so uncluttered by the minutia and turmoil that comes your way as an adult. We tend to, over time, lose the ability to appreciate the simplest of life’s highlights. I have no idea where in this world David Kirchner may be right now, but if I knew, I’d thank him for this tiny morsel of happiness that seems to visit me every now and again. Often when I need it most. And no, I wouldn’t ask him if he really made that catch. See you on the other side. X, DD
