There are cities where people never say hello.

I walked home today with a bleeding Achille's heel and an incipient bad burn. There were flecks of the beach's fool's gold in the spot rubbed raw by my shoe - this was noted after limping across a four-way stop two blocks from home and bravely looking down the back of my lower leg. But oddly, today was the most beautiful I've seen Long Beach...it presented an alluring face, reminding me of why I'm loathe to leave.

Walking to the bluffs, I felt my shoe chafing, but paid it little mind. The cloud cover was sporadic and pleasant; chilly with a light wind, maybe 68 degrees? Watching the kites floating in the sky, I thought about some decisions that need to be made. But to be honest, I didn't much want to think on them and so let the music float me away as I walked. The beach was clean - the city had come like a thief in the night and taken all the garbage. The water glowed turquoise, a rare sight at any time, and those millions of speckles of pyrite made the sand look as though it had been touched up by a Bond girl make-up artist. It glowed and shimmered, reminding me of my old flower-shopgirl gig and the champagne roses we'd spray with gold glitter for proms and weddings. One abusively red tomato sat perfectly amongst the strands of washed-up bladder kelp - I have no idea why. As I walked, I passed a tall black man playing a cornet in the sand...didn't recognize the tune, but it was a little mournful, and provided an interesting dissonance with what was playing on my iPod. On my way back later, he would play "My country, 'tis of thee"...fair enough, with the 4th creeping up and all. An ironic harmony, as I chose to listen to Hugh Masekela's eponymous album today.

"Masekela" was a revelation for me. I found it on a ¿Revolución, No? jag; was in an absolutely torrid love affair with the site. It is most certainly one of my favorite albums; a desert island pick, as it were. And the man is so f***ing cool. You listen to "Head Peepin'" and tell me the man wasn't hip as they come. "You can snort and smoke and pop and shoot, and you dig your LSD, but baby did you peep into your head last night?" Brilliant brass player, but with a frosty sound...less like South Africa and more like New York. This album bounces back and forth between cool instrumental licks and powerful revolutionary protest tracks. Here's the song "Blues For Huey" - any time I hear it, I can instantly transport back to a northern city, in the late fall, grey, rainy, cold, face upturned, leaves swirling, that dancing piano and smooth trumpet making me close my eyes in enjoyment.

In what seemed to be a natural progression, brainpan heated by the sun, and giddy from how pretty everything was, I moved on to the compilation "Hugh Masekela/From The Vaults Of Chisa", on which Masekela pulls little-known tracks from the Chisa years 1965-1975. The first track is the previously unreleased and amazing "Afro Beat Blues" by Ojah with Hugh Masekela, a heavy funk-ridden song. I was desperate to find more Masekela albums and had wound my way up through LA traffic to Amoeba, thinking I had a pretty good chance for an instant fix there. This cd stood out prominently in all its militant-looking yellow and black, and featuring a favored image of him. I didn't realize until home that it was actually a compilation of other musicians he'd worked with as a producer. Doesn't matter, as it's wonderful. It led me straight into the wonderful arms of Letta Mbulu.

"Letta" is an album so little-known it makes me sad. She's an amazing, volcanic talent - strong voice that over the years became strong enough to nearly cut. Both she and Masekela were expats from South Africa residing in the US; both were taken under the guidance (and friendship) of Harry Belafonte, among many others. Listening to Letta Mbulu is such a phenomenon for me; I want to write in glowing terms but find the words failing me. "Letta" has highs and lows, but the highs keep you coming back for another fix. The first track I ever heard by Mbulu was Mahlalela (Lazy Bones), remixed on the ¿Revolución, No? site as an add-on to the "Masekela" download. Then, on the Chisa comp, four of her best tracks from "Letta" are presented (including the original "Mahlalela"). Awesome stuff. The song is included in the YouTube "vid" here:



Anyhow, it's time to wrap up. I may go on further and explore Letta's work with Cannonball Adderley's label, or perhaps acquire a few albums by Miriam Makeba. If so, I'll certainly let you know! Another walk on another day.

Out.

Out again in the sun today, really trying to make a go of it. As I've mentioned to a friend, I'll be brown as a nut and fit as a lass. Echoes of Daffy Duck. Today's walk was a bit more pensive. I've started having migraines sans the actual migraine part...just the auras, or, to be more realistic, hallucinations. Two (and a half, one tried to pick up speed but couldn't get off the runway) in three days. I gather "ocular migraines" are much preferable to their kin, but it still has me a little down. They start small, as if you stared in the sun for too long, but get bigger and bigger and it always ends with my vision being too skewed to even walk, much less read or (god forbid) drive. I recently live in horror of one of these bad boys catching me on a long stretch of traffic-ridden freeway.

The beach was cleaned up, not so disgusting as the other day...and instead of a trash skip having overturned, today it looked as though the local fruit stand had taken a dip. There were oranges and lemons rolling in the sand, and an entire split watermelon with a spray of distressingly meaty-looking chunks sprayed around a goodly 12 feet or so. It looked so much like a smashed animal I had to count on logic to provide me with the disturbing intelligence that seagulls would be all over the pieces if they were actual meat. It looked as though someone had tried to play the summer watermelon smashing game, but hadn't bothered with the follow-up. Some young teens were excitedly digging in the sand, which worries me occasionally - I wonder if they have a critter who haplessly wandered into their clutches. But not today. They were building a sand castle and there were several excited invites to join in. Oh, yes, that would have looked just fine. Social mores aside, I was too tired to handle the yelling. Smiled and moved on, to find more fruit playing in the sun and sand.

Today's soundtrack was a little off, not really what I'd consider "summer" music, but I'd had an urge since last night:

I began with the eponymous Liquid Liquid album, which is zippy enough: percussion-laden and exciting in a low-key way. I located it on emusic shortly after careful consideration of the $50 OOP cd on ebay. Listening reminded me of my trip to London last October, during which a friend and I would "meet" in Starbucks each morning and go over my day's plans. One a.m., he suggested I visit the Rough Trade West shop near Portobello. I walked from my hotel, spurning the tube, so it took a while - and was tired once I got there. I picked and plucked from the racks, trying to decide what I wanted, and decided upon a cd reissue of the post-punk album "Memory Span" by the Lines, entirely due to their song "White Night" (which is wonderfully sleazy). While making the purchase, the gent behind the counter looked at me quizzically and asked why this cd in particular had picked up in popularity, and I could only shrug...I knew it had been posted on a friend's blog not too long ago, but wasn't sure that would have a world-wide sales trend effect despite the immense popularity of his blog. Shrug. Then we began talking about Liquid Liquid. He told me they'd recently played in London, and inferred that some bands should let it lie. But I would have loved to see them back in the day. Nearly everyone who has ever seen sunlight (and those who haven't) know this band if only because they provided the bass sample for the song "White Lines" via their tune "Cavern". My personal favorite from the album is "Out", a funky beat-ridden track that I would've gleefully danced to in clubs, drink in hand.

It seemed natural enough to follow up one New York Noise act with another, so I turned on Lizzy Mercier Descloux's 1979 album "Press Colour". She continues to be one of my absolute favorites. Review after review states how she wasn't all that talented, but I beg to differ. You can play your brains out, but you either have it or you don't. And she most certainly HAD it. "Hard-Boiled Babe" will always be one of my most-played tracks. To be honest, I was introduced to both Liquid Liquid and LMD via the brilliant New York Noise compilation from Soul Jazz Records (so forlorn about not going there while in London). I'm a slow beginner, but catch up fast. And thanks to Lizzy I then hopped on the ZE/Mutant Disco train. Excellent snowball effect!

If I'd walked further today, the next album might have been Essential Logic's "Fanfare In The Garden" - I think it's the finger cymbal sound in EL's "Love Eternal" that transfers so readily from those used by Lizzy.

Funny: hadn't realized until now that I located all three of these albums on emusic. Do listen to the samples provided; I think you might get hooked. As for me, I'm off for a cuppa joe and some reading. Enough sun for one day.

It's a righteous life we're leadin', friends...

...or, if not righteous, perhaps one could take a slightly cynical look at one of the next lines of lyrics from "Righteous Life" (found on Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66's LP "Stillness"): but no one else notices destiny except the free. And as I walked the beach once again today, I could only but acknowledge that I'm crazy-free at the moment, up to my ass in freedom; but destiny? Not so sure I could see that if it poked me with a sharp stick.

The beach had a different aspect today; it looked as though a garbage skip had turned over offshore. All manner of things moving along the shoreline, from used (or unused? who can tell after a while?) condoms to styrofoam pieces (do people still use that stuff?) to hairspray cans (again, huh?). A few empty bottles that once contained guarana and caffeine energy drinks rolled about. And look at that, an old fishline complete with hook whispering past my ankle, creepy as hell. But the condition of the beach ddn't get me down too much - I made a silent resolution to contact the city about it and mentally moved on. Doesn't seem to have stopped many other people either: lots of kids playing in the mucked-up water, and fit-types jogging the sand away. An oh-so urban feel today, like "what can you do when you can't get out of the city on a hot sunny day" - you make due with what you have, and enjoy yourself.

And so, today's soundtrack was a little different.

The Funky 16 Corners, which I purchased from emusic, is a grand compilation of little-known funk songs, all excellent. My personal favorite is "What About You (In The World Today)":

"How'd you get that hole in your shoe?"
"By looking for a job that you know wasn't there."

The funk comp was followed by one of my more subtle favorites, the aforementioned "Stillness" by Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66. I agree with allmusic's review, which states it's the "great sleeper album of Sergio Mendes' first A&M period". Lani Hall really captured me here, even if she left the album mid-production. I went on to acquire her "Sundown Lady" lp - it didn't please me as much, but is still thoroughly anjoyable. Mendes rendition of "For What It's Worth" is still one of my favorite covers (please check out the link for a quick listen)...I originally heard it on the Mojo Cub Dancefloor Jazz compilations, and that in turn prompted me to get this full album. Comps have been very good to me.

I suppose if I'd walked a little further, I might have started listening to the Mojo mixes or Roots of Chicha...but hey, we have a whole summer ahead of us!

Summer walk.

Today I took a walk. A silly walk. One that was surely too long...but the clouds were out and it's such a rarity in Los Angeles, I felt I should take advantage. For the last 11 years, I've thought that sooner or later I'd head on the sandy journey from Long Beach to Seal Beach, and today seemed an excellent time. Out of work and out of patience...a long stroll would do me fine. And I can't help feeling that I'm saying goodbye to the LA area soon. No maudlin feeling to it, but suddenly think it's time to do a few things I've always meant to do. A little naive as it turns out, as you can't walk from Long Beach to Seal Beach...at least not via the shore! Any map might have told me this, but I'm fond of flying by the seat of my pants. So I walked to the very end of Ocean Blvd., which unhappily ends in a huge marina. Suppose I could have taken a swim to the other shore, while dodging yachts and sailboats. About this time, the clouds became fickle and Catalina-bound...and left me in the harsh sun. And for the first time ever, I cared not a whit what people thought of me - sun umbrella out and proudly carried! Good thing too. As it is I'm burned; can't imagine the blistered mess that might have occurred otherwise. Funny how a pleasant stroll can turn into a test of endurance.

At any rate, beside the mild irritation at not reaching my goal, and the concern for my skin's health, I listened to some fabulous summer music. For sunny days, for walking along shorelines, for drinking margaritas under an umbrella, for reading a book in the backyard, for having friends over in the hazy mosquito-filled twilight...I recommend:

Tuca's "Dracula, I Love You" (you have to take one or two added steps at the marvelous Loronix's Happy Hour to get this file), which I was turned onto through Kevin Pearce's rather wonderful blog "Your Heart Out".


Orlann Divo's "A Chave Do Sucesso", an absolutely amazing and sunny album. Recommended to me by a dear friend.


Thievery Corporation's "Babylon Rewound" , a remix album of "The Richest Man In Babylon". This was acquired from emusic - a curiosity pick - and am quite happy with it. I still feel emusic is under-accessed. Start with the editors' picks and then lose control from there. Last time I visited the site, it was for a Slim Gaillard fix.


And by various artists, the "Achilifunk - Gypsy Soul 1969-1979" comp . Amazing! This was referred to me by another great friend, and the blog upon which I found it is one of those, "Where the hell did the day go?!?" sites. The music-curious could get lost in the spiraling snowball effect.


Believe me, great music to get sunburned to ^^ And these blogs/sites are ALL stunning. Please check them out.

Studio Ghibli and komuso.

A few friends and I were watching "The Cat Returns", which is a constant favorite in the dvd collection. While some Ghibli fans deride it for being too simplistic, I think it's quite charming. I see it as a continuation of "Whisper of the Heart"; to me, it's the story that the young girl finally writes about the Baron (to see a Ghibli filmography, go here). There's a ceremonial parade scene in Cat Returns, where the Cat King arrives to thank Haru for saving his son. In the procession, a cat stately stands there playing a flute with a basket on its head.



There's also a later scene in which a similar (or the same) cat is in the King's orchestra.



I've seen similar images in plenty of other places, and know the basket is a cultural reference; but, this particular night, not knowing what the hell it meant became irksome. So I googled "basket flute Japanese" and found this site.

Mystery solved!

To quote the site: "The origin of the shakuhachi, according to one theory, has been traced back as far as ancient Egypt and is presumed to have migrated through India and China before entering Japan in the Sixth Century. Its popularity, however, was short-lived and it wasn't until the Thirteenth Century that it was revived by the Fuke sect of Buddhism which sought to replace sutra chanting with sui zen or "blowing zen." Not until the Edo Period (1603-1867) did this instrument reach its final and most decisive phase of development. During this era, marked by the disintegration of feudal Japan, the shakuhachi was favored by swelling numbers of uprooted samurai warriors (ronin) who joined the ranks of itinerant preachers known as komuso ("Priests of Emptiness and Nothingness"). The komuso wore large baskets (tengai) over their heads to symbolize their detachment from the world. Violent clan struggles which marked the late Sixteenth Century forced some of the komuso to organize themselves into a society for self-protection. Members of the Fukeshu sought to deceive the shogun -- Japan's supreme warlord -- with forged documents giving them exclusive rights to play the shakuhachi and to solicit alms with it. In return for this privilege they agreed to spy on the activities of other ronin. Legend has it that these komuso, forbidden to carry their revered swords, redesigned the shakuhachi from the root of the bamboo making it longer and stouter for use as a club as well as an instrument for spiritual attainment."

At any rate, The Cat Returns is a fun film; it's perhaps the only anime film I prefer to watch with English dubbing, as the actors seem perfect (for instance, Peter Boyle playing Muta, or Cary Elwes playing the Baron). Charming and perhaps every little girl's dream. A visit to the Cat Kingdom? Sign me up!

And finally, Muta ever-so reminds me of Shazbutt. I miss her attitude: