Friday, September 2, 2011

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 10 – Connections . . .


I’ve been thinking about this topic for about three or four days now. There are a number of reasons / events  - and one very specific - that have caused it to come front of mind, but mainly it is because in my current state of “vacation”.

Let me first clarify what I mean by “connection” – or rather what I don’t mean. I don’t mean “can you use your connections to get me tickets”. What I do mean, is those tangible and intangible things which connect us to people.

As I rode through the hills and valleys from Nafpaktos down to Kalamata to visit friends I kept reflecting on what are the things that connect us to people, how do they differ, and what are the factors that change or affect them.

My first thought was that there are basically two kinds of connection we form with people. I’m going to call them “institutional” and “random”.

Institutional connections with people arise primarily from institutions - funny that! – and include family, school, university, work, social circle etc.

These institutions have rules, codes, contexts and histories. We build our connection with people from these institutions based primarily on the platforms provided. Our first friends our typically the children of our parent’s friends. Then we move on to making connections with other children at nursery school and throughout our childhood through schools and our local community activities (e.g. scouts, swimming club, etc.). Sometimes these friends overlap across institutions – i.e. you go to school with kids who you know from being your parent’s friends children.

A similar thing happens as one goes to high school and university – but of course as our number of institutions expands, so does our circle of connections and the contexts from which they have grown.

Then we start work and meet new people through work and build more institutional circles, some with overlaps and some not.

We’ve all been in the situation where two separate circles of friends meet – say work friends and university friends – and the occasional awkwardness that this can sometimes produce as they know you – or connect to you - from very different perspectives.

Our best connections have usually evolved over years and transcend this kind of contextual demarcation  - mainly because the friendship is truly deep and thus does not rely on the props of a shared experience or the “in-joke” or specific contexts of institutional connections.

But the other kind of connection is the one that has really interested me in the last few days. The “Random” connection. The connection that has no real context or if it does, it is based on a very tiny context in comparison to the “institutional” connection.

And it is the nature of the “random” connection that is interesting. Precisely what is it that connects us to people we don’t know and have no context for knowing?

Is it vibe? An intangible aesthetic? An idea? A notion? A hope? An unconscious need?

I have truly struggled to define this as I have thought about it. The closest I have come so far is a mix of values and interests which at some point converge to form a transmission of some kind – like a radio signal – which can be picked up very quickly by people with an equal or receptive capacity for those same values and interests. It is a momentary thing – instant.

We have all shared a knowing look with a stranger in a bar or at a bus station. Where we both know that we are thinking the same thing. The difference is with the random connection is that instead of then forgetting the person at the bar or in the bus station, we instead find ourselves drawn to them and we connect somehow.

Some of the most interesting, stimulating and important people that I have “connected” with in the last ten years have been totally random connections. There has been no rhyme or reason as to why I should have ever met them other than a freak moment of chance that brought us in contact, allowed a single transmission of a V&I signal and resulted in us becoming connected.

There is another dimension that complicates (or enriches depending on your perspective)  - gender. When we talk about connections to people of the opposite sex, there is  - at least in my experience – the third dimension of attraction. Attraction beyond the “Values” and “Interests”. That impossible to describe aspect of encountering someone of different gender and understanding immediately an attraction or not, without being able to meaningfully define it. So Values & Interests & Attraction. VIA.

I find random connections incredibly vital as each that I can recall has massively expanded my life compared to the incremental enrichment I get from connecting with people from more institutional contexts.  Of course, random connections can become institutionalized – they become part of a circle somehow, even if the circle is just one person, or they become colleagues, girlfriends, boyfriends, wives, husbands or a man you see at the bar sometimes.

A good example is my friend Jon - the drummer in my last band. Jon was a guy I met randomly at a party when we played together in an improvised jam session – me on guitar and vocals, him on the drums. We had fun playing music together and so exchanged numbers and then had no contact for four years.

One random day – four years later - I rang him up to see if he was still in the country. He was. I asked if he fancied putting a blues band together. He did. We put the band together and became great friends. The band became an institution of course, and our connection ultimately transferred to that context – but before it became institutionalized it was a great new connection that gave me a lot of pleasure and satisfaction.

Random connections – because they do not rely on props or contexts – are typically very honest and vital in my experience. They are exciting – because of their novelty and because of their unpredictability – but also because of their freedom.

Of course this cannot and does not last . . . once a random connection begins to institutionalize it begins to adopt rules and codes – self determined or established - and then it becomes more predictable. A friendship demands certain attentions, behaviours and actions, a romantic relationship others and so on. But in the beginning, the unknown is tremendously exciting – particularly as one considers possibilities and their probabilities . . .

To qualify as a random connection, as opposed to just a new institutional connection, I think there must be as little in common as possible between the two people other than the thing that initially connects them. That could be an event (an earthquake or other kind of disaster) or a shared interest (a concert of a favourite musician, a book signing etc.) or even more random acts such as bumping into someone in a museum or at a bus stop and starting a conversation.

My favourite “random” people in my life are from different countries, different cultures, different mother tongues, different backgrounds, different religions, different ages etc - and it’s perhaps this diversity which I find both interesting and enriching – particularly as somewhere in all of that we have something in common which we discovered quickly and which connected us.

I also think that there are two kinds of approach that people have to this phenomenon (if indeed it is recognized or understood by anyone other than me!) . . .

Those who find great comfort in their institutions and therefore in their institutional connections, and those who accept their institutions for what they are – and the connections within them – but for whom the random connections are essential.

In other words there are people who shy away from or avoid random connections and those who seek them out.

In terms of what draws people to the “random team” I think it’s partly a function of curiosity (certainly in my case) and partly a function of looking for other energy outside of the normal framework of reference.

Those who prefer the safety and structure of institutionalized connections do not like the anxiety or uncertainty of a random connection, nor the “risk” implied in it. For there is risk when you put yourself out there with a stranger of any kind – a quid pro quo of course in terms of exposure and vulnerability, but nevertheless, you have to be prepared to take the risk…and be curious.

While my oldest and best friend is someone who I went to school with and have been close to ever since, many of my other great friendships / associations / relationships, began as “random” connections – and certainly the people who are most important to me and influential in my life today began as “randoms” – in other words they had no reason to cross my path or me theirs at all, but their VI or VIA was so strong, we connected and usually right away.

In terms of the kinds of connections one forms with random people, the connection can be narrow or broad. With institutional connections there is usually a much more specific band defined usually by the context in which the connection was formed. For example, a work colleague is the kind of connection which ranges from acquaintance to friend while a random connection could just be someone who really digs your favourite hobby and you connect on that – or they could end up being your husband or wife.

Indeed, my ex-wife (or the “First Wife” as I optimistically like to refer to her . . .) was a “random” – we had almost no context at all. Ironically we created two institutions – marriage and then divorce - and thus we have the context that we created together and then later abandoned together. Now we remain good institutional friends.

Another feature of random connections in my experience is the rapidity – and indeed intensity - with which the connection forms – usually a matter of days, but sometimes even hours or minutes – while institutional connections, again because of their context, tend to develop over a longer period.

This may explain the concept of “love at first sight” to some degree – although not all random connections are built on love as a premise, and usually only those that involve the A factor in the VI equation.

And of course, “love at first sight” goes one of two ways. It stays random briefly before it dies or eventually it becomes institutionalized!

By definition, random connections cannot be chosen or sought. They happen. This is – for me at least – part of the excitement of them. Moreover, I don’t think people can choose to be a person who is attracted to the random connection or the institutional connection. I think we all experience both, but some of us prefer and get more energy from random connections and some prefer and get more energy from the comfort of institutional connections.

Again, it is about appetite for risk, preparedness for vulnerability, and ability to accept change, novelty and the unknown. . .

Life is bigger than Facebook and fellow alumni. It is richer and more exciting than that. But to get the most out of life – and to connect to other people’s lives – you have got to take risks. You’ve got to be open and unafraid –certainly if the connection is to be deep and valuable.

So - to Pete, Amanda, Dick, Maggie F, Maggie G (who’d have thought that two randoms would have the same name!), Greg, Jon, Osio, Anna, and others - and yes, you, the person reading this wondering about our connection - thank you for being random, for transmitting / receiving when you did (and the way you did) and ultimately for connecting.

Whether it was brief, long or is still unfolding, I enjoy / enjoyed it and am grateful.

And to all my “institutional” friends  - the ones I met at school, at work or at play, or even randomly once upon a time – you are appreciated equally deeply and fondly of course.

I wonder who I will meet tomorrow?

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 9 – OSAPP


It struck me that not everyone will know the reference in the title of this blog and that I probably ought to address that . . . 

It is a song – by Tom Waits - from his first album – 1973’s “Closing Time”.

It’s about departure, ending, separation – but it’s also about the call of the road.

I love it.

You can hear it here: 


Old Shoes & Picture Postcards – Tom Waits (1973)

I'm singing this song, it's time it was sung
I've been putting it off for a while,
But it's harder by now, 'cause the truth is so clear
That I cry when I'm seeing you smile.
So goodbye, so long, the road calls me dear
And your tears cannot bind me anymore,
And farewell to the girl with the sun in her eyes
Can I kiss you, and then I'll be gone.

Every time that I tried to tell
that we'd lost the magic we had at the start,
I would weep my heart when I looked in your eyes
And I searched once again for the spark.
So goodbye, so long, the road calls me dear
And your tears cannot bind me anymore,
And farewell to the girl with the sun in her eyes
Can I kiss you, and then I'll be gone.

I can see by your eyes, it's time now to go
So I'll leave you to cry in the rain,
Though I held in my hand, the key to all joy
Honey my heart was not born to be tamed.
So goodbye, so long, the road calls me dear
And your tears cannot bind me anymore,
And farewell to the girl with the sun in her eyes
Can I kiss you, and then I'll be gone.

So goodbye, so long, the road calls me dear
And your tears cannot bind me anymore,
And farewell to the girl with the sun in her eyes
Can I kiss you, and then I'll be gone,
Can I kiss you, and then I'll be gone,
can I kiss you, and then I'll be gone.

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 8 – So this is it?


Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura
Che la diritta via era smarrita
[Canto 1, Inferno, La Divina Commedia, Dante Alighieri]

In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself astray in a dark wood
where the straight road had been lost sight of.
[Translation by Seamus Heaney]

Recently – and I don’t know if it is connected to turning 40 earlier this year – I have been having some repeated thoughts on where I am at in life and my identity . . .

A theme that has developed can be best summarized with “I guess this is kind of how it is and how it’s going to be.”

What do I mean by that?

Well, I think I may have grown up. ("Hooray!" cheered the remaining parent!)

I seem to be content with most aspects of my life, with the things I do, with the people I spend time with, and mostly with myself. And those things which I am not content with, I am able to deal with.

In my teenage years and into my twenties I was so thirsty for new experiences that I did everything I could to chase them. Nothing satisfied me for more than a little while and then I was on to the next thing, greedily hoovering up experiences and information as quickly as I could.  As a result it was really pretty difficult for anyone – and especially me – to know who I was.

In my thirties I began to settle slightly and come to terms with life a little more. I stopped searching quite so much for the new, and tried instead to become more familiar with what was already in my life – and in me. A tough process.

When you’ve spent your life hitherto running from one thing to another, metamorphosing constantly and deliberately, to suddenly sit and catch up with yourself takes some getting used to. But it’s a valuable process, as well as a tough one.

Now I seem to be happy in the knowledge that more or less things are going to be like this. And probably not like that.

I’m not going to develop any new hobbies. I’m not going to become an athlete, star in a movie, build a business empire, change the world, or learn a new language. I’m not going to take up any more musical instruments and I will probably never play golf. The places I like to spend time – like here in Greece – will still be the places I like to spend time and the people in my life will hopefully remain and be constant.

This is not to say that I won’t travel, I won’t meet new people, listen to new music or try new food etc. That would actually signal death.

No, no – it just means that I am the way I am, and at this stage in my late development, it isn’t likely to change.

A few years ago that thought would have scared the living daylights out of me and would have been something I would have kicked against hard. But now it seems to be natural and somewhat calming. I don’t need too many new things or new experiences to be content.

It doesn’t mean to say either that there aren’t things in my life that I don’t want to change – there are.  Plenty. Nor does it mean that I don’t foresee myself continuing to grow (& grow up) – it is just a realization of “maybe this is who I am.”

And perhaps more importantly – finally being moderately comfortable with that thought.

I still need to balance, to sensitize, to contextualize and to moderate – but I feel lately that this is both possible / achievable and again, importantly, something that will come naturally.

So . . .this is it. And I quite like it.


Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 7 – Life & Death

There was a great Texan country folk singer by the name of Townes Van Zandt who died in 1997. Townes Van Zandt wrote beautiful songs / poems and performed them with a melancholy that is almost unsurpassed. Even his love songs like “If I Needed You” sound sad.

He was a long term heroin addict and chronic alcoholic who once offered to sell all the publishing rights of his songs for $20 to get some smack, and also once shot up in front of his 8 year old son. He died at the age of 52.

One of his blacker songs – and one of my favourites – is “Waiting Around To Die”:

Waiting Around To Die – Townes Van Zandt
Sometimes I don't know where this dirty road is taking me
Sometimes I can't even see the reason why
I guess I keep on gamblin', lots of booze and lots of ramblin'
It's easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die

One-time friends I had a ma, I even had a pa
He beat her with a belt once cause she cried
She told him to take care of me, she headed down to Tennessee
It's easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die

I came of age and found a girl in a Tuscaloosa bar
She cleaned me out and hit it on the sly
I tried to kill the pain, I bought some wine and hopped a train
Seemed easier than just a-waitin' 'round to die

A friend said he knew where some easy money was
We robbed a man and brother did we fly
The posse caught up with me, drug me back to Muskogee
It's two long years, just a-waitin' 'round to die

Now I'm out of prison, I got me a friend at last
He don't steal or cheat or drink or lie
His name's codeine, he's the nicest thing I've seen
Together we're gonna wait around and die

The original tune from the album it came from is here (with some great photos of Townes): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MwR1n0p1V7U

Another great recording is this duet with Townes and Calvin Russell: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNM4OwJX1H0

From the brief biography and the song above, it is pretty clear that while Townes had talent, friends, family, money, some success (although while alive he was always something of a “cult” musician – and very much a musician’s musician), and many other opportunities besides, for him life was too much of a challenge. Life for him was about waiting around to die – which he did. Far too young.

For those of us with far less musical and poetic talent, life still has its challenges and difficulties to overcome. We can either accept those challenges and beat them – having the courage to choose life or we can be undone by them, dragged down and just wait around to die.

In the last few weeks I have had close friends and family be diagnosed with cancer, undergo serious surgery, have loved ones involved in serious car accidents and then of course there are many who struggle with everyday life – with depression, with unemployment, with unhappy marriages, with stressful jobs and so on. Life can be a bitch – and some of it is of our own making, which makes it all the more painful, ironic and frustrating.

Pessimists rejoice of course in this aspect of the human condition. The American journalist George F. Will who currently writes for the Washington Post wrote in his book “The Leveling Wind”: “The nice part about being a pessimist is that you are constantly being either proven right or pleasantly surprised.”

I, however, am delighted to be proven wrong and unpleasantly disappointed – for I am an optimist. A fully paid-up member of the club and an advocate to boot.

Why do I choose optimism? Because it provides me with the courage to live my life as fully as I can. Without optimism, I am sorely afraid that I would end up waiting around to die – and that would be a waste of my time, the time of others and frankly a waste of a good opportunity.

Being a greedy person generally, I want to get the most I can from life – especially as it is finite and quite possible shorter than one might imagine or hope. Although my natural optimism wars with my other tendencies of idealism and pragmatism – I tend to settle on a biblical target of three score years and ten – with any upside representing a profit margin I am willing to declare to the Good Lord on the day of reckoning. And if I do live longer than that – just another thirty years before break-even– then I will certainly owe some taxes on my extra profited years.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines optimism as having "hopefulness and confidence about the future or successful outcome of something; a tendency to take a favourable or hopeful view."
I tend to take that view about my life. I think that most things will turn out well or very well – but I accept that some won’t. I believe that on balance, if I stay positive, I will enjoy life more than if I let it get me down. And when I am down or have the devil in me (see: http://osapp.blogspot.com/2009/06/devil-inside.html ) it doesn’t last long if I focus on the positive things ahead.

I’ve always subscribed to the philosophy that it is better to regret something you have done, than something you haven’t done. The only time I modify that philosophy is when my actions might directly impact other people negatively – and then I weigh things up a little more carefully.

Don’t worry – I’m not about to get myself an orange dress, a dumb haircut and start chanting Hare Krishna – nor am I shaking my rattle in the church hall singing “Kumbaya”.

I am talking about a faith in life that overrides my fear of life. For all of us have fears – and the most deep rooted ones are about our own existence. Mortality, identity, security, vulnerability, vanity and so on.

I know I’m going to die. I’m not awfully keen about doing it anytime soon – but then it may not be entirely up to me.

I know who I am – more or less – and find as I grow older (and hopefully just a little wiser as opposed to just wider) that I am more and more comfortable with who I am. Good and bad. (Next step is to balance better once confident in the knowledge of both aspects)

I do not fear for my security over much – thankfully I live in places where generally I don’t need to. I do appreciate that for others this is not so easy.

I do not worry about my vulnerability as I seem to be able to bounce back from most things whether disease, physical injury, psychological or emotional trauma and so on – and I think a good deal of my ability to do is because of my optimism (with just a sprinkling of idealism).

As for vanity – it is closely linked to one’s ego. We all have one – the trick is to try and keep it in check as much as possible, but never to try and deny its existence. I don’t worry about my bald patch, my rather too large belly is a health concern more than a question of vanity and my looks are the ones I was blessed or cursed with and I don’t believe in plastic surgery other than for medical reasons – so that is that.

Of course – as I inferred in the part about security – I have life pretty damn good. I enjoy moderately good health – despite my very insistent efforts to compromise it – with some help from my employers and my clients. I am comparatively wealthy and enjoy a high standard of living. I live in peaceful, crime free environment. I come from a stable, conventional family. I am well educated and I work in a professional and broadly safe environment. So what’s not to be optimistic about?

If I was a starving child exposed to chronic diseases in Sub Saharan Africa? If I was a Palestinian living in Gaza or one of the refugee camps? If I had been born blind, deaf, paralysed, or with a fatal disease? If I had cancer? Would I still be as glib about optimism providing the courage to live life?

I would like to think that I would. I believe that no matter what disaster befalls us, whether at birth, by circumstance or by design – optimism is the difference between defeat and victory in terms of dealing with that challenge.

Faith – whether in God or good fortune – surely is a means to find resources from within oneself (or from others) and either overcome the problem one faces or simply learn to live with it ?
When my finger-tip was amputated recently, I was pragmatic and optimistic. My friends and loved ones were alternately shocked, sympathetic and even empathetic – many sad for me about my loss. I failed to understand this. Sure – it was painful, annoying and a bummer – but it was just a finger-tip. It could have been much worse. To me it was just one of those things. I gave thanks I hadn’t lost an eye or my hearing. I was pleased it was just the tip and not the whole finger – but generally it was just “one of those things”. Shit happens.

A few weeks afterwards I got very depressed about it. Not because my hands were no longer beautiful (that was compensated by the automatic 10% discount on manicures . . .) – but because it was going to very seriously affect one of my great loves in life. Playing the guitar. You kind of need all your finger tips to play guitar.

I’d looked up Tony Iommi and Django Reinhardt – two great guitarists of rather different genres. One was the founding father of heavy metal and the other a gypsy jazz legend. Both had serious finger injuries – Iommi losing two finger tips in an industrial accident and Django being burned in a fire which badly damaged his third and fourth fingers. I was buoyed by their stories and decided this wouldn’t be a problem. Until I tried to play.

At first my finger was very swollen and still very painful so playing was impossible anyway – but after the swelling went down I realized that I really couldn’t play half the songs anymore – including ones I had written myself. I was really devastated. Furious with myself that one passion (motorcycling) had cost me another (guitar playing). Sad that I would lose the comfort and joy that playing music brings me.

I mooched and moaned for weeks, feeling ever more grey and down about the whole thing. Wishing I could undo things. Until after a while I stopped and thought of two things. One is to do with relativism as a coping mechanism – the other is the power of lateral and optimistic thought.

Relativism helped me to contextualize my problem – I didn’t lose my arm. Or even my hand. OR even a whole finger. I lost a tip. If it had been worse then guitar would have certainly been off the menu forever - along with my new found interest of teaching myself piano. BUT, it wasn’t worse – therefore I was lucky and not unlucky. I had hope.

The lateral optimistic thinking went like this. I can’t play guitar like I used to. Can’t play the chords or scales that I used to. So I will learn to play guitar differently, will learn new chords and use different tunings to make my own sound. And that will be even better than before because it will expand my musical vocabulary. And so that is what I did.

Since my finger amputation, I have written and recorded three new songs, played a live gig in LA and learned new techniques using slide guitar, open tuning and using my little finger instead of the damaged third. I have to have another amputation on the third finger to take it down to the knuckle and it doesn’t bother me – because I have found some optimism in this small misfortune.

Now I didn’t watch my sister get blown to pieces on a land mine, or watch my family be blown up in our home, or see my whole village die of starvation or disease – so again one needs to frame the discussion within the context to which it might relate.

But even the orphaned child, the disease ridden villager, the widowed soldier’s wife have the choice of hope, and the relativism of “it could have been worse” – no matter how awful the trauma was. There is always the choice of life – and I would always advocate making that choice – and using optimism as the courage to do so. There is always the possibility of things getting better – and if we believe that, we can increase those chances to probability from possibility.

Two members of my family have committed suicide, another has tried. I wish the two had chosen life and had the courage to do so in the face of their pain, tragedy and loss. And I am glad the third ultimately did – as it would have been a wasted opportunity to live, to enjoy, to succeed, to laugh, to cry and to fail.

If we can fail, then by definition we can succeed. If we can die, then by definition we can live.

Just takes a little courage sometimes and seeing life from someplace else, if it doesn’t make sense from where you’re sitting.
This piece is “αφιερωμένο” to E.K. – thanks for the idea.

Monday, August 29, 2011

Odyssey - the journey to Greece (2011) - Part 6 – Greece & music…

The North wind has stopped blowing and the waves - previously crashing against the wall of the little harbour at Monastiraki – have transformed into a flat ripple across the still sea.

There is still a breeze blowing gently through the bougainvillea which sits on my right and the young olive tree which sits on my left.


The brilliant blue of the swimming pool matches the brilliant blue of the sky – sandwiching a large green hillside in between, scarred by small winding road the climbs and descends, curving round the coastline.
This is my view each day as I eventually wake from my slumber and descend to the veranda to consume my breakfast and consider the unbridled indolence which I have planned for the day.


Now the sun is beginning to fade following my afternoon nap, which in turn followed a day of little movement but much reflection. . .


A very Greek breakfast of “Frappe” – a uniquely Greek approach to making coffee involving shaking Nescafe, sugar, water and ice until they form a creamy froth and then adding water and evaporated milk to taste – and thick strained yoghurt with honey has been consumed slowly and intently while listening to some Balkan jazz in the form of Serbian jazz trumpeter Dusko Gojkovic – a great musician.
Greece is wonderfully positioned between Europe, the Balkans and the South Eastern Med / Middle East – and the culture mix reflects this, particularly in musical terms. Gypsy rhythms, Turkish beats, Byzantine and Middle Eastern scales, Balkan melodies – they’re all present in the musical mix that is contemporary (and indeed less contemporary) Greek music.


The Greek Outi is the Middle East’s Oud, the Bouzouki a Greco-Turkish instrument, the guitar, violin, accordion and various hand drums are all shared across this wider region as are their rhythms and melodies.


This music belongs to mountains, rocky roads, coastlines and islands – a music of rebels, troubadours, gypsies that communicates hope, despair, pleasure, pain, love, loneliness and the general condition of the soul.


But then all music somehow communicates the human condition and the mood or mindset of the composer and performer. So to listen to the music of this area is to listen to the Greek / Balkan / Turkish / Byzantine / Middle Eastern soul.


Whether Rebetika, laika, dimotika, entechna, nisiotika, or one of the many other sub genres, the various sounds of Greek music resonate perfectly with the soul of the people who live here and in the wider region. Just go to Crete and hear the “Amanedes” for example…or the Clarina (clarinet) in the valleys near Livadeia (Giorgos Mangas – an amazing gypsy clarinetist is a particular favorite of mine – you can sample him here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-oSWBEWllY&feature=related but it is admittedly an acquired taste! Mangas, in addition to touring Greece playing improvised clarinet at the Panigyria (festivals) has also played with some of the great jazz musicians of Europe and the United States and is greatly admired for his unique technique.)


Today however, I have not been listening to Giorgos Mangas – but instead – following the interlude of my Balkan jazz breakfast, I have listened almost exclusively to the catalogue of Tom Waits – one of my favourite musicians, entertainers and poets.

Waits is a genius who has managed over a period of nearly forty years to chronicle the underbelly of America with charm, wit and great poetry – as well as with stunning music borrowing alternately from jazz, blues, folk and experimental music.

The Wall Street Journal critic Jim Fusilli once described Waits' music thus:
“A keen, sensitive and sympathetic chronicler of the adrift and downtrodden, Mr. Waits creates three-dimensional characters who, even in their confusion and despair, are capable of insight and startling points of view. Their stories are accompanied by music that's unlike any other in pop history.”
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
An enormously talented guitarist and pianist (self taught), Waits is perhaps most well known for his highly distinctive voice, once wonderfully described by critic Daniel Durchholz as sounding "like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months, and then taken outside and run over with a car."


Indeed Tom Waits once successfully sued an advertising agency for using a voice similar to his for a commercial without his permission.


Having spent many vacations on road trips across the US, and having spent plenty of time in bummed out bars, hellholes and worse, looking for a good drink, some good music or some crazy people to hang out with, I appreciate his expert insight into booze, blues and the bad side of life – as much as I appreciate his hope, humour and happiness.


There are so many songs of his that I adore and which I connect deeply with – both personally and to events, places and people – that I won’t go into details now.


My favourite album overall remains his first – Closing Time – which I have written about before on road trips in the US. It is a very balanced and complete work and which – through other people covering two of its songs (Ol’55 and Martha) launched his career. The work he put out in the 70s is uniformly excellent and the 80s also saw – post Asylum records(his first label) – some great work. The more experimental material – starting with Swordfish Trombones and moving into Frank’s Wild Years (an opera composed by Waits and co-written with his wife) – is much less accessible but still worth persevering with as it has some very interesting colours to it.


So a morning with Tom Waits, a break for lunch, and then an afternoon nap listening to my favourite Waits tracks until sleep overcame me, brings me right up to date as I sit with another Frappe, a plate of sliced chilled nectarines and write this piece in celebration of another lovely day of doing nothing.

Search This Blog