Resist!

Resistance is much on my mind these days. No mystery why! Since it is defining so much of our contemporary life, a major player come center stage, it’s worthwhile to examine that word in all its multiple meanings. A trip to the dictionary reveals at least five distinct definitions, all relevant:

 

1)   Withstand the action or effect of, like antibodies resisting infection. 

The air we breathe every time we tune into the news is indeed toxic and doing its darndest to lay us low, to make it hard for us to breathe, to make our head dizzy so we can’t think clearly, to jack up our stress and anxiety and blood pressure. Our antibodies are on overtime trying to fight it all off, often below the surface so we’re not consciously aware of how much of our physical, emotional and psychic energy is in defense mode trying to fight it all off. 

 

2)   Refrain from doing something terribly unwise, as in “I couldn’t resist buying a new i-Phone.”

Our devices and the media-blitz are shouting at us to turn them on and when we go down those rabbit holes, the darkness increases. So it takes great strength and courage to resist those purposefully-designed addictions and choose to stay informed with the micro-doses are system can handle. A radical self-care while still staying aware.

 

3)   To strive against, defy or oppose, as in a political resistance movement. 

 When we move our struggle from the unconscious survival mode of the antibodies to conscious resistance, we take control in ways that feel more productive. When we take to the streets with 8 million others committed to defying and opposing the fascist takeover, we feel more empowered yet. 

 

4)   Resistance: a measure of the opposition to the current in an electrical circuit. 

Different materials have different capacities for electric flow—high-resistance in material like rubber limits the flow while low resistance, like copper, allows it. With the barrage of atrocities passing through us like an overlit Las Vegas, we need to turn the lights down and sit a bit with the darkness, both to avoid the blinding amped-up overwhelm-ment and feel the grief of what lies at the bottom of it all. 

 

5)   A process for making designs on fabric, most notably used in batik.  It uses wax to prevent dye from penetrating the cloth, leaving "blank" areas in the dyed fabric. The process, wax resist, then dye, is repeated over and over to create complex multicolored designs. 

     The most intriguing of all the definitions! Making an artistic decision as to where to coat our daily lives with wax and where to colorfully dye them, and then repeat the process with wax in other places, finally creating a multi-colored exquisitely designed thing of beauty. And then wear it or hang it or spread it out as a tablecloth. Art as literally a form of resistance.

 

And so. Choose one or all of the above, but whatever you do, “Resist!!”

Forever Enough

“You’re no good, you never were any good and you never will be any good!” was my father’s way of expressing his love to me. Though I knew his tongue was in his cheek, I’m sure it set in motion that little doubting voice that sits on our shoulder and got me trying to win his approval. The other day, I stumbled on an old birthday card he sent me on my 29^th birthday and read this: 

 

It’s your 29^th birthday and your mother and I are proud of you. We are proud of: 

            • Your fine character

            • Your loving nature

            • Your talent

            • Your tolerance for people

            • Your affinity to your family

We love you!

 

Well, that was a welcome surprise. On many levels. Not only the move from sarcasm to sincerity, but the idea that those qualities were present when my frontal lobes were still developing and visible to others. Needless to say, it’s a reminder I treasure. 

 

But the thing about praise is that it’s never quite enough. Like money to John D. Rockefeller (one of America’s early billionaires). When he was asked, “How much money is enough?” he answered, “Just a little bit more.” When you get affirmation from the outside about the things you care about, it is, of course, gratifying. But then you want more. That’s why Facebook was invented! All those “likes” and affirming comments from the friends and “friends” you choose give you the dopamine rushes we all crave. But then it becomes a kind of addiction, and we want more. 

 

It also spoils us from being able to receive genuine criticism. Between Facebook and comments people write to me after participating in my workshops or guest teaching at their schools, I have a lot of testimony that I’m fun, kind, caring, a little bit talented and all-around-good-guy. Of course, part of me (that little voice on my shoulder) knows that some of this feels like imposter syndrome and I’m thinking, “If only they knew!” But I actually do try to cultivate those qualities my Dad noticed and it means a lot to me when others can see them at work and express appreciation.

 

This on my mind because I got an e-mail yesterday from someone who really laid into me about something that happened two years ago. There was a grain of truth in his description of the incident that I own up to, but his interpretation of what happened felt exaggerated, his language unduly harsh and his anger a bit of surprise having not heard anything about it for two years! So in the way we’re made, of course, my shackles went up and I felt defensive and was ready to call other people who witnessed the incident to get their viewpoint and righteously defend myself in an e-mail response. 

 

But it’s always a good idea to not respond to anything like this right away, to breathe through it and to decide if I want to be “right” or understanding. It’s fine and natural to imagine all the possible responses and even write some (without sending them!). That’s a part of the way we work through conflict. This incident had to do whether I’d ever be invited to do this particular work again and he reluctantly agreed that I could be. So in the end, I just wrote: “My deepest apologies and thank you for your generous forgiveness.” 

 

A good reminder that we all of us are ever-flowing and ever-changing verbs and no matter what we accomplish or what acts of kindness we manage to offer the world, we all screw up time and time again. So why not just own it, apologize and move on? 

 

I bought a book of poetry by Ron Padgett the other day and found this delightful poem titled Forever Enough:

 

I put some stamps

on the envelope, maybe enough,

I don’t know.

The post office

should accept it

as is, because

I made an effort.

The post office should look

at the envelope and say,

“Well, he made an effort.”

 

Brilliant! At the end of the day, having mailed my love letters to the World, the best anyone can say is, “Well, he made an effort.”

Talk Buddy

In the past few months, I have been having the most delightful correspondence with an Orff colleague in Korea. We had crossed paths various times in the past 25 years or so, but haven’t previously had a deep, ongoing connection. But when she wrote to me about some specific things recently, I recognized a depth to her thinking and an eloquence (with English as a second language!) that was impressive. To my delight, we continue to share our parallel thoughts in our very different (but connected) lives, thousands of miles, countries, cultures, languages, religions and more apart. 

 

In a recent e-mail, she wrote: 

 

“I occasionally visit your blog and I always come away with something — a sentence that stays with me, a question I hadn’t thought to ask, or simply that quiet sense of recognizing a kindred spirit. It never feels repetitive.”

 

 And that’s exactly how I feel when I read her letters. It makes me think of how some conversations feel like you’re trapped in a small room with no air circulating and no artwork on the walls. In others, there’s a door to a nearby room which you’d like to go visit, but your host has it padlocked. In both cases, what’s said just hangs there and goes nowhere. What’s unsaid weighs heavily in the air. 

 

But with some people, the conversation opens a window and the fresh air rushes in, bringing the room alive with its alluring scents, the sounds of singing birds and an unexpected view out to an enticing and beckoning landscape. Everyone present is refreshed and each thought or feeling expressed dances with light feet to the next needed word or idea or story. At once unexpected, a delightful surprise and deeply familiar, something always known but perhaps forgotten. 

 

Naturally, not every conversation can reach this level, not every person you talk to will connect to you (and you to them) in this way. Which makes it all the more precious when you encounter those rare conversations that help you feel known and understood and capable of knowing and understanding others. 

 

And so this public thanks to my new/old friend and my hopes that all of us have someone we can talk to on these levels, be it e-mail, phone or live conversation. A kind of “talk-buddy” that brings an intimacy, pleasure and sense of connection that goodness knows, we all can use.

 

 

My daughter Talia’s boyfriend Matt grew up in Marin County and lived much of his adult life in Oakland. Now they are living together in San Francisco and in the spirit of helping him get acquainted with his new home, I offered to give him my legendary “Doug tour” of this fair city. And today’s the day. 

 

We’ll meet at the Ferry Building, walk up the Filbert Street steps to Coit Tower, stop in at the city’s smallest park, have lunch at Mario’s Cigar Box Café and a coffee at Café Trieste, browse at City Lights Bookstore, walk down Chinatown’s Grant Street, ascend the hill to the Fairmount Hotel and show him the secret (“Sshhh! Don’t tell!) way to the Crown Room and its stunning view, walk the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral. Along the way we’ll learn a bit about Philo T. Farnsworth, Jack Early, Marilyn and Joe, the beat poets and George Cory and Douglas Cross, amongst others. 

 

I’ve done this tour probably a hundred with a hundred different people and I never get tired of it. Some things, of course, have changed— the Columbus statue outside Coit Tour is gone (good riddance!), the postcard store on Grant St. in North Beach long gone (too bad!), the Clarion Music Store open for concerts but not selling instruments anymore from around the world (I miss it!), but a lot is still alive and well and vibrant. 

 

Years back, I wrote a poem about being a tourist in your own town and indeed, I find it fun and refreshing. And so here it is:

A TOURIST IN YOUR TOWN

 

 © 2008 Doug Goodkin

 

When things are low and getting stale

You’re feeling rather down.

Walk out the door, hoist up your sail,

Be a tourist in your town!

 

Break out those splashy shirts,

Throw the camera ‘round your neck.

Go rent a car from Hertz

A Jaguar? What the heck!

 

The place you pass most every day,

Now looks like someplace new.

The cup you drink at your café

Tastes better and more true.

 

The things you’ve seen so oft before

Come laden with surprise.

As if you’ve opened a new door,

You see with tourists’ eyes.

 

The camera’s eye now frames,

What was too close to see.

Those shuttered windowpanes,

On the shop that serves herb tea.

 

The skateboarders careening,

Down Lombard’s curvy street.

All takes on a new meaning

When you walk with tourist feet.

 

The sounds of children playing,

The thunderous ocean roar.

Why, you might consider staying,

Perhaps a few days more?

 

So when your spirit’s flagging,

No remedies can be found.

Take my advice, put on new eyes,

Be a tourist in your town. 

 

A Word to My Fellow Men

This time last week, I was “cruisin’ and playing the radio, with no particular place to go.” Well, I was heading to Memphis on Rt. 55 north in Mississippi, but with that delicious American road trip feeling of freedom, listening to Chuck Berry’s song in the place where the blues began. From the Mississippi Delta, it later erupted into Rhythm and Blues in Memphis and changed the American landscape forever. 

 

All of the power to liberate the body, open the heart and bring some soul into the white-bread buttoned-down America of the 50’s was present in those Delta origins. But a country still in the grip of its White Supremacy narrative needed Elvis to show us how to gyrate our hips and Jerry Lee Lewis to give us permission to get a “whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on.” 

 

But because “follow the money” was (and is) one of the three driving unspoken and spoken principles of our country (alongside White Supremacy and Patriarchy), black artists like Chuck Berry and Little Richard were also given airtime once it became clear that both black and white fans would buy their records. Besides the dynamic, flamboyant and sexually suggestive performance styles, all four had something else in common: relationships with underage girls. 

 

Elvis was 24 when he met 14-year-old Priscilla Presley and according to some, began “grooming her” for their marriage years later. Jerry Lee Lewis was 22 when he married his 13-year-old cousin. Chuck Berry, at 36-years-old, was arrested for taking a 14-year-old across state lines for “immoral purposes.” Little Richard, at 34-years-old, began a relationship with a 16-year-old girl (though later he came out as gay). So began the 50’s version of the Epstein Files. 

 

And on it goes. Whether underage or not, the abuse of women by men in power has gone on unchecked. Heck, we’ve elected a President implicated in this behavior and are keeping him in power and unaccountable. Not to mention Supreme Court Justices and members of Congress. One is no longer surprised by the reprehensible behavior of members of the Repugnitan Party, but now we’re finding about people who actually did good work on the side of justice, spirituality and humanitarian healing. Bill Cosby was a shocking revelation, now Cesar Chavez and some dubious associations of Deepak Chopkra with the Epstein gang. Not to mention abuses from Indian gurus and Zen masters. Who’s next? The Dalai Lama? Mr. Rogers?

 

Nature thought it had a good idea to make sex pleasurable to insure the survival and continuation of the species. But when combined with White Supremacy and the Patriarchy, it seems to go off the rails and the men who rise to positions of power seem utterly incapable of simply doing the right thing. And like all the good-old-boys-clubs, have figured out how to stick together to make themselves unaccountable and watch each other’s backs. 

 

Two words to the fellow men in my gender: STOP IT!

 

And to all of us. HOLD THEM ACCOUNTABLE! RELEASE THE EPSTEIN FILES AND ACT! NOW!

 

And next time you’re shakin’, rattlin’ and rollin’ at the dance, stay away from the 13-year-olds.  

Easter Parade

Last night, instead of the next murder in whatever Britt-box detective show we’re watching, I suggested we watch Judy Garland and Fred Astaire in the movie Easter Parade. A wise decision! Except for the predictable naïve notions of falling in love after two minutes standing in a doorway with someone, the film held up! Memorable dance numbers —Fred Astaire’s drum/ tap dance number, he and Judy as two tramps— and great Irving Berlin tunes—It Only Happens When I Dance with You, Stepping Out with My Baby, Easter Parade. (Remember that Berlin was a Jewish guy who hit it big with Easter Parade and White Christmas!) Some lesser-known Berlin tunes as well, but each so dang clever—I Want to Go Back to Michigan, A Fella with an Umbrella, Snookie-Ookums, I Love a Piano, The Ragtime Violin. Check it out!

 

After it was over, I checked Facebook and was amazed to see their Facebook memory from 15 years ago. It was my Orff colleague Elisabeth who I had just spent a week with in singing Over the Rainbow at the Orff Institut in Salzburg. She sang it with a ukelele in the style of Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole and then, I came in on piano with the jazz version. She sang it well and I was happy with my accompaniment. But what were the chances that Facebook chose this particular memory since I had just watched Judy Garland (who made the song famous) and spent the week with Elisabeth! This is the kind of serendipitous occasion I’ve experienced many times in my life, always with a feeling that there are other invisible hands at work bringing such things together. I’d like to believe that this was the case here.

 

But… I rented the movie from Amazon Prime so the Big Brother bots and AI predators know I did so. Perhaps they passed it on to Facebook, had also seen me with Elisabeth on Facebook and got the machines whirring in search of the perfect Facebook memory. If so, you might ask, "What's the big deal? The result was not only benign, but somewhat sweet to pull up the nice memory." But even so, I don’t want it. I prefer leaving it to the gods than the machines. There’s just something creepy about it and cynical, stomping on my lifelong belief that serendipity is real, that there are unseen benevolent forces at work and they don’t need a damn machine to do their work. 

 

I hope I’m wrong about the above and that it actually was a sweet, serendipitous connection. I guess I’ll never know. But just the fact that I have to doubt it is disturbing. I’ve loved returning to San Francisco from my trip, but hate being bombarded anew by the AI billboards and Waymo cars every damn block. If the Resurrection happened today, most modern people would just think:  “Nice work from the Special Effects folks!”

 

Happy Easter!

 

PS Speaking of modern tech, I looked it up on Google and apparently the Easter Parade with its accents on bonnets is still happening in New York!

 

  

Theme and Variations

Back to my home city and besides being back with friends and family, my piano, Golden Gate Park and more, two grand pleasures:

 

1)   Choosing and cooking my own food.

2)   Singing with the folks at the Jewish Home.

 

I like to have some reason to choose the songs and pieces I do, so freshly returned from my trip, I started with a few songs related to Tennessee in general— Chattanooga Choo-Choo, The Tennessee Waltz, to Memphis in particular—Memphis Blues, Whole Lot of Shakin’ Goin' On (recorded at Sun Records), to the Mississippi River—Proud Mary, Old Man River. 

 

Having just been to Stax Records in Memphis, I also sang Sam Cooke’s You Send Me and realized that this song joins a long list of others based on the same chord progression. (For your musicians, that’s I vi.  / IV  V and for just about everyone, it’s the bass pattern that you played as a kid on the piano to the song Heart and Soul.)  So off I went, seamlessly from one to another. A short list: 

• You Send Me

• I Love the Mountains

• Blue Moon

• Silhouettes on the Shade

• Dream, Dream, Dream

• Can’t Help Lovin’ That Man

• The Way You Look Tonight

• Heart and Soul (with the actual words)

 

After singing each one, it’s fun for everyone to pick one and sing them all together at the same time. (That’s called a quodlibet). Not convinced my choir in their 80’s and 90’s was quite ready for that, I gave it to them as a homework assignment and maybe we’ll try it next week. But fun to treat them like they were my music students in my class. On a roll, I continued the class’s focus of “Theme and Variations.”

 

This approach to artistic development is a powerful one. The artist is restricted to a set form or theme and within those constrictions, it turns out that creativity really thrives, as does intelligence in general. The aspiring poets try their hand at sonnets or haiku or sestinas, following the strict forms of meter, syllables and rhyme. The artists paints dozens of still lifes of the same arrangement or like Hokusai, 36 views of Mt. Fuji. (Poet Wallace Stevens combines two art forms in his poem 13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.)

 

 From Bach through Mendelssohn and beyond, stating an opening piece and then spinning out variations following the chord progression is both an honored practice to help develop compositional skills and a means to creating some memorable music. And so off I went to the piano to play some of these examples (the first, for example, includes 32 variations so I only did a few):

 

• Bach’s Goldberg Variations

• Handel’s The Harmonious Blacksmith

• Mozart’s 12 Variations on Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman (what we know as Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star)

• Beethoven’s Six Variations on a Theme ( from the opera La Molinara) 

• Chopin’s Berceuse

 

On I went into jazz, where the two famous chord progressions that have spawned hundreds of tunes are the 12-bar-blues and the Gershwin song I Got Rhythm (referred to in jazz as “Rhythm changes”). The latter were a particular potent springboard in be-bop compositions. Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie were particularly prolific in their variations. A short list includes: 

•Anthropology

• Shaw Nuff

• Moose the Mooche

• Salt Peanuts

• Dizzy Atmosphere

• Dexterity

 

(FYI, the song The Flintstones also is based on these chord changes.)

 

Of course, the most important thing in my visits to the Home is to give pleasure and comfort to the residents simply by playing (as best I can) good music. But it was fun to feed the thinking mind as well as the feeling heart and include a little lesson in history, harmony and the power of structure and form in housing creative impulses. As well as showing the variety of the same impulses with examples from popular music, jazz and classical music. 

Next week’s class? We shall see…