Losing Marty

Since moving to LA in the early 90's, I've been so blessed to meet and work with so many legendary musicians and performers. Being a fanatic for jazz, I always gravitated to the older cats, artists who've been around the block more than a few times, and they have been like mentors to me. Beginning with Leonard Reed, then Earl Palmer, George Gafney, Ross Tomkins, Ron Anthony, Tony Russell (to name a few). I can't begin to recount how much I've learned from all of them over the past 15-20 years. You hang out with a group like this, you end up meeting, hanging out with, and playing with some of the best, hippest talent in the world.

The downside to all of this is that I tend to lose them entirely too soon, and last week's passing of Marty Harris has saddened me beyond words. I can't remember when I first met Marty; he was just always around, backing up wonderful singers and playing with the best groups in town. I ran into him everywhere, and I ended up playing with him at Micelli's, The Money Tree, Monteleone's, Barone's, private parties, casuals, etc. He was so opinionated about singers, I considered it a huge honor that he would want to play with me. We never used charts, never had to. Charts got in the way, and for the kind of music we were doing, we all knew the basic roadmap anyway, and every night was magical.

Marty could play anything. Anything. He had played with Anita O'Day (my hero! He loved telling stories about Anita O'Day), Woody Herman, Clark Terry, Diana Ross and Tom Jones. He could make anyone sound good, even me when I completely lost my voice before a show last year. He didn't feel well and he was in pain, but he played like the monster he was, making up for my deficiencies that night.

One thing about Marty - To play with Marty, you had to have ears. And you'd better know what you're doing. The women in the two stories below shall remain nameless.

A few years ago, I was asked to sing at a birthday party for an actress' mother, and I called Marty for the job. It was just the two of us. This particular celebrity wanted me to sing "Stardust", and she wanted to dedicate it to her mother. I'm sure she wanted a lovely ballad. I had written up a chart (which of course Marty ignored). After I sang the verse rubato, Marty broke into a wonderful swinging stride which brought the tune to life, and everyone started dancing. A few songs and a couple of glasses of wine later, our celebrity host wanted to sing a song (a standard) to her mother. She wasn't a singer, per se, and she had probably learned the tune listening to someone's recording of it. When she stood up in front of Marty, she became completely thrown by his chord changes and inversions, and it was pretty disastrous. Not used to being caught with her pants down, she blamed it on Marty. He wasn't "playing it right". (You gotta love it when singers blame the musicians. It gives the rest of us "chick singers" a bad name.)

Another time, I walked into Micelli's, where Marty was playing with a flamboyant French diva. It was the same thing. This poor woman clearly wasn't used to singing with a pianist of Marty's caliber. She came in at the wrong places, forgot where she was, and hit some very questionable notes. Marty trudged on, playing through it, trying to help her find her place.

"Terrible!" she furiously whispered to me during the break. "I have NEVER had such a night! This pianist does not know what he is doing!" " She retreated to the bar.

"Terrible!!" an exhasperated Marty said. "This woman's got no idea what she's doing! Hey, you want to get up and sing a song?"

A few times during our shows, after I finished singing, he'd say, "You know, Laura, a better ending would be this...." and he'd play it for me. He was always right. I hope I still remember those endings.

Right up until the very end, Marty played with a full heart. He looked great and never lost his chops. He was truly one-of-a-kind, and there will never be another Marty. We're all getting older, and I'm no spring chicken any more. I know, it's life. But it's just getting harder and harder to lose my friends.

 

                                                             Marty Harris, 1933 - 2011

Recommended: The Financial Lives of the Poets, by Jess Walter

The Financial Lives of the Poets by Jess Walter


My rating: 4 of 5 stars


This is the first time I've read anything by Jess Walter, and I really got a kick out of his self-deprecating, clever wit and ironic style. The main character's tragedy is played out like a comedy, and Walter captured the desperate financial times we now face. Our unemployed hero, Matt, heads out to a 7-11 one night to buy milk, but he makes one wrong turn in the throes of desperation. One wrong turn leads to another, and before he realizes what's happened, he is a fledgling, hapless drug-dealer in training. He's also lying to his wife about the fact that they are about to lose their house, and his wife is preoccupied with an internet/facebook/texting affair with a guy from her past.




Matt (of course) is caught by the authorities and forced into being a narc - a dreadfully unsuccessful narc. After losing just about everything, Matt has to recalibrate his life and what's left of his marriage. It sounds dismal, but there is something wildly cathartic about this novel. Matt's desperate spiral into denial, horrendous decisions and complete financial ruin parallel the current descent of the American economy. The recalibration of reality. The realization that at the end of the day, if you still have your own coat pockets to share with another pair of cold hands...maybe everything will be ok.




View all my reviews

A disturbing read: Runaway Horses, by Yukio Mishima

Here's my review on Goodreads:

Runaway Horses by Yukio Mishima

Well, I got through it. This book is beautifully-written and repelling at the same time. I did at times feel like I was reading the story through the eyes of a terrorist, which held its own brief fascination.




The bio of the author is actually even more interesting than the book, which I found unsatisfying at the end. Mishima seems to have been a man born in the wrong era - he was born into a Samurai family and was a descendant of a Shogun. Incredibly prolific, he wrote 30 novels, 18 plays, 20 volumes of verse and 20 volumes of essays. He was an avid swordsman and body builder and became extremely proficient in Kendo. Possibly bi-sexual, he posed in the nude and was enamoured by the strong male physique. Yet he was married with 2 children. He was charismatic, self-aware and apparently had an uncommon genius for conversation. He lamented the Westernization of Japanese culture, and his last works were the The Sea of Fertility 4-volume epic. Runaway Horses is the 2nd volume in that series.



And, like the protagonist in Runaway Horses, at the age of 45, this author committed ritual suicide after staging an unsuccessful (and publicly mocked) coupe on the Eastern Army of the Japanese Self-Defense Force.



Disappointing. Especially disappointing because it's so cliche and such a waste. Did he descend into madness? In Runaway Horses, he seems to speak through the character of Honda (a judge), who is the sole voice of reason in the novel. Yet he followed the way of Isao, the protagonist, in a grand gesture of life imitating his own art.
 
I'm a bit confused by the whole experience.  Thus, the 2 stars.

"Jack and Diane"

People ask me all the time, "What's your favorite song?"

I don't have a favorite song, but there is a song that resonates above all the rest.   It's not by Cole Porter, George Gershwin, Lorenz Hart...or John Lennon, for that matter.  It's a little ditty by John Cougar (later John Cougar Mellancamp) called "Jack and Diane".

It goes back to a humid July night in 1982.  I found myself  in some old jalopy with Mark, a “new guy”, about the 10th guy who’d asked me out that summer. My braces had come off a year before, I had transferred to a public school and I couldn’t believe my good fortune at being asked out so much. I didn’t know this was possible. I was incredibly naïve at 16, and this was a year of discovery – boys, beer, partying, and on this particular night, a drive to Radnor Lake.

Mark was really nice-looking, and a year older, and he went to my new school. He took me to a baseball game, and then he drove us to the hill on Radnor Lake to “meet up” with a few of his friends. He parked the car on the side of the road looking out over the lake, and turned off the engine. I guess he wanted to make out, but that went right over my head. I liked him, so I started chatting nervously, non-stop, about absolutely nothing. I chatted so much he completely gave up on trying to make a move.

After 10 minutes, these “friends” never showed up, and he started the car. He was irritated – with himself, with me, with the situation. And on the radio, John Cougar was singing about “Jack and Diane”.

“Oh I love this song!” I said, turning up the volume.

“Well, if you’re gonna turn it up, turn it UP!” he said, turning the knob so high, the speakers blared with distortion.

He started the car and quickly picked up speed on this narrow road, rounding curves, barely missing protruding mailboxes. He were now headed downhill, veering left, then right, along the outer edge of the road. He was speeding now. A car coming from the opposite direction almost clipped us as we zoomed past. I was alarmed, but I thought it would be very uncool for me to ask him to slow down. After all, what did I know?

“Hold onto 16, as long as you can….changes comin round real soon make us women and men...”

The gravel underneath the tires grew in volume, along with the drum solo.

Soon both sounds merged into one, and I felt the entire left side of the car rise in slow motion. Was this a dream? What was happening? The car was rising, yes, the car was definitely rising, as the sound of the gravel to my right grew in volume. Wow, we were actually rolling. The car was rolling off the road, downhill.

As the car smashed through a brick mailbox, several young trees, and a few more mailboxes, I watched myself in slow motion fly around the inside of the car, and the only thought in my mind was,
“Wow, this is really uncool to be happening on a date…”

The car rested on its side. I was lying on the grass, where the window had been. John Cougar was no longer singing about being 16, or chili dogs, or the bible belt saving his soul. That was replaced by the sound of my date crying out my name to see if I was alive. And then the sounds of sirens.

Both of us miraculously walked away from the remains of the jalopy, but the promise of Jack and Diane died that night. A debutante and a football star might be able to go on after the thrill of living is gone…but that wasn’t so appealing anymore.

I cheated death that night. That was painfully obvious when I watched the flattened car get towed off the road, while neighbors shook their heads in amazement, saying it was a miracle we’d survived.

And Mark. This “new guy”. This stupid, impulsive guy, whose reaction to his precious car being towed away was to walk up to a tree, punch it, and break his entire hand.

I’d say I grew up that night, very quickly, with a little help from John Cougar.

Song of the Day: Bill Pursell’s “Our Winter Love”

Song of the Day: Bill Pursell’s “Our Winter Love”

Wednesday nights at The Luxe Hotel

When one door closes, another one opens. I am now at the Luxe Hotel in Bel Air every Wednesday night from 7 pm - 10 pm with the great Del Casher. (For those of you who don't know, he's the guy who invented the Wah Wah pedal.  He is also an amazing guitarist.)  We're joined by the wonderful Paul Morin on bass, and man, do we have fun. Lots of laughs, plenty of requests, and since Del never plays anything the same way twice, I have to be on my toes!  This Wednesday will be our 4th outing.  Come join us! The Luxe Hotel is on Sunset Blvd, just west of the 405 freeway. $3 parking with validation, no cover, and no minimum.

Here are a few photos from the past few weeks.

Jim Henke, curator of the Cleveland Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, with Del Casher

JL-R:  Jim Henke, Laura Pursell, Del Casher, Paul Morin

Engelbert Humperdinck (accepting an award at the hotel that evening) and Del Casher

Laura Pursell and Del Casher

Bassist Adam Cohen (on a break during the Engelbert Humperdinck event) with Laura

Patrick Barnitt and Laura Pursell Live at Ciao Christina!