THE SIGNAL from David Katznelson
“Leisure is the mother of Philosophy”― Thomas Hobbes
Last night I had the good fortune to listen to the test pressing of my next Birdman Records release…the first Birdman Records release in years…and a reissue at that. A lifetime ago, sometime in the near end of the 20th century, I released a record by a fife player named Otha Turner…Otha Turner and his Rising Star Fife and Drum Band. It was Turner’s debut record and it was released in his 90th year of life. He had played on recordings that had appeared on compilations before…but this was the first time he had a record that focused solely on his playing, his art.
The record was recorded by Luther Dickinson, mostly at the famous goat picnics Otha would host once a year on his property on Gravel Springs Road, out in the country of Senatobia, Mississippi. It is the project that brought Luther and I together, a friendship created that has carried through our days and family ways. And while the record was called by David Fricke in Rolling Stone Magazine one of the five best blues records of the 1990s, and while the myth of Otha Turner has grown so big in these past years, with the cane blowing and stories carried on by his granddaughter Sharde since his death in 2003…it has never been available on vinyl.
The test pressings I received from my distributor are the four sides that make up the first ever vinyl release of Everybody Hollerin’ Goat, with a whole side of unreleased picnic recordings and new liner notes taken from an Otha interview Luther did way back when. Last night I sat in the crows nest after everyone went to sleep…threw the needle of my loyal Techniques turntable onto the grooves before me, and breathed deeply as the sound of the fife and drums—alive marching through a throng of jubilant picnickers —flowed over me and through the open window into the crisp moonless night: a sound searching for a dance party, goat sandwiches and maybe even a pickled egg.
The purpose of these tests is to make sure the record is pressed well, sounds clear and great—make sure we are in the right direction to manufacture the final product for release. Very exciting stuff. And I must say that through the mastering job by Gary Hobish and the skills of the pressing plant: I am hearing details in the sound…yells from the players and resonances from instruments…that I have never heard before. All I need now is some moonshine.
Damn, if it doesn’t make me miss Otha Turner and those late August goat picnic weekends. They were some of the best times I have ever had…
Today is the release of Joel Selvin’s latest book Hollywood Eden. We will be having a zoom book release party tonight at 6pm PST with my talking to Joel about surfin’’ Los Angeles, late 50s, early 60s…music music, the greatest music…and there will be special guests. Ping me if you want in.
Greg Gaar photographed S.F. rock history. Now he's sharing 1,114 images with the public
I had not known of Greg Gaar but he sure as hell got around, taking incredible pictures in San Francisco. Grateful Dead? Ramones? Led Zeppelin? So much more? Prepare for a major rabbit hole digging into the treasure Gaar has made available on line. Truly incredible.
Native American Cylinder Recordings at No Depression
The Library if Congress and No Depression Magazine are teaming up to make available some early Native American recordings. Fascinating, incredible stuff—another rabbit hole. Good luck.
Explore the Stunning Winning Images of the 2021 Sony World Photography Awards
ED RUSCHA AND RACHEL KUSHNER: ARTISTS ON WRITERS | WRITERS ON ARTIST
“In the third episode of “Artists On Writers | Writers On Artists,” novelist Rachel Kushner and artist Ed Ruscha talk about their love of vintage cars, share memories of Kathy Acker and Walter Hopps, and enjoy a good pun.”
Caged Bird
By Maya Angelou
A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.
The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.
