Full Circle
Congratulations to the Mighty Tim of Tios Mexican Cafe, for verily his greenly wicked #4 Hot Sauce has been declared the baddest and best in North America. Not the hottest, but the best all-purpose sauce. This designation was made at the Fiery Food Show in Albuquerque, New Mexico a few months ago. Two-hundred seventy-five other substances were considered, yet Tio's #4, which contains no tomatoes, won it hands down. For Tim, this is a lifetime achievement award, comparable to a Nobel or Pulitzer (in my opinion, but what do I know).
In other hot-sauce news, Barry Goldwater's family has come out with, yes, Goldwater Salsa. This is a mild, fruity blend, available in pineapple, strawberry or raspberry. I spoke with Barry's granddaughter over the Goldwater Foods 1-800 line the other day. Complemented her on the product and also put in a word for the old man, who is probably the last true Conservative alive today. Never one to mince words, his gruff honesty and pragmatism completely transcend all guidelines of phony public relations. The Republican Party could learn a lot from Barry, but they seem to have not and most likely never will.
Barry Goldwater's name shows up on John Sinclair's latest album, Full Circle, right in the middle of "Cow," a poem written across the textures of Tm An Old Cowhand." a song which I first heard performed by Charlie Barnet's Orchestra. John digs Bing Crosby's version, which hit in 1936, around the same time as Barnet's. The poem dates from 1965, and here trumpeter Charles Moore has laid down a 1957 Sonny Rollins inspired foundation for the proceedings. Great trombone solo from Detroit's legendary Phil Ranelin, of theTribe Record Label. There's a reference to Roland Kirk's rambunctious behavior on a Charles Mingus jam from 1960: "Hog Callin' Blues." Then suddenly a quote from Goldwater appears, and this is in keeping with the circumstances, as "Cow" was "...recorded [at Music Box Studios, Hollywood] in anticipation of the 1996 Republican Convention in San Diego" where John and friends played at an Anti-Censorship/Free Speech Rally.
Barry Goldwater said: "Extremism in defense of Liberty is no vice." John recites this wisdom cheerfully, and adds: "Yeah! That's what we thought!" Without a doubt, "Cow" is the silliest number in the package, and will be cherished forever for John's delightful, foggy vocal, following in the footsteps of der Bing (Crosby). This kind of cross-pollination is exactly what keeps us actively fascinated with American culture. I mean, how's this for a triad: Bing Crosby, Barry Goldwater and John Sinclair! All-Americans, all connected. There is no separation; we are all involved.
John Sinclair and Wayne Kramer have given us something we can savour for the rest of our natural lives - Full Circle is certainly the rightest offering on record that Sinclair has come up with so far. Full Moon Night, which glowed with the power of Michael Ray, and If I Could Be With You, a deep collaboration with Ed Moss, are strong tea and belong in your house; tools for close study of music and life. Now Full Circle takes us further than ever before - the stories come across with great immediacy as the collective electric groove, beautifully chain-reacting among friends, causes our universal heat element to vibrate and signify like never before.
John has always struggled to share his insights with anyone who will listen. The fine art of explaining is his main order of business. And nothing works better than direct transmissions from the musicians who left us so many profoundly solid records to learn from. Check the first number: "Doctor Blues." Here's the voice of Blues and Woogie piano-man Roosevelt Sykes, the Original Honeydripper, born in Helena, Arkansas in 1906: "I works on the soul, and the doctor works on the body. Both are important - they all mix to one. Two makes one." This is part of a longer quote from Sykes which Sinclair carefully delivers in his warm, raspy voice while Kramer and the guys work out a stomp after the manner of John Lee Hooker.
Now listen here: "Doctor Blues" is a great opener; it rocks. The next track, "Shake 'em on Down," is the jamminest seven minutes I have encountered in years. Charles Moore gets the horns to cruising alongside of a monstrously, thunderously locomotive rhythm section - l'm reminded of "Cross-Eyed Cat" done up by Muddy Waters with Johnny Winter - and there's this funky New Orleans thing happening that takes it to the street! The first time I cranked this up in our living room, I found myself dancing lewdly through the house, possessed by the Blues and unable to keep from gyrating.
The story line concerns legendary Blues man Bukka White, who did a stretch of time on Parchman Farm for defending himself, with a .38 Colt automatic, against a crazed young chump who'd decided that Bukka was getting too much attention from this kid's girlfriend. A familiar story - didn't Frank Zappa once get throwed into an orchestra pit by a similarly jealous fool? Broke his leg and messed up his neck. Of course, Zappa didn't pack a rod. Bukka did.
"The Street Beat" is a tribute to master drummer J.C. Heard, who was one helluva gentleman and is sorely missed. Sinclair's love of Jazz is a wondrous thing to behold. References float quickly by, as we recall sessions with Charlie Parker and a thousand others. John howls! He roars with pleasure. "Double Dealing" has Percy Mayfield and Ray Charles energy mingled with some serious Chicago Blues. These are the "why we cheatin' on each other, honey" variations, very sincere yet inevitably wry and funny.
"Ain't Nobody's Bizness" (If I Do) is a song which first appeared some 75 years ago. Fats Waller made a solo piano recording of it in 1922, and an outrageous vocal version in 1940. Bessie Smith, Billie Holiday, Dinah Washington and Jimmy Witherspoon each recorded this hymn to individual liberty, if not libertinage. John Sinclair picks up where everybody else left off: he describes every unhealthy-but-fun habit imaginable; every sexual immoderation and intoxicatory practice in the book. Without exactly recommending any of these excesses, John clearly states that we have the right to do whatever we wish with ourselves, and can't nobody stop us, not even if we wanna ace ourselves; a right to live and a right to die. John's delivery is hysterically funny, but I don't think l'll be airing it on the radio. Ever thoughtful, Sinclair includes this printed warning: Note to fellow deejays: playing this selection on the air is likely to bring your radio career to a shuddering conclusion.
"I Talk to the Spirits" describes a conversation which Alice McLeod Coltrane had, not long ago, with the spirit of her late husband John Coltrane. "Monk in Orbit" commemorates the time Allen Ginsberg gave a hefty dose of pure LSD (from the Sandos laboratories in Switzerland) to Thelonious Monk. Hours later, Ginsberg revisited Thelonious, wanting to check on him. Monk opened the door as far as the chain would allow, peered out at him with a deep frown, and said "Man, have you got any more of this stuff? So far, it don't seem to be makin' too much of a difference to me!"
The author wishes to acknowledge the strength and organizational abilities of Penny Sinclair, John's wife and manager. Many blessings - happiness, peace and prosperity.
Terri Sarris is a dance-performance-video artist and lecturer in the FilmVideo Program at the University of Michigan. Her work has been performed at the American Center for Design Conference in Chicago, the Detroit Institute of Art, and locally, at the Performance Network.
Her performances are composed of dance, video, and spoken word which carefully integrate themes of "subjectivity": family; gender expectations and partnership; "women's work"; memory and nostalgia; as well as the processes of artistic production and the creation of meaning.
Sarris creates events both witty and illuminating. She assembles her work using such physical materials as film acquired at flea markets, original video, and various written works. Performances are layered and rich, drawn sometimes from her personal memories and experiences from sixteenyears as a dancer. Music is provided by collaborator, composer-musician, Frank Pahl. Hillman: Many of the people l've been talking to lately are trying to do something "different" with their lives. They don't want to work for big companies and they're tired of the entertainment industry. As artists, they're trying to break down the boundaries between life and art, to "compose themselves" so to speak. Your work seems to do that. Sarris: I want nothing more than to have people come to my work and meditate on their own lives, to have people start thinking about their own home-movies - the sense of people spinning off into their own relationships with their mother or their father, or whatever. If people teil me that they're thinking about my work weeks after they saw it, l'm really happy ... and also, sometimes if they're nottotally present in the theatre but they're thinking about their own life, that's what l'm trying to do, to kind of provoke that kind of thought.
It's a different kind of theatre-going experience than the mainstream stuff, which is to provide escape. I don't want people to escape - I want it to be enjoyable, not heavy-handed, hopefully , or propagandista , hitting you over the head with what the themes are - but to get you to think about your own life, and how your own questioning might have a place with all of that. There is also the sense of creating memories: If I create a visual image that