June 2020
muse-letter \’myüz-‘le-tər noun
1: a personal message, inspired by a muse of one's own creation, addressed to a person or organization, in the course of which, the sender becomes absorbed in thought; especially turning something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively.
2: a letter from a poet, or one who envisions oneself as such, in which he or she “muses” on that which is perceived to be news, or newsworthy, usually in some ironic or absurd way.
Remainder of the site under reconstruction
Note: Written before the outbreak of protests and rioting following the killing of George Floyd.
Featuring...
pre November 2018
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Tatiana Eva-Marie, et al.
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Quarantine
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Big Ball/Small Ball and Going Far Afield
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including Quote of the Month
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Picture a Play on Words
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100,000 Deaths/1,000 Names,
and Misguided Notions Along the Way
That resolved, and with an understanding that such cuteness is in the surprise of the beholder, I’ll reboot.
Her name (not that of this buttonquail), is Tatiana Eva-Marie. She is a millennial vocalist (and writer/instrumentalist), who has a musical sensibility and sophistication far beyond her twenty-something years.
Like Madeleine Peyroux—long beyond that age range, whose voice stopped me cold at that last haircut before the apocalypse three months ago— I’d never heard of Ms. Eva-Marie. And the ego being such as it is, or at least speaking for my own aerated one, if I haven’t heard of someone or something… he, she or it doesn’t exist.
She is seen here below, singing a song that I didn’t realized had words to it. As played by Sidney Bechet on his soprano sax (From a Song and Sidney Bechet, to Olivier Franc Along the Way, December Muse-Letter 2019), lyrics seemed beside the point. But when I hear and see her singing it, I am captured and enraptured almost to the point of rupture. Hyperbolic? You betcha. But a welcomed surprise on a humdrum day.
That song in concert with scenes of an idyllic Paris throughout a given day, set the tone for the movie Midnight in Paris. Just a click above on Tatiana, can take you back there; a Paris of memory or imagination. If only for three minutes and fifty seconds.
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In another vein, there’s Esperanza Spaulding. A singer/bassist who I once caught performing a jazzy rendition of William Blake’s poem The Fly, at a poetry reading at Lincoln Center of all places. And she once performed before President Obama and Michelle. I wasn’t invited.
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Excerpts taken from a magazine that I also had never heard of, provide a synopsis of who this Tatiana kid is.
Click above for the instrumental version and the Midnight in Paris opening.
“If YouTube views are any indication Tatiana Eva-Marie leads one of the most popular traditional jazz bands going. A Swiss-born actress and vocalist she’s on everyone’s young artists to watch list. Even publications like Downbeat and Vanity Fair, not usually swayed by traditional jazz, can see the effect her band has on audiences.
After soaking in the bohemian life of Paris she moved to Brooklyn in 2011 (has anyone not lived in Brooklyn at one time or another?), and found herself immersed in an effervescent early jazz and creative arts community. She formed the Avalon Jazz Band in 2014 with a mission to revive the romantic legacy of French jazz that has fascinated her since childhood. Her success has played a part in doing just that. Until recently considered passé, that mid-century heritage is now reaching appreciative ears the world over.”
As to how does one so young, come by such musical sensibilities and development?
“My father is a film composer and also sang in a 1920s style big band when I was growing up, so I came to jazz initially through him and through movies: the early Disneys, Some Like it Hot, musicals, film noir… he would have me skip school and we would watch old films and learn Gershwin tunes together.”
As to why one might find her “performances in retro” additionally appealing, she has said, “I don’t believe that music is the only thing we are “selling”: we are offering a mood, a memory, a daydream, a semantic field. That’s why the visuals are so important.”
This is very much in evidence in every style and genre into which she has taken the plunge: American Songbook (especially Cole Porter), Swing, French Jazz, French Cafe, Blues, Hot Jazz, Gypsy Jazz. I suppose all that is missing from her ever growing list of credits, is a duet with Tony Bennett. A man who has just about sung with anyone who has ever sung for a living (Saint Anthony of Bennett, NOVEMBER, 2011 MUSE-LETTER). God love him, and pardon the digression.
It’s not as if I am unaware that there are young people out there doing “old people” things. Some even dressing the part. Such as Carte Blanche, a group I’ve seen live at the Algonquin and La Gamelle, a French bistro on the Bowery. They comprise an international jazz band playing songs from the 20’s-40’s, and headed by vocalist Christina Kaminis who sings in seven languages.
It’s not as if people around the globe weren’t already dying from this “cold.” But what should one expect from a man who deals in demagoguery. A recipient of the Presidential Medal of Freedom? Can a posthumous one for Joe McCarthy be far behind? Roy Cohen anyone?
Many, along with Limbaugh went on further to suggest that this was a hoax. A hoax that the rest of the world would have had to be in on, as this virus clearly was a pandemic. But why let logic stand in the way. And this belief in just one more deep-state conspiracy, like this virus, still lingers in the hospital wards of some minds.
Wait. How about China concocted this in a lab on purpose? That’s the ticket! And to think how Xi Jingping savored that “beautiful piece of chocolate cake” he so devoured at Mar-a-Largo. That's gratitude for ya.
Then at a loss to explain it away, you would hear… “The flu kills more people each year than this.” Rhetorically compelling. Wow. But also nowhere near the truth. As will be shown in a moment. Though that bit of flippancy seems to have subsided, as most had to reluctantly concede, that maybe this is a virus of a different color. But still nothing to fret about. Only old people are going to die from it anyway.
As the Quarantining of America (Q of A) continued, questions arose as to how long the country could endure such a lockdown. We're all aware of the litany of economic concerns that have ensued. And they are valid. And need to be dealt with. And in the most judicious manner. And yes, sooner rather than later. And “sooner” has been the operative word in regards to the limiting this virus at the outset, hasn't it.
Of course, inevitably, as it all became politicized, protesters began to arrive on the scene. Fine. The right to protest is protected by the constitution (though not the right to cause destruction or threaten violence). I’ve been in a few protests myself back in the day. Though we really could have done without the armed input from this motley sextet with their implements of war.
Big Ball/Small Ball and Going Far Afield
Baseball is coming back soon (fingers crossed). I have missed it. Bigly.
Not all baseball. Just the MLB: Major League Baseball. The game played at the highest level by that confederacy of 780 men. And am happy that it will return sometime in early July (assuming an agreement between the players' union and owners can come about soon). The Fourth of July would be most apropos. While baseball may no longer be considered America’s National Pastime...
To which I would add: “Which is why we need to keep them away, Ray. At least until this thing called a virus, has been struck out. Which stubbornly keeps fouling off pitches, keeping the at bat alive, Ray.” (Forgive me Ray and James Earl Jones, for these minor league metaphors). O' if only to remind us all, of all that once was good. Could it ever be again?
I have followed baseball with the tenacity of a Jehovah Witness. So I’ve always bought into ♫ “root, root, root for the home team” ♫, while paying a king’s ransom for peanuts and Cracker Jack…♫ “at the old baaaall game” ♫ Now I’ll be restricted to watching my beloved Yankees, from home (Yanqui go home!). Compliments of this long season of pandemic. Though I’m not complaining. I’m no DeGeneres (A Frank Perspective on Quarantine May 2020 Muse-Letter).
What I have not missed, and for over a good two decades now, is the small version of this wonderful game of ball. I’m talking, the overly organized Little Leagues. Which are exceeded only by the overly organized soccer leagues. That foreign sport replete with soccer moms kvelling every time their Ethan--- comes in on little cat feet--- and makes precious contact with a large ball filled with air. As opposed to the much feared missile disguised as a tightly wound baseball, scatter-armed thrown, heading toward little Ethan’s head. Which in turn, undermines a self confidence that has been diligently nurtured at least since the womb. Which suggests to me, this haiku-ish lamentation.
I’ve also dusted off the following poem (everything I own pretty much has dust on it by now), with which I’ll conclude.
Written in the throes of parenthood after one particularly trying Saturday morning almost 25 years ago, in which I might have been hung over, I have now tweaked it a tad more than a tad. Lacking any T.S. Eliotesque allusions, or need for a literary MBA…
Small Ball
Sunny day, though the game might have been called
on account of heavy brain fog;
the mad tea party breaking out at second base.
A point at which a threesome pointlessly gathers.
All get tagged out just in case.
These dormice wrapped in major league colors
on the cusp of a new millennium
are organized right down to their baseball cards.
Kathy Kerman, RF, “Yankees,” #9.
Roger Maris was #9! Teddy Ballgame was #9!
Does she know how to hit the cut-off girl?
In white T-shirts, Keds and dungarees,
we the unsupervised offspring of immigrant masses,
knew about the “the force”
before Obi-Wan Kenobi was in knee pants.
This in the days before there were colors.
Before the invasion of the little leagues---
the plague of soccer---
when the grass was never greener on any side,
just gravel upon which we never groveled.
The Golden Rule:
when we called someone off
“I got it!” “I got it!” “I got it” we did.
And trotted back to our positions,
holding up the fingers of malocchio,
to let the world know---we knew,
there were two outs---
just one more to go.
"Hey batter, batter."
Then would come our turn to be up.
And with time standing still
it could go on forever.
And all to no applause.
--- Ron Vazzano
Picture a Play on Words
“Now, I want to tell you the truth about the coronavirus. I’m dead right on this. The coronavirus is the common cold, folks.”
100,000 Deaths/1,000 Names,
and Misguided Notions Along the Way
At the outset, there was much poo-pooing. It can be encapsulated in Rush Limbaugh’s rush to judgment, offered in that snarky delivery as only he can.
Beyond those just mentioned, other groups headed up by young women vocalists, such as The Hot Sardines, Mona’s Hot Four, and Andrea Motis--- all of 25--- who is a vocalist/trumpeter with the Joan Chamarro Quartet, are hot on the scene.
Some soloists who’ve gained recognition and accolades include Cyrill Aimee, Jolie Môme, Becki Briggs (Grammy nominated), Laura Vall (specializing in Brazilian jazz, with a rendition of “Girl From Ipanema” most Gilberto-worthy), Bria Skonberg (Canadian vocalist/trumpeter), Hyuna Park (South Korean singer-songwriter and rapper). Like Titiana, all have a voice and a presence on stage that belie their years.
I intend to see many of them over time and in various places, when the virus has lifted and some semblance of “normal” has crept back in. Until then, Tatiana Eva-Marie remains a favorite of mine, and I have continued to access the many songs of hers online, as she continued to be "virtually" active throughout the prolonged lockdown.
In her recently released album Bonjour Tristesse--- on the cover of which she has traded "buttonquail" for "film noir femme fatale"--- my favorite track is Stardust; that timeless classic by the legendary Hoagy Carmichael.
Quarantine
1. Madness
Ron Vazzano
*
2. Gladness
As forwarded by a loyal Muse-Letter reader and at times, loyal critic.
link design by Ron Vazzano
Reggie Bagala, 54, Lockport, La,
Republican freshman in the state legislature
Matteo DeCosmo, 52, New York,
art director for ABC television shows
Randall Clayton French, 29, Troy, N.Y.,
police detective who was once a firefighter
Thomas Kevin Milo, Jr., 43, Westchester County, NY,
avid reader, an accomplished chess player and
exceptional marksman
Roy Horn, 75, Las Vegas
one half of Siegfried & Roy
Dez-Ann Romain, 36, New York City,
innovative high school principal
April Dunn, 33, Baton Rouge, La,
advocate for disability rights
Douglas Hickok, 57, Pennsylvania,
military’s first virus casualty
Thomas A. Real, 61, Newtown, Pa,
was at peace on his Harley
Joe Diffie, 61, Nashville, Tn,
Grammy-winning country music star
MaryLou Armer, 43, Sonoma Vlley Calif.
veteran police detective
Adam Schlesinger, 52, Poughkeepsie, NY,
songwriter for rock, film and the stage
Sean Boyles, 46, Annapolis, Md,
pharmacy manager with young daughters
Kimarlee Nguyen, 33, Everett Mass.,
writer who inspired her Brooklyn high school students
John Prine, 73, Nashville
country-folk singer who was a favorite of Bob Dylan
Tatiana Eva-Marie, et al.
YouTubing my way through another day, an activity stepped up in the corona continuum, searching exactly for what I can’t recall, I’m stopped mid-scroll by a face “as cute as a button.” It fills the frame. The use of that idiom of course makes me seem… “as old as the hills.” Button in this context, by the way, is in reference to a buttonquail, and not the one on one’s clothing.
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But to give them the benefit of the doubt, maybe they had an interesting approach to killing the virus? And at least they were wearing masks. Albeit, of a bank-heist and terrorist variety.
As fatalities continued throughout the long haul, death itself began to be poo-pooed. The President on the way to his chopper one morning, noted succinctly: “Death is death.”
Shortly after, Chris Christie compared corona fatalities to the loss of lives during the two World Wars: "We decided to make that sacrifice because what we were standing up for was the American way of life." (We? As if he was around for either of those). And when Whoopie Goldberg asked him on The View, whose life would he would be willing to sacrifice, he avoided the question like the plague. Then began parsing his own quote.
I always find it interesting how people who have never had to put their lives on the line, can pontificate on the imperative that others and their loved ones do so.
Bottom line: no matter how much we might try to minimize it, philosophize about it, compare it to greater historical tragedies, twist it into a pretzel, 100,000 is a BIG MOTHER OF A NUMBER. That’s a lot of “Thoughts and prayers.” That’s a lot of grief. That’s also... just through the end of May. 135,000 could die before this wave is over, according to the last projection I saw. And let’s not even think at the moment of a second wave or spike. Although at the moment, that's exactly what the medical experts are thinking.
Nursing home residents have been especially vulnerable, for obvious reasons. They represent between 25-30% of total deaths. At least here in New York state. A percentage far below most major countries. Especially in Europe. Not an insignificant percentage to be sure, but it can then be inferred, that the other three-quarters of those who passed away, were not exactly at death’s door when Covid-19 came knocking. Yes, perhaps, some of the fatalities were due to people who could have taken better care of themselves, were out of shape and overweight. But let he who has not carried around a few pounds too many, cast the first scone.
So just where does Covid-19 rank in the order of what’s most likely to kill us? This has aroused my curiosity---as math and science often do in these musings--- and I haven’t seen it ranked anywhere in the various media outlets during this crisis. Scoping it out, here’s what it looks like. Keeping in mind that the current Covid-19 fatality count below, is for just three months compared to a full year for the Top Ten. (In case you were wondering, there were "only" 15,498 murders committed in the time frame of this chart, which uses 2018 as a typical year).
I don’t know how else you can say this is real. This is big. This cannot be dismissed simply because, well, to put it bluntly, shit happens. But The New York Times found a way in their Sunday May 24th edition. And in so doing, it made news itself.
For the first time since somewhere back in the 1800’s, the entire front page was filled solely with print; no illustrations, pictures, charts. And under just one headline, for one story, for probably the first time ever. And in small print at that. Six full columns on the front and another ten continued within the main news section. 1,000 names. Along with a few notes of bio culled from their obituaries, which turns those names into people. And as daunting a project of this magnitude was, it represents a mere 1% of all fatalities.
I scanned the list. Yes, many were “old.” Although, approaching 75 myself, I’ve moved the goalposts back in this mortality game. Just how old is old now anyway? And am I the sort of someone Chris Christie had in mind? Hey, my partner and I just finished a jigsaw puzzle of 1,000 pieces. That has to count for something, no?
Here are but a few victims accompanied by their thumbnail profiles that jumped out at me from those 16 columns in some way. Collectively, they represent a diversity in age, location, life pursuits. A couple of them can be described as celebrities of a sort. They are shown here exactly as they were printed in The Times. May they, and all of the 100,000+ people by now who have died, rest in peace.
-
Tatiana Eva-Marie, et al.
-
Quarantine
-
Big Ball/Small Ball and Going Far Afield
-
including Quote of the Month
-
-
Picture a Play on Words
-
100,000 Deaths/1,000 Names,
and Misguided Notions Along the Way
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