Elwood H. Smith

LANNY

2008-03-17T20:13:47+00:00

Francis Landon "Lanny" Sipperley -
1944 - 2007

As best I could tell, our neighbor, Lanny Sipperley was not a complicated man. If he had demons, they were kept hidden. Some of us (me, in spades) blather on about our feelings, our fears and our opinions until the cows come home. Others (Lanny, in spades) hold their private thoughts close to the vest, like W.C. Fields' trusty whiskey flask. Now and then, I'd ask Lanny about his childhood or I'd tell him about one of my military experiences, hoping he would share one of his. Each time, he'd shift the conversation to a more comfortable topic, usually the weather or local gossip. "We live in a fishbowl" was Lanny's mantra. Locust Grove Road, is a cul-de-sac, which means you are watched coming in and going out. He lived on this street in the same small, white home for his entire life, minus three years serving his country. Lanny knew about life in a fishbowl.

In 1945, when Lanny was one year old, his parents, Vernon D. and Estelle Sipperley, moved into their small Locust Grove home. Lanny was a good son and a good student. He graduated from Rhinebeck Central Schools, class of 1962, and earned an associates degree from Dutchess Community College in 1964. Neighbors say he was good at sports. He served in the United States Army from 1964 to 1967, spending two of those years in Germany. He enjoyed the beer there, he told me, but I never saw him drink. Lanny didn't smoke, he didn't curse. He was a man of good cheer even when times were tough. He was, in short, a good citizen of the world.

Life was not an easy road for Lanny. It is said that he returned from the army a changed man. He didn't see action, but something mysterious, it seems, happened over there. When Lanny's military obligation ended, he moved back home to live with his mother. Estelle was a genuine, home-grown eccentric—at least during the years we knew her. Often, on a cold winter morning, Maggie and I would stand at the window watching Estelle, her nightgown peering out from under her husband's old, red plaid hunting coat as she stomped through the snow with her tethered Siamese cat. Come spring and there she was, up on a ladder clicking her false teeth and slathering fresh paint on the side of her single-story house. Lanny spent his time outside raking leaves and stones off Locust Grove Road. He also worked occasionally for his cousin, Peter, who ran a plumbing supply shop in Rhinebeck. Peter was also, for many years, the Mayor of Rhinebeck. Lanny and Estelle were good neighbors—they kept to themselves, but they were friendly, willing to help out if asked.

We were concerned about Lanny after Estelle suffered two strokes (the second one knocking her into a vegetative state). How, we wondered, would he handle things without her? We were relieved and delighted when he landed a full-time job working for a local commercial landscaper. Not long after his mother died, Lanny surprised us again by starting his own landscaping business. At his funeral, several of the men who had worked for Lanny over the years stepped forward to laud him. He was, they said, a hard worker who was a man of his word. And all who knew him said he was generous to a fault. By the time he died of heart failure on December 3rd, 2007, Lanny had fallen on hard times. Still, he insisted on buying coffee for his cohorts, even when his broken down truck was running on treadless tires and vapors.

On March 17, 2007, precisely one year ago as I write this, I was hunkered down on our enclosed back porch filming birds and squirrels in our back yard. They had gathered to devour the seed I had sprinkled around our freshly plowed driveway. A final snowstorm had come and gone, leaving ravenous animals in its wake. The birds noisily exploded from view, as Lanny, shovel in hand, crunched into the picture frame. During the summer, he cut our lawn and, after each heavy snowfall, we hired him to shovel two paths—one for our postman and another to allow access to our compost container. He didn't see me on the darkened porch as he attended to his task and I was loathe to disturb the moment with a greeting. This short movie was created from footage taken that day.

It doesn't seem right that this gentle man, built solid, like a fireplug, was so easily and suddenly taken away. Lanny, wherever you are, the fishbowl misses you.

Thanks to Lanny's cousin's Karl Sipperly and Shirl Di Gugno for tracking down this photo, a rare find, it turns out. As Peter told me at Lanny's funeral, "Well, you see, the Sipperley's weren't big on taking pictures."

MABEL�S SUGAR COOKIES

2008-02-27T00:38:32+00:00

In the “The Nomads” article below, I touched upon my guitar lessons with Cootch and Mabel. The photo of Mabel’s kitschy furnishings and the two of them sitting there, making music on their guitars, piqued the interest of several Drawgerites. A little more information about the Coutures, then, seems to be in order.

Cootch and Mabel were pivotal figures in my life, though I doubt they understood the powerful effect they had on me at the time. I probably neglected to tell them at the time how much they instilled in me a love of making music, although I did thank Cootch many years later, when I visited him in a retirement home. I brought along an acoustic guitar and he and I played some old tunes together.

Clarence "Cootch" Couture and his wife, Mabel were old friends of my parents. When my mom and dad bought & refurbished a small resort on Long Lake, 9 miles north of Alpena, Michigan, Cootch and Mabel showed up for a week’s vacation with guitars in tow. For seven, sublime nights, I sat mesmerized, watching Mabel coax unworldly, ethereal sounds from her Oahu Hawaiian guitar, while Cootch sang Hank Williams songs, punching out sock rhythm chords on his yellow-sparkle Supro.

After the Coutures departed, my parents asked me if I would be interested in taking lessons with Cootch. I’d failed miserably as a grammar school coronet player, but the guitar touched my soul. I showed up at the Couture’s home the following week carrying my father’s small, out-of-tune, old flattop guitar.

Every week, Cootch and I would work our way through an Oahu Method “Spanish Guitar lesson. The Oahu company began in 1936, publishing Hawaiian guitar tablature lessons and they eventually added regular guitar and accordion lessons. Later on, the company sold guitars, amps and other music related equipment. When guitars went electric, Supro supplied Oahu with guitars.

If the impromptu jam sessions that followed my lessons weren’t incentive enough to keep me coming back week after week, Mabel’s huge, homemade sugar cookies were. I learned little from the Oahu lessons, but at lesson’s end, Mabel would head to the kitchen, emerging with three glasses of milk and a plateful of gigantic sugar cookies. Energized by white flour and sugar, we picked up our guitars again and the real fun began. Cootch & Mabel knew dozens of classic country tunes and popular standards from the 40’s and 50’s. With chord charts spread out on my music stand, I’d struggle along with the tunes, applying as much as I could from my previous lessons. I spent months wrestling with that rascally closed F chord, but I was determined to get it clean and on time. I wanted desperately to be an active participant in the magic.

This event took place some 50 years ago, yet I recall vividly the smell of the cookies and the warmth permeating Cootch & Mabel's apartment. Thank you, my long departed teachers. Making music was, for you, a spiritually enriching, joyous occasion and you led me to the temple.

THE NOMADS

2008-02-10T01:05:22+00:00

THE NOMADS

Dear Drawgerites,

A while back, I sent this picture to my pal, Steve Bartles (the bassist on John Platania - Lucky Dog).

He wrote back, asking if it was my Supro, a guitar I'd often talked about.

Nope, I responded, my father built that guitar. I'd learned to play his old small-bodied acoustic and I was chaffing at the bit for an electric guitar. Money was tight and Dad was handy with tools, so he decided to build me one.

We probably ordered the pickups from this 1957 catalog sheet.

PART 2: MY SUPRO

My particular model seems to be rare, but I finally found a pic on the web of a Supro Dual-Tone that looks nearly identical to mine. My Supro sported a two-teared pickguard, otherwise it looked just like this beauty. It had a contact-type pickup built into the bridge along with the two humbuckers. A great short-scale guitar. It's the one I used in nearly every band I played in while I lived in Alpena, including "Johnny Woytaszek & the Thunder Bay Polka Jax".

PART 3: THE NOMADS

This photo was taken at Al Zdan's store, Long Lake Supermarket, in probably 1958. Al is the other guy in the first photo. I was taking guitar lessons with a my first guitar teachers, Cootch and Mabel, and as I progressed, I taught Al what I'd learned. I remained the lead guitarist, but Al was an excellent rhythm player. Al began with that archtop guitar in the picture, but he switched to a double-neck Carvin-inspired guitar that my dad helped him build. My first band featured Al on his double-neck (short-scale bass on top and guitar below) with me on lead guitar and my pal, Bill Wright (now my brother-in-law) on drums. Bill was an excellent Hawaiian guitar player (now most often called lap steel), but we needed a drummer. Hawaiian guitar back then was for sissies. Al had a drum kit over at the store, so Bill became our drummer--learned it within a few weeks. He didn't need to be much of a drummer, since Al and I were greenhorn guitarists. What we lacked in technique, we made up for in innocence, blind ignorance and enthusiasm.

Our first gig: New Year's Eve at the local Disabled American Veteran's Hall. Actually it was a bar. My father, a WW II vet, landed us the gig. We'd only learned a half dozen, maybe ten tunes. We needed a waltz, it turned out, so we played "Down in the Valley". The audience danced and when they weren't dancing, they drank. A lot. So, no one noticed the same handful of tunes being played over and over and over. When we finished up at the end of the night, the bartender, a beefy guy named Spigelmyre who ran the place, asked us how much we charged. We gave him blank stares. Huh, we're getting paid? Spigelmyre said, okay, how about fifteen bucks? He walked back to the bar, leaving three grinning teenagers tossing back Vernor's Ginger Ale. Wow, five bucks apiece! We couldn't believe our good fortune. The bartender returned to our table and handed us forty-five bucks. Fifteen smackaroos EACH! Fame and fortune was just around the corner. We learned some more songs, bought matching bolo ties and came up with a cool name. "The Nomads". The perfect name for a band that had never traveled thirty miles beyond Alpena.

Historians write endlessly about artists from the late 50's. You know, those country hicks who became cool, like Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins & Elvis. Yeah, they were great musicians, but isn't it time to finally recognize those boys from Alpena: Elwood Smith, Bill Wright and Al Zdan? The Nomads.

-E

Links:

Thank you, Peter.
www.musurgia.com

Thank you, Kevin
www.carvinmuseum.com

Cheers!

2007-12-23T17:00:19+00:00

Cheers to Drawgerites, one and all from the Green Monkey. I propose a toast to laughter, great friendships and enough good health to choke a horse.

Will Work For Beer

2007-11-19T04:39:27+00:00

Here’s how it all began. I’ve distilled it down to ease eye fatigue.

Maggie and I joined Susan Blommaert, a fine actress and an old flame, for lunch at Terrapin here in Rhinebeck. Her friend, Tom Grasso, tagged long and, following lunch, he and I had an opportunity to talk. He was born in 1941, same as me and was, for a time a pro musician, so we hit it off immediately. Turns out, he’s involved with a new Hudson Valley magazine called Roll and, when he discovered I was an illustrator, he wondered if I would be game for an interview. I happen to know a lot about myself so, a couple of weeks later, Tom, Roll Magazine’s editor, Ross Rice and I ended up back at Terrapin for some good food, fine brew and the blah, blah, blah, everyone is glancing at their watch but me, interview.

Would I do an original cover for the magazine they wondered, with the caveat that the budget was low. Tell you what, I said, give me complete creative freedom and I’ll do it for two cases of Corsendonk Abbey Brown Ale. I coughed up a cover and Tom stopped by with the stash. Sweet.

Here’s the cover and the article. I’d like to thank Roll for allowing me to publish the article, Ross and Tom for their fine company over lunch and Maggie and Roll’s art director, Donna Calcavecchio, for the cover design.

Elwood Smith: Will Work For Beer….a chat with Ross Rice from Roll.

Oh, you’ve seen his work, all right. Unless you never ever read Time, Newsweek, Forbes, The Wall Street Journal, Sports Illustrated, The New York Times, The Chicago Tribune, or New York Magazine. His visual style is a classic one, with elements of Krazy Kat, Barney Google, and the Katzenjammer Kids, which has evolved into a distinctly original style that has the ability to convey a multi-layered setup and punch-line all in a single image, often without text. A self-described “humorous illustrator” at the top of his game, he still maintains a fearless curiosity and willingness to explore new genres.

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Elwood Smith.

First thing we (“we” being ex-rocker and Roll “elder” Tom Grasso and me) learn over lunch with Elwood: he is a beer enthusiast, though not a beer snob, having learned the finer points after multiple tastings of a close relative’s home-brewing experiments. “I’ve always liked beer. I am not broadly traveled, but I’ve been to England twice and I didn’t KNOW beer until then.” He attributes his good health and outlook to good taste in beer (Belgian ales a favorite) and good genetics. We grunt assent and toast with a round of Chimay.

Looking back over an impressive professional career that blossomed when he relocated from the Midwest to New York City in 1976, Elwood offers a frank assessment: “Starting out, my heroes were George Herriman [Krazy Kat], Billy DeBeck [Barney Google], and the infamous Rube Goldberg. I was trying to draw like those guys. I bought the same pens, which are still available, but I never quite got it. It took a while but I managed to channel their classic style into my own voice. Thing is, even though I am known for that retro style and I’ve made a good living working that way for many years, I often felt trapped by the style. Over the years, I’ve tried to stretch beyond that way of drawing—trying to find a way to break from the conventions of things like perspective. It’s my goal to find my own voice, not my own voice filtered through those cartoon masters.” Like many artists, Elwood was searching for a personal style beyond his immediate influences, and met resistance. “I started in New York with the Barney Google style, and later when I came out with my new style, it was a smaller feet, smaller hand style. There were a lot of people who, when I gave them the new one, they wanted what they saw before, what they were comfortable with already.” Still, the change was made and clients kept calling, but the lesson was learned: commerciality and creative change would always be a tough balancing act in the ad biz. . . but not impossible. Elwood’s quality prevailed and with his new style he racked up a succession of major clients: Sony, GE Cellular One, Pizza Hut, ATT, Prudential. . . the list goes on and on. His “humorous illustration” style was easily adapted for numerous books for adults, as well as children.

Many clients, awards, and accolades later, we fast-forward to the present, and Elwood favors us with a copy of Gee Whiz! It’s All About Pee, a whimsically informative children’s book (written by Susan Goodman) that, along with its sister (brother?) book The Truth About Poop, makes full use of Elwood’s all-ages sense of humor. He’s rightfully proud of these “because they’re really good books! When you read these, they’re classy books, it’s all information, it’s not scatological. I happen to be one of those people in the world who thinks that it’s sad that, due to the repressed [nature] of this country, pee and poop. . . well, especially poop, are not talked about. I’m amazed, because aside from sex and music and drinking, having a good BM - there’s something so satisfying about that! Why don’t we make that something people talk about readily?”

Uh, how about we have lunch first, Elwood…

Another thing we learn about Elwood: If you like the looks of his sandwich at lunch, get him talking about music, and an hour later, that sandwich is YOURS, baby. “Well, I can play a little Western Swing, and I can flatpick bluegrass guitar and plunk a little mandolin. . . when my chops are up I can get a sort of Norman Blake thing going.” Elwood’s interest in music began in the 40s, while listening to WATZ, the only radio station in his hometown, Alpena, Michigan. The station played all styles of popular music - swing, bluegrass and country music and Elwood soaked up the music of Hank Williams, Bob Wills and Benny Goodman. Later on, in the late 50s, inspired by guitarists Les Paul and George Barnes, Elwood took a few guitar lessons with Cootch & Mabel Couture and started a dance band with pals. They knew all of 6 songs for their first gig at the DAV hall. Ignorance was bliss.

Elwood discovered classical music while attending art school in Chicago and it is still his favorite musical form. “I listened to some rock ‘n’ roll in the 50s but it never really grabbed me. In the late 60s, when my friends were digging rock, I was obsessed with music of the Renaissance. I built a clavichord from a kit, which I couldn’t really play, but I could pick some John Dowland on my 7-course lute.” Several years ago, however, an interest in a more pop style of songwriting emerged and he took a songwriter’s workshop with Rosanne Cash at Omega Institute. Musical help came in the form of John Platania, (guitarist extraordinaire for Van Morrison) whom Elwood had met through his friend, bassist Steve Bartles. When they were recording a soundtrack for a five minute video that featured Elwood’s artwork, Platania happened to be doing some work at Paul Antonell’s Clubhouse (in Germantown at the time, now in Rhinebeck), and he generously offered to sit in on Elwood’s gig just for fun. One thing led to another, and after some demos, Platania was onboard to record an entire solo album of Elwood’s songs, funded by Elwood, with one stipulation: he wanted lots of creative freedom - something a session man rarely gets. Thus was the Lucky Dog album recorded, a truly enjoyable album available at Oblong Books Rhinebeck and at www.johnplatania.com.

Elwood’s enthusiasm for music remains a constant, with fairly regular jam sessions at the house, collective improvisation encouraged. It turns out we both really could talk music all day, but it’s getting late in the afternoon, and we’ve reached an agreeable beer buzz point, so it’s time to ramble on. (Elwood gets a to-go container for his sandwich though….darn. Close, so close.)

What’s really getting Elwood cooking these days is a personal renaissance of sorts, concerning his artistic vision. Luckily for us at Roll, Elwood took the opportunity to experiment with this issue’s cover, and share some of his creative process with us. “I drew the little bear guy with the horn in my conventional way, inking it in on watercolor paper, but without adding watercolor as I usually do. In Photoshop, I layer the line art over a bed of color dabs. . . I make these dabs on a strip of watercolor paper as I’m working on jobs. I save the best of the watercolor paper strips for use in my experimental projects. The loose color backgrounds free me up and keep me from coloring my art within the lines. I do exercise some control, but I try not to mess around with those wonderful, accidental shapes flowing within and outside my drawings. It is similar to the way I make films, letting the “happy accidents” take me down new creative avenues. It’s all like it’s happening beyond me, but then I can monitor and modify it.” Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew is discussed as an example of this kind of free-associative creation. “[Miles] had the vision to go beyond chops. The new ‘me’ is going to start doing more where I just conjure up something. . . where, for instance, it doesn’t matter if I know where the pull-cord on the lawnmower is, I just trust myself to make up a lawnmower!”

Meanwhile, the phone still rings with new challenges; Elwood and Susan Goodman have just finished a third collaboration, See How They Run, about presidential elections for Bloomsbury Children’s Books. Elwood’s wife Maggie, a respected artist in her own right, as well as Elwood’s representative and business manager, has become a first-rate graphic designer, designing all promotional materials for their cottage industry. Both stay pretty busy, but Elwood finds time each morning to ease into each day with a two mile walk through town. Dee at the Bagel Shop has a smile and a cup of coffee waiting for him before he heads back to the house to finish work on a children’s book (about swamp creatures), then on to the next project, where he will be trying out some of his new techniques. “If I didn’t have to make a living, I would probably just make my little films - scooping together found objects, collage and imagery, both still and moving, and throwing in an occasional drawing now and then. . . not even worrying about drawing anymore. And I love creating music for the soundtracks. I truly believe my most creative times are ahead. All this [my career] was just laying the groundwork, and I’m a slow learner.”

© 2007 Roll Magazine

rollmagazine.com

Zipwood's Epiphone Archtop

2007-11-11T19:30:29+00:00

Rob Saunders was curious about the big blonde I held in my arms at the Bond Street "Ben Day & the Zipatones" gig. From info I've gleaned from the web, Rob is correct, it is a Epiphone Zephyr Deluxe Regent from the early 50's. A fickle Gemini, I've gone through a slew of guitars and mandolins over the years, always in the hopes of finding the "perfect" axe. I ran upon this dandy Epiphone (which, sadly, I no longer own) in a shop on 48th Street. As I recall, I had a measly $700.00 in my CitiBank account from which I withdrew $500.00 to buy this lovely archtop. I was mostly a bluegrass picker and I knew acoustic flat-top guitars like vintage Martins, but I knew very little about the world of archtops. Obviously, this Zephyr Deluxe with it's nifty Art Deco details, would have been a fine investment. The pickups, as you can see in the photo, were cradled with lovely, almost amber, Bakelite. It was not a carved archtop but had, like many acoustic-electrics of that era, laminated top, sides and back. I now have a Bob Benedetto carved archtop, so I don't weep when I think of this long, lost guitar, but it was fun to play, a delight to hold and a treasure among great vintage archtop guitars. I wish I had taken better pictures, but I'm posting a fairly good, but soft focus, pic I found on the web (which I'll remove if I need to--I can't recall where I got it) along with a couple more pics taken at the Bond Street event.

I Love Beer!

2007-07-29T03:01:21+00:00

A few thoughts and a couple of photos of and about beer.

I'd be really trim if I didn't drink one or two glasses (sometimes pints) of beer most every night. I love the taste of really fine beer and I love the buzz. It softens the often hard edge of life. So does intense exercise and meditation, they tell me, but gimme a fine ale. When I was a little kid, my brother Dave and I would beg our parents for some of their beer. If they said okay (and I don't recall them ever not saying okay), we'd high-tail it for the cabinet and race back with a shot glass. Nectar for the babes.

Corsendonk Abbey Brown Ale is a Trappist-Style Belgian ale.

This beer has a dark color and amber head. I find it as full-bodied as a British stout, but with that lighter Belgian fizz. I normally favor the stouts and porters, so it took me a while to get my taste buds around the unique Belgian flavor, but I'm glad I kept at it. This ale is great in the winter, but damned fine even on the hottest summer day. Much more versatile than a regular stout or porter. As the experts note, it has hints of chocolate with a fig "nose". Do I sense a Lou Brooks joke wandering into this article? Corsendonk Abbey Brown Ale is smooth with a slightly sweet taste. I've gotten it in regular-sized bottles but mostly you'll find it in the large, champagne bottle size. 7.5 alcohol.

Highly recommended

Crowds Panic As Flood Threatens Ireland

I love this photo and caption. I have no idea where I found it, since it has been loitering in my Beer Humor collection for a long time, but it sums up perfectly the attitude of those who love their brew.

Pickles in a Bowl

2007-07-27T23:39:23+00:00

Pickles, one of our now pretty large kittens, has found a way to beat the heat. A nice cool bowl on the living room table.

I'm Back. From Alpena

2007-07-22T23:37:35+00:00

Smith Family Reunion 2007

I'm not fond of flying. I can drag myself into an airplane hull, but I need a few pints of beer in my belly. I'd rather keep my feet planted on a surface that is covered with grass covered dirt (which often includes my studio floor) or the floor mat of an automobile. Maggie loves air travel. A puzzlement. Being stuffed and buckled into a seat with sweaty, swollen ankles, toxic air and a single miniscule bag of stale salted nuts is her reward. And mine on Friday the 13th, July, 2007.

So, it was with some trepidation that I drove with Maggie to Stewart-Newburgh airport. Maggie was on her way to visit her 93-year old mother in Florida. I was on my way to my hometown of Alpena, Michigan for a family reunion. Maggie parted from the gate on time and arrived in Ft. Lauderdale thirty minutes early. I flew out some 12 hours later. An electrical problem. My brother Dave (see the Rat Piss and Nails video), who is a generous and loving guy (and who loves motoring) offered to drive across the Michigan Mitten from Alpena to pick me up. He made it about halfway before I reached him with my rented cell phone. Ever cheerful, Dave headed back to Alpena, promising to retrieve me next morning. I would find a motel in Traverse City for the night. A fellow traveler informed me that every Traverse City hotel and motel would be packed to the gills. Turns out I was arriving just in time for the big annual Cherry Festival. A lot like Mardi Gras, according to my cabbie, with cherry-nosed drunks on every corner. Maggie, bless her travel-loving soul, found me a room at a Motel 6. Very well the last available room in Cherrytown.

The family reunion part of my trip was wonderful. I won't sully it by talking about the severe thunderstorms that bombarded O'Hare before chasing my bouncing jet back home. I may never board another airliner, but the family union (great weather up there, too) was worth the whole flying fiasco.

Here's a short video I concocted from some some video footage I took while up north. Don't ask. My 85-year old Uncle Vern said to me at the reunion: "You are strange. To say the least."

Me? Strange?

ELAINE'S BUNION - A PUGILIST'S TALE
(click below to see QuickTime video)

Elaine's Bunion - A Pugilist's Tale

I'm Back. In 3 Parts

2007-07-09T03:40:28+00:00

Prologue

Randy Enos is amazing. Where the hell does that creative crustacean get all that energy? He scrapes and carves out those inventive, mind-boggling, multicolored linocuts by the barrel-full and still finds time to regularly post delightful, interesting articles here on Drawger. Damn his dirty hide, he shames us all.

Part 1

Which brings me to me. It has been eight months since I posted anything on Drawger, which is nearly the time it took me to bake in my mother’s oven. When Mark Matcho invited me to join Drawger, I sat on it for a while, wondering if I really needed another distraction. Once I jumped in, however, I began posting like a banshee. Then, without any real intention of doing so, I jumped right back out. I’m not sure why. I do recall becoming overwhelmed by the massive influx of new members. When I joined, Drawger had 17 motley illustrators all chitchatting around, warming their hands on an old Macintosh. As of today, we have 83 members rattling around the joint. Eighty three high-grade artists gathered together on a single blog! I am impressed and amazed. And I have no idea how anyone can even begin the chore of keeping up with all the interesting articles and the inspiring imagery here on Drawger and still find time to make art. Recently Zina Saunders and Nancy Stahl came to Rhinebeck for a visit (man, was that a double Dutch treat!) and Zina reminded me that members shouldn’t feel obligated to read or respond to every article. My old Punster Society pal, Lou Brooks (who is, finally and happily a Drawgerite), recently told me the same thing. (Conveyed, of course, via thought balloons surrounded by images laden with large, colorful, out of register, halftone dots)

So, please, heed this warning: STOP READING THIS ARTICLE and go back to work, life is short and this type too small.

Part 2

Oh, you’re still here? Okay, for the diehards, I’ll continue to babble on a little longer. Anything worth doing, I always say, is worth overdoing.

Perhaps another reason I backed off Drawger for a spell was my renewed interest in making music. Too much to do, too little time. A couple of years ago, I stopped performing with my old band, “The Polecats” and, for the first time since 1971, I found myself without a callus on my fingers. The guitars and mandolin lay dormant in their cases with rust forming on their tuneless strings. My renewed interest in making live music (I’d been using mostly GarageBand for my soundtracks) began last autumn when I offered to teach my friend, Paul Thiele, to play guitar. After a lesson or two, it became obvious to us both that Paul had little interest in learning to play the guitar in a traditional manner. No finger-bending chords and endless scales for this inquisitive fellow. Miles Davis and his landmark album, “Bitch’s Brew”, were the sounds Paul was absorbing and was anxious to produce. Yeah, I know Miles learned all that complicated stuff before making those great, weird sounds, but so what? Right? C’mon, Elwood, let’s do it, okay?

Okay, what the hell, Paul.

We jettisoned the formal lessons and, without the curse of finely honed skills and music theory and, ignorance being bliss, we cheerfully began our weekly sessions. The Glitches Brew Sessions had begun. Most every Wednesday, Paul and I hunker down and, fueled by tasty, dark ale and enthusiasm without borders, we joyously pick at and scratch away on our electric guitars, pumping out sweet and sour sounds. We are accompanied by my uncomplaining, metronomic Fender G-DEC backup band. From time to time, just to keep the cats on their toes, Paul honks out a few notes on his Yamaha sax. The music we produce may not be complex but it is, I swear upon the roiling grave of Miles Dewey Davis III, a most satisfying musical experience.

Although I was in my prime a passable bluegrass-style flatpicker, I had grown bored with my playing. Paul’s need to explore a free, more experimental kind of music coincided with my own interest in creating experimental sound-collage tapestries on the computer. One thing for sure, I come away every week from our jam session all fired up with renewed determination to break free of old, ingrained habits.

Part 3

As I’ve written about elsewhere in my Drawger blog, my short films and animation projects have offered me an opportunity to merge my art and music. Regularly, one medium kicks out old and muddied windows for the other. My illustration style was only minimally affected by this experimental phase. Over the past several weeks, however, I have found a way to ladle the burbling creative stew into my illustrations. I’ve included a couple of my current experiments in this article.

A couple of weeks ago, I traveled with David Goldin to J.J. Sedelmaier’s animation studio down in White Plains. Edel Rodriguez and Barry Blitt showed up and we joined J.J. and his creative staff for some wonderful conversation and tasty pizza. J.J. is not only an excellent animator, he is a first-rate host. It was a pleasure getting to know David as he navigated the Taconic Parkway to and from White Plains. We discussed many topics, professional and personal, including David’s frightening abiltity to burn to a crisp oncoming traffic with his laser eyes. He destroyed two SUVs before I managed to divert him by bringing up a topic dear to his heart: the collage-illustration technique that he and Serge Bloch employ so masterfully. For some time now, I have been using collage in my endless, ongoing moving picture project, but I’ve been wary of applying it to my illustration. Each time in the past, when I’ve contemplated adding other images to my drawings, I ended up abandoning the idea, figuring that the Photoshop collage approach was pretty much sewn up by Goldin, Bloch, Vasconelos (wow, great stuff, Walter!) and others.

But the appeal of the collage approach overwhelmed me. I decided it was highly unlikely that anyone would confuse my efforts with the work of Goldin, or Bloch or Vasconelos. I’ve never had the chops necessary to imitate other’s art style, even that of my biggest influences, Billy DeBeck & George Herriman. They infused my work to be sure and, although I tried mightily to cop their delicious pen technique, I’ve always ended up with an Elwoodian broth. The same seems to be true with my latest experimentation. I hope so. I don’t want to end up on the receiving end of those laser eyes.

Thanks, Zimm, for keeping the clubhouse door open. It’s good to be back.

-ES

FANCY PIGS WEAR ACME WIGS

2006-11-03T04:32:02+00:00

I received an e-mail from Trace Burroughs in January of this year. His company, Little Men Entertainment, was looking for illustrators to collaborate on animation projects. Little Men would take the illustrators work and animate it using Adobe After Effects in the "Cut and Paste" style of "Hopeless Pictures". I was intrigued and responded. Trace made it clear that neither of us would be making any money, but he would have my work on his reel and I would have a finished animation. We might, down the road, profit from the collaboration, but there were no guarantees. What the hell, I thought, why not? I said I'd do it if I could create new art, the story and the music.

Trace wanted to keep the animations brief & fairly simple. I wrote a simple story & he approved it. I then sent him a batch of finished art: main characters, body parts, buiildings, vehicles & backgrounds, so he could assemble them into a finished animation. Once the movie was nearly done & we had an idea of the movie's length, I created the music. Trace did all the animation and added the sound effects. Maggie designed the Acme Wigs billboard.

Here's a link to the site:

Little Men Entertainment

Click on my name, which is the first one under "Illustrator Collaborations" to view "Fancy Pigs Wear Acme Wigs". Don't feel obligated to purchase an Acme Wig.

RATS & NAILS

2006-10-21T19:21:32+00:00

Dear Drawgerites,

I learned to play guitar when I was about 15 years old and I've continued to play music in one form or another throughout my life. My brother, Dave (about 18 months my junior & my childhood sidekick) learned to play drums in high school, but lost interest in performing once he headed off for college. I guess the ham in me kept me going. Over the years, I harbored a dream that Dave would learn to play guitar, mandolin or banjo and, whenever he would trek from Michigan to visit me in New York or I would end up in my Michigan hometown to visit him, we'd haul out our instruments and, much like the Everly Brothers, we'd create the special kind of music only family members can make.

But Dave didn't learn to play the banjo or the mandolin. Not even the ubiquitous guitar turned his head. No matter, my dream, like a vaporous barnacle, was in it for the long haul. Opportunity knocked in mid-September. My sister, Jude, and Dave and his wife, Elaine, journeyed from Tennessee & Michigan to Rhinebeck for a short visit. One morning, during my daily walk, inspiration struck. An idea for a video, followed the lyrics to the perfect Dave song began rattling around my head. I'd hit upon a way to realize my dream. I arrived home, jotted down "Rats & Nails" and asked Dave if he'd be willing to be an actor in a short video. Uh, yeah, okay. How could he refuse his older brother?

I tuned my tenor banjo (4 strings, short neck) to an open tuning so Dave could strum it without worrying about chords. The song was short and simple--no chord changes & a bluesy, modal melody. Dave sings occasionally in a choir, so it was a piece of cake. We needed a set. The dining room was chosen, chairs were moved and living room floor lamps were brought in. Dave gamely allowed me a half dozen or so takes. As payment, he demanded a supply of Dogfish Head Raison D'Etre ale, which he soon began carrying with him as he trundled on and off the stage.

Dave suggests cracking open a dark ale before viewing this small movie. Damned fine advice, banjo man.

-Elwood

Click Here for Rats & Nails

MONDO LUIGI Part 2

2006-10-17T22:57:46+00:00

BEHIND THE SCENES

In my first Mondo Luigi article (4/25/06), I tell how I met Brian Hoard and of our eventual decision to work together on a project. I always have several stories percolating on the back burner, but the Mondo Luigi characters seemed an obvious choice for Brian's Maya 3D approach to animation. I've only done 2D animation using Flash & Toon Boom Studio software. I've also created some hand-drawn, scanned and assembled animations. I thought it would be fun to see my characters puffed up into 3D.

When Brian is ready to begin a scene, I send him a rough storyboard along a couple of finished color renderings of the main characters. I also provide him with a soundtrack (I get to do the music, a real perk!) and a timing breakdown of the action within the scene. From then on, Brian does all the hard work.

I've often wondered how Brian churned my 2D characters into 3D. It seemed magical, a mystery. He'd discuss "rigging" and other terms unique to 3D animation and though I had some vague idea of what he meant, it was nothing concrete. I knew the process was kind of like puppetry but, until I saw the QuickTime movies now available on his site, I had no idea just how labor intensive the 3D construction was. I find it fascinating and technically daunting.

I know there's a ton of stuff begging for your attention here on Drawger (& elsewhere), but if you find an extra couple of minutes, check out Brian's informative QuickTime movies. He's made a page just for us with "Final Movies" (only 2 finished, so far) and "Behind the Scenes", which deals with the process. One of the QuickTime movies "Luigi Breakdown" was done for a talk Brian recently gave to a class of fourth-grade kids. Perfect for me.

Click here to view:
Luigi/BrianHoard
(You may need the latest QuickTime player from Apple - it's free)

MONKEYBONE ANIMATION

2006-10-06T23:41:18+00:00

Hey, Drawgerites! Sorry I haven't been around here much. So much to do, so many new faces here in Drawgerland, so little time. Hard to keep up.

I did notice a bit of monkey business going on in my absence & thought you should know about a little known monkey animation. There is, of course, the infamous Green Monkey animation on my website, but I created this one sometime back when the vector program I most often use, Toon Boom Studio, created their version specifically for a Mac. Wanting to try it out, i whipped up a quick animation using my favorite character, Green Monkey and slapped together a soundtrack in GarageBand.

Click here:
MONKEYBONE
It should take you to the Toon Boom Showcase.
Monkey is waiting for you.

-E

COUNTY FAIR - a short film

2006-08-30T02:51:13+00:00

County Fair
2 minutes, 5 seconds

Whac-A-Mole, gut-wrenching rides, the smells of cow shit, cotton candy & fried dough. The roar of the crowd, of bellowing carnies & screaming offspring. That's what folks expect from a county fair and most come away fat and happy. Not me, of course. I stand there watching wild-eyed pigs, tags riveted to their large, bristled ears, numerals felt-tipped across their broad backs, screaming as they slam against the bars of their cages. I wonder, is it feeding time? Or is it a hog's final desperate hurrah before he is thrust upon a spit? I feel out of place, as though my life has suddenly spilled over into a Fellini film.

Click Here to View Movie

George Gruel = see Michigan George in my The Monkey Files = responded to "County Fair" with this beautiful photo. Pigs without a blanket. By the way, George has just joined Zimm's other blog, "Photoger", which is, as far as I know, still in Beta stage. Is Carotene the next stage?

TESTIFY TO THE LIES - a short film

2006-08-13T01:00:50+00:00

My dear friend, Ted Denyer, died in the early morning on January 2nd, 2006. The previous summer, I shot some footage on my Sony digital camcorder. I explained to Ted my plan to one day create a film of an old man (live footage) lost in dreams (animation) and he willingly played the part of the old man. Method acting at its best. I'm using some of that footage in my current animation project, but I recently worked up one segment as a stand-alone film. Over the past couple of days, I created a short song which struck me as the perfect soundtrack for the film. It runs 2 minutes, 20 seconds.

-ES

Click here to see film

THE SOUND OF INTEGRITY

2006-08-09T23:44:47+00:00

HOOKED
-----------

In 1982, I became an audiophile. I needed new loudspeakers and, to make at least part of this long story short, Maggie and I ended up wandering into The Sound Mill, a "high-end audio" den in Mount Kisco, NY. I wanted to replace my old Advents and the Sound Mill featured speakers with names like Naim, B&W and KEF. The listening room was filled with massive turntables sporting elegant tonearms poised like robotic birds above expensive, 180 gram LPs and huge mono power amps bristling with large vacuum tubes. Speakers the size of trailer homes trembled, waiting for another hit of Wagner's "Götterdämmerung". After "auditioning" (really, that's what us audiophiles say) several speakers, all exceeding my modest budget, I wrestled the checkbook from Maggie & bought two KEF speakers, modest in size. And, as I was soon to discover, modest in dynamic range. Once back in my listening environment, I experienced the first stirrings of my disease. The speakers certainly had more clarity than my Advents, but they lacked bass response. Back to the dealer. This is your lucky day, Mr Smith, we have a custom-made subwoofer, perfect for your needs! And that wimpy Advent receiver you are using is woefully inadequate. You'll need more power. Doesn't everyone need more power? I purchased a used preamp and an amp that looked ready for arc welding. For increased depth and transparency, I was urged to elevate my KEFs with a pair of spiked speaker stands. Sand-filled, of course.

I was hooked. I finally understood the pain of the alcoholic, the powerlessness of the drug addict. I began regularly upgrading the amps and preamps. The speakers begged for expensive oxygen-free cables and interconnects. As my ears became fine-tuned to audio nuance, they demanded increasingly costly cartridges (not "needles", you rube!). I bought and discarded airborne tonearms and sleeker, heftier turntables. I was a junkie, seeking the "perfect sound". My various systems did a credible job reproducing small solo instruments like the cello, guitar and harpsichord and small ensembles like string quartets, but my favorite composer was (and is) Gustav Mahler. I wasn't asking for much--just a stereo system capable of reproducing the faint tinkling of a triangle or the delicate tremolo of a bowl-backed mandolin AND (without distortion, please) the whomp of a huge bass drum or the thundering sound of massed strings pulsing beneath bellowing woodwinds and brass. This huge orchestra, of course, should fit comfortably in my 14 x 14 foot studio with an 7 foot ceiling.

Not long after Maggie and I moved to Rhinebeck, I began subscribing to "Cadence", a small format jazz magazine. A guy named Vladimir ran ads in the magazine offering high-quality audio equipment and a no-bullshit stance on audio advice. What the hell, I thought, maybe this Russian cat can answer my audio prayers. I dialed up NorthCountry's number. Vladimir Vastonovich, please, I said, twitching, as I rubbed the stylus tracks on my arms. Turns out Vladimir wasn't a sinister ex-KGB agent, but instead a cheerful member of "The Crew".

Vladimir is one of the most honest, straightforward persons I know. Definitely the most knowledgeable audio guy I have run upon--with intelligence, humor and energy to burn. He is also a serious triathlon or, probably by now, a quadathlon or worse. Not surprisingly, he's also a computer whiz. He has become a friend over the years and I'm here to tell you that, if you care about good sound, if you love music of any genre, and if you are thinking of upgrading your sound system, call NorthCountry Audio. I'm sharing this info with my Drawgerite friends because many of you share my passion for music and because so many articles posted here gravitate to the topic of honesty and integrity, in your art, your lives and your businesses.

That's my hook for this article, INTEGRITY. It is sorely lacking in the world these days. I can start with our leadership, what with the corruption, selfishness and greed of companies like Enron & Haliburton and the Katrina fiascos and so on. I often despair when reading the news, but I find solace beyond the carnage of governments and extremist religions in those small pockets of reason and kindness found in everyday life. I'm offering two examples of honest men, both residing in Redwood, New York.

HONEST GUY #1
-----------
To view old movie of Vladimir's first triathlon:
Click Here

One is Vladimir Vastonovich, my audio guru. Thanks to his guidance, I ended up with an amazing audio system. It took us a while to sort out my sonic priorities. Vladimir sent many amps, preamps, tonearms, cables and speakers to Rhinebeck for me to audition over the years and I made several treks to Redwood, NY. Finally, I achieved Nirvana. Okay, nirvana with a lower-case "N". Musician friends flocked to my studio to listen to the most accurate sound in the Hudson Valley. About a year ago, I decided to downsize my audio rig. Life is an odd journey. Having found an amazing, nearly perfect sound system, I realized I didn't need it. I didn't want it. I traded my huge, glorious Brentworth Sound Lab speakers, my two TriMax mono tube amps, a classy Wytech Labs preamp, a VPI Turntable with the award-winning Graham Arm for a pared-down, no frills system: a Plinius integrated amp, an HHB CD player and two Tetra Loudspeakers. That's it. The quest is over.

I lost an octave of bass and some openness and transparency, but I gained peace of mind. No more trying to achieve another increment of perfection, trying to get closer to the Real Thing. My current system sounds great and it needs no care and feeding. It fits more comfortably in my small studio and the amp, having no tubes, allows for a cooler room in the summer. The system roughly approximates the sound of a live performance of Bach or Mahler, but it doesn't reach for the unattainable. I am at peace with simple, but excellent sound reproduction. It is damned fine and the hell with Tweaksville. I have other fries to fish.

That doesn't mean I wasted my time seeking that ultimate system--I learned a lot. It provoked anxiety, but it was great fun, too. My current system is the result of the long search. Vladimir was a great guide. He IS a no-bullshit guy with great ears and knowledge and his willingness to listen to your questions and provide answers and suggestions is priceless. He buys his stock outright and has no need pitch product--no agenda. A happy customer is his goal, not a profit margin. An example of what I'm saying: I sent my neighbor, Andy Weintraub, to NorthCountry Audio some years back. Andy wanted to buy a new sound system. Vladimir asked him what he was using. Andy was taken aback with Vladimir's recommendation: I don't believe you need a new system--let me send you a new receiver, he said. Try it out with your current speakers and see if it does the trick. If not, I'll send new speakers. Andy was ready and willing to spend a couple thousand bucks for a new system but Vladimir didn't think he needed it. The loudspeakers Andy was using seemed to Vladimir to be more than adequate. Only the electronics needed upgrading. Andy was delighted with the improvement. I doubt the kid at Best Buy or the salesman at J&R Music World would offer that advice.

In recent years, Vladimir has written a column for Cadence Magazine called "Sonics". He wanted to share his accumulated knowledge with Cadence readers, helping them to make informed decisions when buying stereo equipment. Mainstream audio magazines are dependent on advertising revenue and their articles are skewed to varying degrees by that dependency. Vladimir is free from that restraint. If a product produces crappy sound, he'll let you know, even if it is a major brand with a huge advertising budget (think Bose). If the product produces excellent sound but has little name recognition due to a focus on quality not promotion, Vladimir will do his best to get the word out. There is the unbiased "Consumer's Report", but they depend on measurements in their reviews of audio equipment and I don't trust their ears. I have good hearing and a fine-tuned sense of sound and music & I'm not easily fooled when it comes to sound reproduction. Vladimir has those qualities in spades. Some years back, I sat in his listening room determined to buy an extremely well-reviewed speaker system. After comparing my dream speaker to a set Vladimir recommended, I had to go with his choice--the BSL's. They weren't as lovely to look at, but there was no denying their sonic superiority. Vladimir spends hours auditioning the equipment he sells and, once he knows your budget and your musical priorities, he becomes your musical ally. A note for the budget minded: Vladimir regularly buys discontinued products he knows to be of high quality and passes the savings along to his customers. He offers modestly priced stereo rigs as well as "price-is-no-object" systems.

HONEST GUY #2

The second honest soul I want to talk about is Bob Rusch. He live down the road from Vladimir. Bob has been publishing Cadence Magazine every month since 1976. He is a respected producer, critic, author with a deep respect, love and understanding of the Jazz scene. Bob began producing and distributing jazz & blues (he refers to it as "creative, improvised music") on the Cadence label in 1982. Cadence Magazine is a gem. First-rate musicians are interviewed in every issue. Some are high profile names, but many are superb musicians who are too often ignored by the mainstream magazines like "Jassiz" and "Downbeat". More recently Bob began producing a series of recording under the CIMP label. Creative Improvised Music Projects. The sound of these recordings is astonishing. Really. Here's what engineer Marc Rusch says about his approach to recording:

"CIMP records are digitally recorded live to two tracks. Digital recording allows for a vanishingly low noise floor and tremendous dynamic range. There is no compression, homogenization, EQ-ing, post-recording splicing, mixing, or electronic fiddling with CIMP performances."

Want to hear the results of Marc's recording approach? Order John Gunther's CD "Axis Mundi". It is a great album filled to the brim with outstanding music. Mostly melodic, some forays into atonality, but always inventive music making. The interplay between Gunther on tenor sax, clarinet & flute, Rob Thomas on violin, Ron Miles on trumpet, Leo Huppert on bass and viola and Jay Rosen on drums is pure musical magic. It is a joy to hear on any stereo system, but if you have a really good one, you will get taste of what I'm talking about when I say the CIMP CDs are as good as any audiophile label out there and better than most. The second track, "Deja Vu" starts off nice and melodic and wanders into track 3, "Matter (of choice)" a wonderfully weird atonal piece. Listen to the openness and realistic timbre of the instruments on track 2, like the woody plucking of Thomas chording along on his violin. It is almost as though you are inside his violin feeling the violin's top resonating--but, of course, the 2 microphones are some distance away, aimed at the entire group. You don't get individual mics hovering over each instrument like you find in most recording sessions. Marvel at the deep, but un-hyped upright bass sounds as the tune begins. Track 4, "Country Waltz" is one of my favorite. Graceful & tender, I can almost hear Tom Waits stepping in with one of his gruff vocals. The whole album is a recording marvel, but it's the music that counts and, for my money, Gunther has hit a truly high mark with his skillful merging of improvised/composed and melodic/free musical offerings. If you end up liking this CD you are in luck--CIMP offers 3 more Gunther CDs. And tons of other CDs with wide and varied approaches to creative Improvised music.

Tell you what, if you are a Drawger member and you buy the Gunther Axis Mundi CD and end up disagreeing with my assessment of the sound, I'll buy it from you. How's that? If you don't like the music, that's the luck of the draw(ger).

Much of the stuff on the CIMP label will give the uninitiated ear a thorough cleansing. It is not easy-listening jazz, though much of it is very accessible. The CIMP catalog is Pig Heaven if you are hungry for new musical experiences or already enjoy avant-garde improvised music. I tend to favor the more straight forward melodic stuff on the CIMP label like Gunther's CDs, but every musician on the CIMP roster is a pro and all are throughly committed artists. Bob Rusch has given the musicians a forum and he pays them advances, which is rare in the jazz industry. CIMP projects are not mainstream and the label was not created to make Rusch rich. In fact, the CDs rarely make a profit, but Bob insists they are a success the minute the music has been recorded and transferred to CD. They are artistic successes and Bob's goals and those of his musicians have been met. Anything else is gravy.

Vladimir and Bob Rusch are the kind of people I am proud to call my friends. Their aim is to produce something that enriches other's lives as well as their own. They are honorable men. It's not about the bottom line, it's about treating others with respect. The word integrity fits them like a Porkpie Hat.

VLADIMIR

(from Sonics 08/2006 in Cadence Magazine)

Surround Sound

    A recent flurry of surround sound experiences got me thinking again about the many differences between sound for video and sound for audio-only listening. Past "Sonics" articles have dealt with the mutual incompatibility between the two and why it is so hard to come up with a single system that does both well, with the best compromise being a system that at least has good audio for video and passable sound for audio. If the goal is fidelity to acoustic instruments and sensitive recordings, a surround sound system is just too full of "processing" bits and other electronics to pass the clean signal needed for that fidelity. While tone, timbre, resolution, and finesse are all desired attributes of a high end audio system, they are not intrinsic to a surround sound system, and, given the limited audio quality of most surround sound sources, it is not clear that these attributes would be a benefit for a video system. To help listeners understand this incompatibility, a discussion of desired sonic goals might be useful.
    The ultimate goal of the audio listening system is generally considered to be fidelity to the source material. The goal of the source material is generally considered to be fidelity to the music as it was played during a recording session: straight wire with gain, neither taking nor adding anything to the signal. It would seem that this would be true as well for audio for video. And it is—sort of. With audio the link between fidelity and source is reasonably clear: hit a drum, record that sound, play back that sound, how close does the end come to the beginning? Sound for video fundamentally changes the equation because often there is no real world sound that one could use to compare the end result. Almost nothing with video sound has a real world copy. Sound effects are just that—sound effects meant to evoke a visceral reaction. Fist fights, footsteps, conversations (and who knows what a dinosaur sounded like?) in reality generally do not at all sound like the effects one hears in a movie. This lack of "fidelity" to the reality of the source is consistent with the visual images that are part of the reproduced experience. The screen images are not meant to be an accurate look at the world we live in, but instead are designed to evoke feelings through distortions of reality. The sound and the visuals are working in harmony to create a desired sensation, one that has been carefully crafted to suggest but not mimic real events. So, the goal of a sound for video system is to reproduce as realistically as possible the fabricated sounds of the source. This is fidelity to the source, keeping in mind that the source has no fidelity to anything real. This seemingly small difference accounts for the difference between a good audio system and a good audio for video system.
    We now have a definition of accuracy for video sound. Now, how best to achieve that result? Well, the good news is that it will be a lot less frustrating than trying to put together a high end audio system. (As an aside, one of the reasons that high end audio systems are increasingly frustrating to establish has a lot to do with the lack of fidelity of many modern recordings. In effect, these systems are operating with cross purposes. With stereo playback there is the notion of fidelity to a real instrument. However, with more and more recordings being created with a "hyped" and non high fidelity sound, equipment designed to be accurate in this way often will not produce the desired results simply because the source is flawed and assumed not to be.)
        With video you need three reasonably easily obtained and achieved factors. The first is solid amplification. Resolution is not so important as grace under pressure. Most video sound is overly bright, harsh, and a bit flat in presentation (little depth to the sound). Cheap amplifiers exacerbate this condition and can make for exhausting listening. The good news is that solid sound is not hard to find and any costs above that are generally unjustified, except in cases where you just need more power.
        In much the same way as the amplification, speakers fall into the same category. They should be well designed, but not the highest resolution. In fact, higher resolution is more detrimental. There is not a lot of inner detail or fine resolution in video sound—no "there" there—and magnifying that deficiency does more harm than good. This is one of the reasons why a good audio system does not always make a good video system and vice versa. Speakers that would be great for a video system can often sound a little veiled or lacking in detail if placed in a high end audio system. There is some reasonable middle ground, but it is important to realize that you are not likely to get good surround sound (all five speakers) for merely $499.99. It is hard to find one good pair of stereo speakers at that price level, much less when you then have to add center, rear left/right, and a powered subwoofer.
    The last factor is the powered subwoofer. You will need one if you want the visceral impact of those sound effects. Here, power and size make all the difference (assuming certain qualities are maintained) and what would be a mistake in a high end sound system is what will make a video sound system. While low end clarity and articulation are of some importance for surround sound, they are second to low end weight and authority. Low distortion is important and is what keeps a good subwoofer from being inexpensive. One could not be built for $250 and adequately meet the requirements—a good amp, good driver, and a really well built cabinet.
    The good news is that putting together a fine surround sound system can be less painful than picking out an audio system. The bad news is that hype and marketing are still hype and marketing and thus there is no way to put together a solid system on the very cheap.

©2006 Cadence Magazine

===============

BOB

Click here for the Jazz Weekly Interview with Bob Rusch

http://www.jazzweekly.com/interviews/rusch.htm

More about CIMP

http://www.cimprecords.com/

You can contact Vladimir through Cadence/NorthCountry Audio

http://www.cadencebuilding.com/

Email: northcountryaudio@cadencebuilding.com
Tel: 315-287-2852
Cadence Building,
Redwood, New York 13679, USA

HOG DOG: A True Story

2006-07-21T02:28:16+00:00

Last Wednesday, Maggie and I were awakened to the sound of a dog vomiting. Not the neighbor's dog tossing his cookies into a rhododendron bed. Nope, the bed was ours and it was Sophie The Wonder Dog losing her dinner right there at our feet. Okay, no big deal. Like a short, squat, hairy maid, she probably sneaked up to the cat litter box in the attic and helpfully cleaned out the solid matter. We cleaned up the vomit, replaced the sheets & covers and went back to our dreams. Alack, she threw up the next night. And the next day and the next night. Bad news. Off to the vet. No lost objects appeared in the subsequent x-rays, but Sophie became increasingly listless and disinterested in her dinner. NOT our Sophie, I'll tell you.

The vet prescribed an antivomiting medication and another drug to sooth her stomach lining. That helped and Sophie began returning to her normal self, becoming interested in food and finally exorcising her clogged-up bowels. Like some kind of canine pervert, I stood this morning in the yard squinting at Sophie's asshole, my trusty poop bag in hand. As a couple of knobby turds sprung loose, I caught a glimpse of what looked like a small stick protruding from her anus. I grabbed the tip of the twig and pulled gently. HOLY MOLY, CAPTAIN MARVEL! Sophie had swallowed a 6 1/2 inch stick--probably a dried twig from one of our indoor plants.

Though I'm sure other Drawgerites have even more amazing Hog Dog stories to tell (and I hope you will), I am in awe that Sophie managed to swallow that rigid twig without puncturing her throat, her gut or her intestines as it traveled from mouth to anus. She is one lucky dog, that's for sure. Maggie oft tells the story of her Scottish terrier, Jenny, ingesting an entire corncob and of her American Staffordshire terrier, Mugsy, devouring the better part of a sofa and an entire coconut, outer husk and all, so I know Sophie's feat is small potatoes. Still, I was pretty impressed this morning as that stick kept sliding out, like a long rigid, bulimic earthworm on a rainy day.

Okay, your turn. Let's hear your tales of canine gluttony.

GRUMPY LOU & HIS KAZOO

2006-07-11T22:24:06+00:00

Due to popular demand for some Polecat tunes (1 demand: Zimm) I've decided to start a E.S. Music category.

I don't have any digitized versions of music by The Polecats and we never got around to creating an album, but I'll try to transfer some of our rehearsals from tape to my computer. If they are worth a damn, I'll post a couple of songs. Happily, I CAN post a tune sung by the core of the Polecats.

The song comes from a musical Maggie and I created some years back, "Grumpy Lou & His Kazoo". I wrote the songs and, later on, Maggie created the "book" for the live production that we did locally at the Rhinebeck Center For Performing Arts. It was not a common garden variety musical. Partly because I don't have the skills to create one, but it was also an opportunity to try something different. We projected about 600 slides from 4 carousels (it'd all be done digitally today) cropped from some 200 drawings I'd created, during which, the marvelous J.T. Carlisle read the story with gusto. The band wove the songs in and out of J.T.s reading following cues given by our esteemed musical director & keyboardist, Mark Vian. Our dear friend (master carpenter, actor & writer), Mike West, directed "Grumpy Lou" and showed up nearly every Sunday for months before our show date to help us put the complex slide show together. He also enlisted his talented wife, Deborah, as our female singer in the live production. It was true community theater and for all involved, it was a labor of love. Neither Maggie nor I had ever done anything like this and it was an amazing, creative, scary, joyous, sharing experience. The show ran for a three-day weekend and with sold-out performances. We were asked to do it again a month later. How could we not?

About the recording: The studio band featured Polecats Steve Bartles on lead & harmony vocal & bass; Russ Bonk on lead & that nice, deep bass harmony vocal; Charles Prosser, harmony vocal & drums, Tim Hoolihan, harmony vocals & guitar and guest vocalist, Cathy Curtis. John Platania played lead electric guitar, rhythm acoustic guitar and acted as musical director. I played rhythm guitar and mandolin.

The story, written by Maggie Pickard, tells the tale of Grumpy Lou (real name, Ludwig McTiffle), a cantankerous feller who rides the range with his trusty horse, Buster, and tends his herd of talented Vocal Range Rabbits. Two ornery rascals, Peadog and Jellybone, finally manage to rustle the Range Rabbits and head for the hills to brainwash their hostages. Lou enlists Captain Condor, who has a fear of flying, to help him in his search. Here's some dialog when Lou first meets the Captain.

-----------------

CAPTAIN CONDOR

    "Captain Condor at the ready! May I inquire, Sir, which of my many stunning military stratagems you require?"

GRUMPY LOU

    "Raptor's peepers is supposed ta do a bang-up job a' spottin stuff. How's about flyin' over yonder ta see what ya kin see?"

CAPTAIN CONDOR

    "Flying?!!! No one said a word about flying!"

-----------------

They encounter the Numbskulls, a "Slime bellied tricycle gang" with "rapacious murder in their flinty hearts" but manage, through the magic of music, to change the gang into a bunch of softies. Later on, Captain Condor meets and falls madly in love with Sylvia Snake. I may post their Bluegrassy love song later on. I may also share the song "Bad, Bad, Bunny Blues", sung by Peadog & Jellybone while brainwashing the helpless Range Rabbits.

I wrote "Doggone It, Now You Did It" to show the Numbskulls' miraculous change of heart. The song is in Western Swing style and John plays delicious breaks on his vintage Stratocaster. The Polecats handle the Western Swing style of singing admirably. Hope you enjoy.

Click here for the song, "Doggone It, Now You Did It"

Okay, here's the Bad, Bad Bunny Blues as promised. Thing is, I'd forgotten that I sing on it and that's never a pretty picture. Steve Bartles plays bass and sings the part of Jellybone and, for reasons lost to the decades (and the beer, chips & spicy bean dip being devoured in the recording studio), I took over the roll of the dastardly Peadog. Seems to me, upon a current listening, that I'm overacting--trying to make the character mean and, in the process, becoming nearly unintelligible at times. Should have gotten John to sing the part, but what's done is done.

Click Here For "Bad, Bad Bunny Blues"

Of course, that's John Platania playing those sweet & low-down bad dog blues licks.

Some more art from Grumpy Lou & His Kazoo

POLECATS & BEAGLES

2006-06-30T20:15:36+00:00

One of the joys of living in a small town is unearthing local treasures. I've lived in Chicago and New York City where one expects to find an abundance of first-rate creativity. I've also lived in the Michiana Dunes area near Michigan City, Indiana and in Cold Spring and Rhinebeck, two small New York villages. It takes a little longer to find the creative nuggets in small towns--they make less noise and often maintain lower profiles. Early on in Rhinebeck I discovered incredibly talented musicians and with very little arm twisting, I formed a band to play music for the residents at a local nursing home. The original band, "The Polecats", featured Steve Bartles on vocals & bass (he also played bass on my CD, Lucky Dog), lead singer, Russ Bonk, Charles Prosser vocals & drums and Tim Hoolihan, vocals & rhythm guitar with me on lead guitar and mandolin--no vocals, thank the gods.

It is possible I started the band for the sole purpose of creating a band name and logo. I drew a skunk (sometimes referred to as a polecat in rural America) with a banjo (easier to draw than a guitar, we had no banjo in the band) and lettered the name of the band with our motto tucked below: "We Stink". Some nights we did, but mostly we were pretty damned good. Those members of our captive audience still awake, were thrilled as we tuned our instruments and waited for the custodian to find an extension cord for Steve's bass amp. They were ecstatic when we finally began pumping out old Hank Williams & Carter Family tunes, actually applauding from time to time when prompted by the helpful staff. Seriously, many residents looked forward to the Polecat's monthly arrival and I'd like to regroup the Polecats one day when my schedule allows & return to our elder hostile fans.

But I digress. I'm here today to talk about a new discovery. The Rhinebeck Beagle. Furless, fearless and dog-eared, the Rhinebeck Beagle is an occasional 8 1/2 by 11 inch, 4-page newsletter (still only ONE DOLLAR) created by Pablo Rapido, a furry, fearless, dog-eared Rhinebeck resident who's real name is Paul Swift. It took me several issues to finally grasp the humor and logic of the pseudonym. Not the first time logic has eluded me.

Paul published the first Beagle in 2004 and immediately won the First Annual Jason Blair-Jack Kelley Award for Fraudulent Journalism. Really, a real award. It's named after the infamous New York Times/USA Today reporters who were both fired for breaches of journalistic ethics, including fabricated quotes and plagiarism. The judges cited The Beagle "for compelling journalism unencumbered by the facts." Jury chairman Larry Flynt of Penthouse said, "Most newspapers and magazines are still stuck in the mud of "The truth shall set thee free.' Obviously, Paul is no slouch when it comes to lying through his ink-stained teeth.

The Beagle is fiction, of course, but the articles are often based on actual events that have unfolded or are unfolding in Rhinebeck and Pablo has no qualms about using local resident's names. Those in the know anxiously await the next issue and we often wait many months. Some readers probably cringe when their names appear. They are often portrayed as scoundrels or wastrels and sometimes the cringer is, in fact, a scoundrel or wastrel. Usually it's just Paul having some fun with a local bartender or politician. He is a good man to avoid if you value your privacy or integrity.

But I didn't avoid him. We have these damnable faux carillon bells bellowing around here in Rhinebeck and they drive me crazy. Two churches have purchased tapes or DVDs of prerecorded carillon music and the pastors feel a need to broadcast very loudly from their steeples, several times daily, insipid renderings of hymns & God knows what else--including the "Ode to Joy" from Beethoven's mighty 9th. Lo and behold, an issue ago, the Rhinebeck Beagle railed against Jesus Christ's Elevator Music, prompting me to track down the mysterious and fellow curmudgeon, Pablo Rapido.

Paul Swift and I met in late February, 2006, at The Beekman Arms, his favorite dining establishment and watering hole. It is America's oldest, continuously running Inn. The food is excellent and the ambience is woody and dark, perfect for drinking too many pints of ale. I almost never drink at lunch, but what could I do? Paul was already at the bar slurping martinis when I arrived and, well, when in the Historic Beekman Arms Colonial Tap Room, do as the Beekman Arms Colonials do. Drink copiously. And so we did.

Anyhow, to make a short story long as I'm wont to do, I'm pasting below the lead story (almost entirely fictional but for names and places) from the Summer issue of The Rhinebeck Beagle, with Pablo having some fun with the Hudson Valley's ongoing historic Dutch roots fanfare. It also marks the first Beagle to feature spot illustrations by the brilliant local artist, E. Herbert Smith. Now there's a well disguised pseudonym!

If you are ever in the area, give Pablo a call. Offer to buy him a drink at the Colonial Tap Room and I'm sure he'll be delighted to share a little local gossip and drink you under the table. Something he can do with one Beekman Arm tied behind his back!

-ES

GEORGE BANTA TO TAP RHINEBECK'S DUTCH ROOTS WITH RE-CREATION OF AMSTERDAM AT THE BEEKMAN ARMS

Store-window prostitutes, tulips, village canals are on the Empire Builder’s list

The Beagle is looking forward to sniffing around the Rhinebeck Planning and Zoning Board meetings on this one.

Over the past few years, George Banta has bought up the Beekman Arms Inn, the Delamater House and Conference Center, the Village Inn, and various other Village buildings, as if he were General Sherman marching through a goose.

Mr. Banta has now announced that he’s taking Rhinebeck back to its 17th-century Dutch roots.

“I’ve had meetings with The Holland Society, the organization devoted to friendly relations between Americans with Dutch ancestry and the Low Lifes, er, the Low Countries. They like my idea,” Banta told The Beagle.

“Holland is still reeling from the tulip dot-bomb crash of 1737, so they’ll try anything.

“We are going to re-create Amsterdam’s famed red-light district in the street-level windows and doors of my new Townsend House on West Market Street. We have four rooms there, street level. Welcome!

“The women are fully compliant with all pertinent health laws and regulations, and I’m even giving them full medical and dental coverage (although most of them don’t have that many teeth).”

Is this legal?

Asked about the legality of prostitution in Rhinebeck, Banta replied that he skirted the issue (so to speak) by procuring an Economic Empire Zone grant.

“I convinced the Empire Zone officials that many rural and small-town young women, many of them single mothers, were finding it difficult to make ends meet.

“As you know, many of these Empire Zones are exempt from most local and state laws and zoning regulations and even tax liabilities,” Banta said.

Like IBM in East Fishkill?

“Plus, I envisage getting support from the New York State Tourism Board and the small-business grants division of the Department of Homeland Security—to relocate some City prostitutes affected by 9/11.”

Holland to bloom in Rhinebeck

Burghermeister Banta also plans to foliate downtown Rhinebeck with fertile banks of tulips, certainly a plentiful spread on his Market Street sidewalk, under the ladies’ commercial windows.

“We’ll plant still more thousands of red and yellow tulips on the Delamater campus, too,” George said.

“But my favorite part of the Amsterdam Project, as I call it, is the canal system. As you know, West Market Street was originally just that, a street wide enough to host the Saturday open-air markets.

“Well, we’re going to use that space to create a canal, like those in Amsterdam. A canal complete with locks in order to navigate the hill up to the Starr Library. A canal ride in the autumn rain should be very romantic, like in Amsterdam.”

Anne Frank House

“Finally,” George said, “We’re going to build a replica of Anne Frank’s Amsterdam house. It should off-set the cultural backlash we’ll probably get from the ladies in the windows.

“We will have live actors re-enact scenes from Anne’s famous diary—young, local Jewish girls dressed like Anne, and big, burly German farmers as the Gestapo. It should be great fun!” George said.

© 2006 The Cold Nose Press

Pablo Rapido, Editor
RBeckBeagle@aol.com

B-WESTERN HERO

2006-06-17T17:53:15+00:00

INDIVIDUAL autobiographical memory is unreliable. Time passes and our recollections distort and the gaps in our memory are filled with altered stories. Over the years, we tell these stories over and over and we believe them to be true. We are certain they are true. Close friends and relatives remember the same story differently and they are also certain their version is true.

Here's my version of a particular story. It is, of course, the truth.

This tale takes place around 1958. Maybe '59. I played guitar in a band I'd started with my pals, Bill Wright and Al Zdan, which had fallen apart for reasons lost to the decades. My father knew a man named Bussy who was looking for a guitarist to replace a talented, but unreliable alcoholic who'd missed too many gigs. I auditioned and was invited to join Bussy's String Band and played my first gig with them at the notorious Jack's Bar. My skills as a guitarist were very limited, but I could manage the polkas and and simple country music popular at the time. Bussy sang with a high, reedy voice in what would today be labeled "Bluegrass". As I recall, his wife and two daughters were in the band on accordion, bass and maybe fiddle.

The second gig fell on Halloween, way out in the sticks at a small bar. My parents, who loved to dance, said they'd stop by to kick up their heels. I loaded my new Supro guitar and amp into my washed-out blue '52 Ford. Look out Duane Eddy!

Midway into the first set, a burly guy walked past the stage, stopping in front of the band. He glared up at me for a moment and continued on to the restroom. On his way back, he aimed his hateful face at me again and headed out the back door. Turns out, he was the guitarist who'd been fired.

My parents arrived and, during the first break, I joined them at their table. Someone slammed into my chair and there he was again, the angry mug of the former Bussy String Band guitarist. He moved along drunkenly to the bathroom. When the band reached our final set, my parents waved goodbye and my heart sank. As I was unplugging my amp, one of the band members told me to be careful; the bully guitarist and a gang of his friends were gathered in the parking lot with trouble on their mind. Not knowing what else to do, I headed toward the back door, hoping for the best. Halfway from the stage to the door, my father appeared at my side. Came back to carry my amp he said. I nearly wept. Together we exited the bar.

Gathered there in the parking lot, off to our right, were several parked cars with teenagers clustered around them. The roughneck guitarist, walked up to me as my father continued on to my car with my amp. He jammed his face close to mine, looming over me like Bluto in a Popeye cartoon. Bluto, flush with booze.

"So, you think you play guitar better than me, huh?"

Me, weakly: "No, I never said that. I haven't even heard you play."

"Uh, well, okay, then."

He turned and found he had nowhere to go. His pals had moved in closer to watch the beating. He slammed his finger into my chest and called me a lying little prick. The skinny replacement guitar player had to go down.

"Get him out of here or I'll break his Goddamned skull!"

My father was slightly to my left, crouched over and pulling something out of his back pocket.

"Stay out of this, mister! That a knife?"

"It's a blackjack and I swear to God, I'll break his Goddamned skull!"

Dad had been brawler in his youth, hanging out with some rough customers at the local bars. He was not bullshitting these kids. One of the bigger boys grabbed the drunken guitarist, pinning his arms to his sides and yelled for us to go. Oh, yeah.

My father told me later that he'd heard the bar was a hangout for tough customers. Reason enough, he figured, in addition to it being Halloween, to bring his blackjack. Many years earlier, he built the blackjack from a lead weight, a leather strap and electrician's tape. A coworker had been beaten by strikers at the plant where my father worked, so dad began carrying a little protection with him as he crossed the picket line.

My father was a terribly flawed man, but that night he was a perfect hero. Happy Father's Day.

Cartoon Rube at the Reubens!

2006-06-06T02:32:51+00:00

Cartoon Rube at the Reubens!

I'm finally recovering from my gig with the wild and wooly "National Cartoonists Society Reuben Awards Weekend", which took place in Chicago this past Memorial Weekend. I've long been an admirer of "real" cartoonists--that is, those illustrators who write and draw self-contained comic strips, single panels, political cartoons & gag cartoons. I started out wanting to be a cartoonist, but life has a life of its own. Once out of art school, I needed a salary job to replace my grocery store stock boy status, so I landed a job as an assistant to the assistant art director for Irving-Cloud, a small publishing house an hour north of Chicago in Lincolnwood, Illinois. There, I had an opportunity to draw regular spot cartoons for "Jobber Topics" magazine, but I soon became enamored with typography and design. I worked as an art director for about 8 years in publishing and advertising before I finally plunged headlong into illustration full time.

Although my style comes directly out of the Cartoonist Hatbox, I've never thought of myself as the genuine article. The Reuben Weekend, however, followed by an event this past weekend in Chatham, Connecticut has given me the courage to rethink my self image.

Maggie and I flew to Chicago on my birthday, May 23rd and we ended up in a ritzy hotel right next to the river on Wacker Drive. I stood looking out the window from the 26th floor of the Renaissance Chicago remembering myself as a 19-year old greenhorn, suitcase in hand, getting off the bus at Chicago's Greyhound Station in the Autumn of 1960, ready to attend the Chicago Academy of Fine Art. I lived and worked in Chicago until I moved to the Michiana Shores area in 1973 and to NYC in 1976. It felt good to be back. The Reuben Award thing didn't begin until the 26th, so Maggie and I had some time to spend with her daughter, Annie, who moved there recently, having fled New Orleans just before Katrina hit. We also had dinner with my ex-wife & her spouse and that, too, was a pleasure. One of those rare divorces that didn't turn ugly. Maybe there were fewer lawyers back in '71. We also saw some wonderful art at the Art Institute and caught a slew of mind-boggling original Chris Ware pages at the Museum of Contemporary Art where we ran into DRAWN! creator and all-around-nice-guy, John Martz who I'd just met a day earlier at the Reuben event. We all stood in awe of Chris Ware's lonely, beautifully drawn world.

Oh, right, the Rueben Award event!

Rick Stromoski, who is the new Cartoonists Society president, invited me to speak at the 2006 Reuben Awards weekend and, since it was going to be held in Chicago (Maggie was born there) and Ralph Steadman & Everett Peck were going to be there, I really had to say yes. Also, I couldn't resist being a featured speaker at a genuine CARTOONIST award ceremony. Well, I'm here to tell you, it was great! Steve McGarry (the former president of the Society) and Jeff Keane were generous with their time and expertise, helping me set up my (first) PowerPoint presentation. Stromoski was a gem, making me feel right at home. I figured I'd be a bit of the "odd man out" at this all-cartoonist gig, but as it turned out, cartoonists follow illustration nearly as closely as we illustrators follow the cartoonists.

One very talented guy I hadn't heard of, who was the Master of Ceremonies at the Rueben Awards evening, did a hilarious standup comedy routine. His name is Dan Piraro and he's been the MC now for several years and obviously knows all the prominent member's foibles. His strip is "Bizarro" and he was honored with the Reuben Award for Best Newspaper Panel Cartoon by the NCS three years in a row. In addition to a book of his work & life's story entitled "Bizarro and Other Strange Manifestations of the Art of Dan Piraro" Dan has created a wonderfully weird-sounding comedy routine called "The Bizarro Baloney Show", which I have to catch somewhere ASAP. It's gotta be a 5-Star event.

Click for Bizarro

Ralph Steadman offered a rambling slide presentation which, for some in the audience, went on too long by half, but I enjoyed every minute of it. He's an eccentric--kind of like Anthony Hopkins in "The World's Fastest Indian", but much more acerbic. A very funny guy, although like his art, he's ready and willing to wield sharp objects--spatter some acid-laced India ink around the room. I talked with him for a while at a party and found him to be charming. However, when he accepted his Milton Caniff Lifetime Achievement Award, he used the opportunity to lambast America (mostly) and England (somewhat) and then go on to berate cartoonists in general for lacking any real political courage. Many at the event were offended and decided Steadman was out of line to use the Reuben Weekend to vent his spleen. Others (I was among them) figured if you ask Ralph Steadman to your party, you should anticipate the unexpected. In fact, Jeff Keane, who currently draws his dad's creation, "Family Circus", talked about it at a party later, saying that he didn't necessarily approve of Ralph's behavior or agree with his views, but was not surprised nor particularly dismayed by the rant. It seemed to me to add another wonderful texture to a widely varied and entertaining weekend.

Click for Steadman

So, that's Part 1 on "How I Became a Cartoonist". I'll make Part 2 short and sweet.

Maggie and I spent all day Saturday, June 3rd at the CartoonFest, a fundraiser for a small library in Cornwall, CT. We were there most of the day. The gig included several talks, a silent auction and a free dinner for participants, followed by a great one-woman show by New Yorker cartoonist, Victoria Roberts. I thought the event was to be held last weekend while we were in Chicago, but once I realized that Maggie and I were able to attend, Liza Donnelly, who'd invited me to participate, asked me to be on a panel with R.O. Blechman, Danny Shanahan, Jack Ziegler, Bill Lee & Peter Steiner. All participants had original art for sale in the library. The artists are splitting all sales with the Cornwall Free Library, so the whole event was for an excellent cause. Liza is married to Michael Maslin, another great New Yorker cartoonist who was involved in the event. They, along with Shanahan, live here in Rhinebeck. Good company!

After we were given a simple, but tasty meal, New Yorker cartoonist Victoria Roberts appeared onstage as one of her cartoon characters, Nona. She is simply amazing! Catch her if you can. It's a one-woman show (with piano backup) and she fully inhabits the character. Vivacious Victoria transforms herself into an elderly, doddering, extremely odd woman with bright orange hair & chattering teeth. She danced. She sang. She told wonderfully weird short stories, wearing a Japanese kimono & ballet slippers, Victoria, wearing a cordless microphone, regularly wobbled over to a box of props, sometimes seeming unable to recall where she was going or what she set out to do. She ended the show with a kabuki dance. Try to imagine Blossom Dearie as a kabuki dancer. Another 5-Star review!

So, Drawgerites, that's how, in just two (2) consecutive weekends, I became a full-fledged cartoonist. And proud of it.

-E

Dang, I forgot to mention that the great Chris Payne was at the Cartoonist Society gig. Now there's one hell of a powerhouse. Energy & talent to burn.

Song from JOHN PLATANIA/LUCKY DOG

2006-05-21T19:11:52+00:00

About my song, Fire in Arkansas.

I was born in Alpena, Michigan which had a single radio station, WATZ. They played a wide variety of music--the popular songs back then (the 1940's and 1950's), bluegrass from Bill Monroe and the Stanley Brothers, country artists like Roy Acuff & Hank Williams, Western Swing artists like Bob Will, MIlton Brown and the Brownies, singing cowboys like Roy Rogers & Gene Autry and Swing Jazz artists like Benny Goodman and Count Basie.

Bluegrass songs often focused on tragic themes--men throwing their girlfriends into the Ohio River, miserable fathers in a drunken stupor knocking over an oil lamp, allowing their kids to be burned to death. I was fascinated by those horrifying, cautionary tales.

"Fire in Arkansas" flowed from my mandolin, a popular bluegrass instrument. I approach songwriting in several ways, sometimes with a theme in mind, sometimes playing around with words and very often playing around with my guitar until a song begins to emerge. Fire in Arkansas began with a simple mandolin riff. The melody led me to the story. I knew from the first chords that a house would be set on fire. I saw a mother standing on a porch calling out for her son. I was there, with him, hiding behind the tree. I could smell the dust as they left him behind. The dead white birch tree wasn't only camouflage, it added an element of dread to the story.

The story came to me as I played the mandolin like an actual story remembered. The kid crossed the yard and entered the shed. I could smell the oil and the gasoline and feel the heat as the sun rose in the Arkansas sky. I could have placed the story anywhere, but I liked the look and sound of the word, Arkansas.

I was the eldest son and my father took me hunting at an early age. I had mixed feelings of pride and horror when I killed rabbits and partridge, but I liked being with my father, carrying a gun, walking at his side. Movie war heroes and B-Western cowboys carried guns. This was way beyond cap pistols. Because I had hunted, it was natural to have the kid grab a shotgun.

In my first draft, I had the kid burn the house, kill the sheep and run off to hide in a farmer's field. A short time later, he was captured by the local sheriff. Or maybe his dad. It felt more true to this kid's nature to have him climb into the hayloft, in an exhausted daze after the slaughter, and fall asleep. There was no escape.

His father found him sleeping in the hayloft
And killed his only son on the way to hell
He sits staring at the knuckles of both hands
Two murder weapons in a prison cell

I was amazed when those last two lines fell into place. They are perfect. The guards remove all weapons from prisoners, but this violent man keeps his, reminding him every day of his violent deed.

FIRE IN ARKANSAS © 2000 Elwood H. Smith

His mother called his name from the back door
As he stood in the shadow of a dead white birch
His family gave up and piled in the old Ford
Drove seven dusty miles to the red brick church

He slowly crossed the yard to the tool shed
The smell of thirty-weight oil on his dad's chain saw
He reached back in the corner for the gas can
Said: Gonna be a fire here in Arkansas

Chorus:
Teach a kid to listen
With the back of your hand
A little hard-core lesson
From a hard-ass man
A little hard-core lesson
From a hard-ass man

He poured the gasoline on his dad's bed
And smashed the photo taken on their wedding day
He found the Zippo lighter in the top drawer
The fire burned like the young boy's hate

He headed down to the pen with a shotgun
Said: Loves you Goddamn sheep more than he loves me
He wept as he shot them all point-blank
And smashed the twelve-gauge up against a tree

His father found him sleeping in the hayloft
And killed his only son on the way to hell
He sits staring at the knuckles of both hands
Two murder weapons in a prison cell

Play Song

==================

About the CD, "John Platania / Lucky Dog:

John Platania is a wonderful musician and a warm, unpretentious guy. I met him at The Clubhouse, a local recording studio many years ago. I was at the studio recording a tune with my bass player pal, Steve Bartles for a short video I was making. Since John was hanging around, I asked him to trade lead guitar licks with me on my tune. I wasn't a fan of Van Morrison, so I had no idea John was his friend and had been his guitarist in the old days. I also didn't know he'd played and/or recorded with the likes of Bonnie Raitt, Judy Collins, and Randy Newman. So, in the bliss of ignorance, I asked and John said yeah, sure. I also didn't know John was a singer until I heard him play locally. We were friends by then so I hired him to play guitar on and arrange a 3-song demo for me. A year later I hired John (at a reduced rate, thank the muses) to work up a full album of my songs. To entice him further, I funded the project, and allowed him pretty much total creative freedom. I vetoed a few things (as executive producer) and I was there throughout the entire recording and mixing process, but I tried to stay out of the way. This was John's first solo (and vocal) album and I wanted to honor that. The creation of Lucky Dog is a creative highlight in my life.

Fire in Arkansas is the only song on Lucky Dog with a bluegrass feel & features me playing mandolin--the only time I make an appearance. John handles all the guitar work on the CD. Steve is on bass, Zoe B. Zak on accordion and Brian Doherty & T Xiques on drums, along with a couple of other great musicians appearing here and there (all listed on the CD).

PS: 1 minute clips from the other songs are available on my website:
Elwood's Website