Song For Dear Kitty

During the summer of 2016, I spent a good chunk of time in Amsterdam. While there I read—for the first time—Anne Frank’s Diary. A few days after completing this powerful book, I visited the annex on the Prinsengracht Canal, where she hid for two years during the Nazi occupation. Song For Dear Kitty resulted. A combination of hyper nationalism, authoritarianism, sanctioned bigotry and a rejection of intellectualism and the arts resulted in Anne’s plight and the plight of countless millions more. These same forces lurk today. When a politician declares the free press as an enemy of the people it is time for all to take note. In the name of Anne, resist demagoguery!    Song for Dear Kitty ©2016 Roger Bain

I Meet The Champ

I Meet The Champ
The summer of 1965, my 16th year, a friend of my parents had snared me the exotic job of car hiker for Z Frank Chevrolet in Chicago. Every workday Mr. Burr picked me up on Blodgett Street in Clarendon Hills and drove me to a six-story garage on Federal Street on the south edge of the loop where Z Frank Chevrolet had leased some space. My singular duty was to shuttle (hike) rental cars from one Z Frank rental spot to the next.
One morning while shooting the breeze with some fellow hikers, a white convertible Cadillac with red leather upholstery pulled into our garage on South Federal Street. Moments before we had been tipped that The Champ was coming and here he was. Hardy, a short dude with a limp, the head car hiker, instructed all of us to not call him Cassius Clay. His name is now Ali.

With great controversy, Cassius Clay had recently changed his “slave name” to Muhammad Ali, a Black Muslim name. The name change didn’t bother me. He had just beaten badass Sonny Listen for the second time a couple months prior, this time by a knockout in the first round, another controversy. I thought he was impossibly cool. As the big white Caddy convertible whooshed into the garage, the five or six of us car hikers gathered around. Ali sat alone in the middle of the back seat with both arms spread out on the red leather seat backs. A driver and a bodyguard—sure looked like Black Muslims to me—sat in the front seat. Ali looked extremely relaxed when he got out of the Cadillac. He was all business but gracious and rather soft-spoken, quite different than his public persona. We all briefly crammed into the tiny garage office and he shook everybody’s hand. Not a crushing handshake. Just a regular shake.
For a second I looked into the eyes of the most famous person on earth.
And that was it. I have no idea where he was going or why he parked his car at our garage but I had met the Champ. It never occurred to me to get his autograph. Who had a camera handy in 1965?

My Bad Attitude

They say that attitude is everything. By societal standards, I have a bad attitude.
I am not a big fan of anything with a pop prefix: Pop music, pop radio, pop culture. (I do like “Pop Goes the Weasel.”) Also not a fan of homogenized corporatization, mindless nationalism, dogmatic ideology, most reality and talent shows, most food products advertised on national television and let’s throw in much of social media behavior.
I am a skeptical optimist, walking the fine line that separates humanism, curmudgeonhood and flagrant relevance.
In the 60s, I liked the Stones more than the Beatles. I liked Elvis only before he went into the army. I revered Mad Magazine, Monty Python, Captain Beefheart, Paul Bowles and Lester Bangs.
Now that we have that out of the way, I invite you to listen to this quirky lament that I wrote and recorded (at Geoff DeMuth’s Little Pink sound studio).

Slumped Over

In 1969 I was captivated by Captain Beefheart’s release, Trout Mask Replica. It was distinctly un-pop, to put it mildly. It borrowed mainly from the blues and modern art but because the Captain’s ensemble, the Magic Band, was composed of long-haired, white-ish, hippie types, the album was categorized as rock. The Captain was doing for rock what Eric Satie had done for classical music—thumbing his nose at convention.

Trout Mask Replica

Trout Mask Replica

About a year later I would get my first guitar and begin to use it as my primary instrument in the lifelong pursuit of art, observation and catharsis.  After I had mastered some chords, I graduated to a study of the early country blues practitioners—Blind Lemon Jefferson, blindlemonjeffRobert Johnson, Mississippi John Hurt, Skip James, Blind Blake—and their singular picking techniques and sometimes obscure lyrical explorations. This led me to create my own guitar and songwriting style. Because we are all the sum of that which has made an impression upon us, I also had Dr. Seuss, first read to me by my mother, lurking in my thought waves. Kids are often exposed to radical thinking and I hope that never changes.

onefishtwo

So about 1974 I combined all of the above and created the song, Slumped Over. Upon reflection, it is a nursery rhyme for psychedelic adults. It is a 4-act play for existential absurdists. I played Slumped Over several times with an early manifestation of the Barking Geckos, including a performance at the National Surrealist Party’s 1976 convention at Off The Wall Hall in Lawrence, Kansas.

Barking Geckos at 1976 National Surrealist Party Convention

Barking Geckos at 1976 National Surrealist Party Convention

I collaborated with Mitch Rosenow on a now lost recording of the tune in the living room of Mitch’s flat on Vermont Street in Lawrence. I recall that the recording featured slammed doors, thrown boxes of junk and lots of reverb.

Then, in 1982, I directed opera tenor John G. Andrews in a Slumped Over music video, shot mainly in the dingy basement bar of the Lawrence Opera House. John sang the song to the live accompaniment of my off-camera guitar and Dana Elniff’s saxophone while Gerry Cullen’s clunky video camera recorded the grainy shenanigans.

Finally, last August (or September?) I again recorded the song in my basement—what’s this thing with basements?—but this time with engineer, Chuck Kawal, placing the mics and twiddling the dials. Steve Eisen contributed a sax part and Chuck, after overcoming his exasperation at the melodic structure of the tune, played a guitar solo in the break. I played my guitar arrangement on both acoustic and electric and added some quite necessary kazoo parts. The song was finally getting a worthy sonic treatment. Chuck completed the mix just last week and it is now available for your listening pleasure. 40 Years in the making:

Screens


Where previously our gaze may have been out the window or across the alley or at a newspaper or book or scroll, it is now fixed upon a screen. Not all of the time, of course, but very frequently. I hope this turns out to be a good thing.

Television has been a gateway to our new path. It entranced us.

Early television

Early television

Then along came communication satellites….

 

…which opened the door for cable TV.

In the year I was born, few citizens could have envisioned computers, the web, smartphones or twitter. But those born during the past 30 years could not imagine life without these little screens.

3screenstaring

Youth enjoying the company of others.

Imagination has changed. The pathway to personal identity has changed. The way we interact with life has changed. The use of the word “friend” has changed.

I hope this is a good thing, don’t you?

burkha staring

Even though you can’t see my face, what’s happening on Facebook?

 

grand canyonstaring

A small screen out-seduces the Grand Canyon

The nature of screens will change.

smallest-screen

What now requires a screen may one day require no screen, but this ever expanding connection to all humans, all information, is irreversible.

The author

The author seeks balance by staring at a tree.

In the third grade I combed my hair like Elvis. Is it still my duty to keep up? Do I have a societal obligation, as well as a personal one, to remain current?

It can be a lot of work but I think that the answer is yes.

Now let’s go out there and provoke each other.

rbw:smalltv

She Stoops To Conquer

Much of what I create has a Limey sensibility—at least it amuses my English cousins. She Stoops To Conquer is a farcical British play of manners written in the 18th century by Oliver Goldsmith. After attending a performance of the play at London’s National Theater, I was inspired to write a song using the same catchy title. Literature and history are great sources for songwriting.

Disclaimer: I did not attempt to mimic the plot of the play but instead made an attempt at  capturing a feminine archetype. This song has not been previewed by any members of the National Theater Company but they are welcome to do so.

No doubt the song could have used a lute but because there was not a lute in his house, Geoff DeMuth provided mandolin accompaniment. He also engineered. 

Yes Man From Yesco

One of the more annoying personalities on the planet is the yes man.

illustration by Plastic Crimewave

This creature lacks imagination and self-respect. Riddled with the fear of what others might think of his ideas—especially the boss—he cowers behind a torrent of “yes-es.” He doesn’t want to rock the boat. And he definitely doesn’t wish to steer the boat. He just wants to remain in the good graces of the captain.

(A creature who is more annoying—even despicable—is the leader who surrounds him or her self with yes-spouting sycophants.)

In the workplace and the marketplace of ideas, a balance must be achieved between the notion that you are always right and the notion that your opinion is not worthy. Many unworthy opinions reach fruition. And many brilliant ideas remain caged within the minds of the timid.

Play this tune for your boss or co-workers. If you are the boss, share it with the board. Make a Powerpoint. If you’re simply bored, play it for thyself.

A Night at the Gallery Cabaret with UTK

This is the place….

The Gallery Cabaret at 2020 N. Oakley in Chicago’s Bucktown neighborhood.

The Gallery Cabaret is a corner bar with live music 7 nights a week. And never a cover charge. It’s the best place to catch UTK, aka Under The Kitchen. Next Show: April 13, 2013.

The meaningful paint job puts you in the mood before you even enter.

Snazzy side view

Stay tuned for our next performance here. You are most welcome.

Beseeching…

In the groove

The interior lighting adds to the atmosphere. We are in a laboratory— a  petri dish of existentialism.

Vassili G captures the garishly dim lighting vibe

The place is anti-pop. You know you’re not in the suburbs anymore when you’re in the GalCab. You’re far from the boondocks, too. The nearest wild animal is a rat.

View from the floor

This would be a likely spot to take a tourist from New Zealand.

For those with hair, it’s a good place to let it down.

UTK fans toast your health

The walls are littered with art done by folks.The bar staff handles the action with a style that ranges from wacky to nonchalant. Kenny is the owner.  In the next photo he’s way at the end of the bar, though looking away from the camera.

Portraits of James Joyce and Edgar Poe hang above the bar

The patrons are music aficionados, hipsters, daily drinkers, musicians, out of work comedians, and assorted misfits who may or may not have a reason to get off their barstool. Everyone is out to have a good time.

UTK has played about 10 gigs at the Gallery Cabaret. It makes for an entertaining night out.

UTK galfans

Sir Plastic Crimewave offers caricatures during recent UTK gig.

Suffering from mildew buildup of the soul? UTK can help.
Rocks harder than other leading bands

Here’s a verite video that will allow you to experience the flagrant relevance of this corner bar. Our cover of Champagne and Reefer

Note the harvest decor gracing the portal.

For more UTK vids: http://www.youtube.com/user/UnderTheKitchen?feature=watch