CCXXXI - to live is to get older

In earlier times, there was a Borders bookstore at Wheelock Place. It's funny, I write about past things now the way that people from earlier times write about past places. You can hear about such places, and see the odd photographs, but the connection with the physical reality they once inhabited is totally gone. What it meant to be there, what it was like, how it was lived in, the familiarity and the feel, all gone. The past entails an older place, once younger, and an older cast of principals, once youthful, existing concurrently, both now forever changed. We are talking about things that were once "the present", with all the fullness and immediacy and realness that "the present" is to us, us who live in the right-now of the present. Isn't it such an odd feeling to consider "the present"? to know that the present, however total and encompassing it is right now, with all its weightiness, significance and severity, will never be much more than it is as the present? The eternity of the present! And yet, as it does, time rolls unceasingly on, fore-running its ever-marching peoples. Tiong Bahru (塚 bahru), Badok, the Padang, Jurong East, Marina Bay, Fort Canning, Pulau Belakang Mati (Sentosa) ... virtually all the old places one thinks of, of which now only abridged histories and sepia photos on plaques, slightly forlorn, carry a reminder, the metamorphosing inhabitants of which no longer have the memory or language to reminisce, to provide substantial, deeply-rooted discourses of lives and lived-in-ness. We have so little "historied-ness" in us, nor the sense that any of that matters, until it becomes our turn to comprise old news, old history. I don't know, I love the sense of being connected with a place, of sharing deeply personal, even ancestral ties to the land. To know the lie of the land. To recall in the mind's eye vistas, scenes, scapes, the chiaro of the hazy sunshine, and the oscuro of the sleepy, staid earth. Megarry and Wade were right, land, real property, is fundamentally a special thing, not what some call a bundle of rights.

Well, there used to be a Borders bookstore at Wheelock Place. I would have gone there in my school days, with not much money to buy a book. Buying actual books was never in question for me, as a child of the nineties. Well, Borders was expensive, compared to Times (not to mention, Popular). In the psychology section was a book by Sigmund Freud, the Interpretation of Dreams. This was a virtually irresistible title. Well, I eventually bought it. To some dismay, it turned out to be very difficult reading. Between reading this, and Mein Kampf, I gained the impression that Germans are not fun to read. Of course, there were other Germans, up to even Schopenhauer, or Schopi, as I call him in my mind, whom you might say was intellectually exciting, but not necessarily fun, even then, to read. But for the record, neither Hitler nor Freud is fun to read, and one of the things they share in terms of literary presentation is that they are both fond of very, very long sentences, some of which are unbearable. Anyway, Freud was in the field of psychology, naturally, and psychology is inherently a difficult field of science to grasp, not to mention that the subject of dreaming is even more so, even more illusory, chimerical. I didn't finish the book. I did get that Freud understood the dreams of his patients as being wish-fulfillments, coupling anxieties, and sensory inputs received over the course of one or two days. He posited some concepts as being symbolic, such as representing carnal desire, but those analyses might have escaped me. At any event, the book sits in a box somewhere, unexhibited. I am not sure that I will ever desire to thumb through it again.

They say that dreaming is not special to humans. They say that the platypus experiences up to nine hours of rapid eye movement type sleep a day (night, rather), which may or may not be a lot for the platypus, but that he does it the most. Perhaps he does it when the nights are longer, in winter. After all, doesn't the polar bear hibernate? Well, I often have a dream of running away. It's unpleasant, because I am not, in my dream, terrifically good at running. I manage obstacles, that is true, but I do not manage them well. I don't think the simulation includes getting caught, or perhaps I exclude it. Perhaps I manage the mounting anxiety by shifting the narrative to something else, subconsciously. That is one theme that recurs. For my own reasons, I think I have seen through this dream. Another one that recurs, with some emptiness at awakening, is of having a loved girl close by. It's not a longing per se, but a kind of wistfulness. I could go on, but the man I was at twenty, twenty-four, isn't the man I am now, at thirty-two, and no amount of gentle recollection changes that. Which is not to say that I am proud of the man I am now, but perhaps I am a little prouder. I think that this vein of dreaming, over the years, acknowledges that. This dreaming wells together now a feeling more of serenity and conviction than of desire and pining. Little calming gestures, placid comforting, resting a head together, on a shoulder, or feeling for, holding hands under a blanket, bring courage and a little joy. The rising day feels like it lacks a little something, upon waking, but not something that upon contemplation will never be found again. So I take (if unfairly) what Eliot wrote, in his Little Gidding,

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring 
Will be to arrive where we started 
And know the place for the first time. 

CCXXX - Et Noluistis

Evangelium secundum Lucam

13:34 Ierusalem, Ierusalem, quae occidis prophetas et lapidas eos, qui missi sunt ad te, quotiens volui congregare filios tuos, quemadmodum avis nidum suum sub pinnis, et noluistis.

13:35 Ecce relinquitur vobis domus vestra. Dico autem vobis: Non videbitis me, donec veniat cum dicetis: “Benedictus, qui venit in nomine Domini”.

CCXXIX - Thermae Antoninianae, or the Terme di Caracalla

Latin! So divinely pristine.

Balnea, vina, Venus corrumpunt corpora nostra;
sed vitam faciunt balnea, vina, Venus.

Baths, wine, the desire of women corrupt bodies of ours;
but vital-life is made of baths, wine, the desire of women.

- epitaph of Senator Tiberius Claudius Sacerdos Julianus, 2nd century AD.

CCXXVIII - Skydog

Excerpts (including interviews from the book, One Way Out, by Alan Paul):

Butch Trucks (groove drummer): One day we were jamming on a shuffle going nowhere so I started pulling back and Duane whipped around, looked me in the eyes, and played this lick way up the neck like a challenge. My first reaction was to back up, but he kept doing it, which had everyone looking at me like the whole flaccid nature of this jam was my fault. The third time I got really angry and started pounding the drums like I was hitting him upside the head and the jam took off and I forgot about being self-conscious and started playing music, and he smiled at me, as if to say, "Now that's more like it."

It was like he reached inside me and flipped a switch and I've never been insecure about my drumming again. It was an absolute epiphany; it hit me like a ton of bricks. I swear if that moment had not happened I would probably have spent the past thirty years as a teacher. Duane was capable of reaching inside people and pulling out the best. He made us all realise that music will never be great if everyone doesn't give it all they have, and we all took on that attitude: Why bother to play if you're not going all in?

Reese Wynans (keyboard player): Dickey [Betts] was the hottest guitar player in the area, the guy that everyone looked up to and wanted to emulate. Then Duane came and started sitting in with us and he was more mature and more fully formed, with total confidence, an incredible tone and that unearthly slide playing. But he and Dickey complemented each other - they didn't try to outgun one another - and the chemistry was obvious right away. It was just amazing that the two best lead guitarists around were teaming up. They were both willing to take chances rather than returning to parts they knew they could nail, and everything they tried worked.

Jai "Jaimoe" Johanny Johanson (fill drummer): Duane talked about a lot of guitar players and when I heard some of them I said, "That dude can't tote your guitar case," and he was surprised. He loved jamming with everyone.

Thom Doucette (harmonica player): None of them could hold Duane's case except Betts.

Gregg Allman (lead singer, keyboard player): I walked into rehearsal on March 26, 1969, and they played me the track they had worked up to Muddy Waters' "Trouble No More" and it blew me away. It was so intense.

I got my brother aside and said, "I don't know if I can cut this. I don't know if I can cut this. I don't know if I'm good enough." And he starts in on me: "You little punk, I told these people all about you and you don't come in here and let me down." Then I snatched the words out of his hand and said, "Count it off, let's do it." And with that, I did my damnedest. I'd never heard or sung this song before, but by God I did it. I shut my eyes and sang, and at the end of that there was just a long silence. At that moment we knew what we had. Duane kinda pissed me off and embarrassed me into singing my guts out. He knew which buttons to push.

Joseph "Red Dog" Campbell (roadie): He was my hero. I mean. I would have followed Duane to the end of the earth. I was older than him, but I respected him enough and loved him enough to do it. Duane had a sixth sense - or a seventh sense, man. He just knew what to do at the right time. There’s a fork in the road, right? If you go to the left, there’s a pot of gold. If you go to the right, you’re in a pile of crap. Duane could walk right up to the fork without thinking and say "Let’s go to the left." And he’d come out smelling like a rose.

But he was fair. He was honest. He was up front and didn’t beat around the bush. You didn’t have to hear “Well, you know ... I was thinkin’ ... It ain’t really nice for me to say it, but ...” You didn’t have to hear it. He’d just say, “Red Dog, you messed up bad man. We’re gonna have to let you go.” There wouldn’t be no beatin' around the bush. I try to live like that myself. I just don’t have the tactfulness or the position in life to deal the other way. So I just hit it, bam-bam-bam.

I don’t really think you can put it into words, on Duane. He used to say, “You guys do all the work. We just come over and have fun.” That’s really what it’s all about. If these musicians say “I’m out here working my butt off, something’s wrong.” I mean, if he ain’t out there playing and having fun, something’s wrong. It’s at the stage of the game now where it’s not work. It’s “Hey, let’s enjoy ourselves and play.” The roadie’s the guy who’s doing the work to get the thing going.

Jaimoe: One morning, Duane came over and knocked and he was bouncing off the wall - full of energy, as he always was, but more so. He said, "What's up, my little chocolate drop?" He often called me that.

I said, "Nothing. Just waiting around until it's time to practice." And he said, "You want one of these?" He had a little container of something that I thought were blackberries, which were a kind of speed we took with some regularity. I said I was all right and he laughed and said, "Okay," and dashed off on his bike.

I went over to the pad to use the commode and sitting on the back of it was a little bottle of those pills - anytime someone got a little something they stored it there so that if the police came it could be flushed away. I looked at them and thought, "This is what Duane had. The way he was bouncing around, I'm gonna give it a try," and I popped three of them. God damn! They were psilocybin tablets and they slowly came on. They were real natural and earthy and pleasant, but I should not have taken three.

We got something to eat at Mama Louise's and went to practice like we did every day, but rehearsal was a waste. It had to be canceled because we had all taken some of those things. Butch couldn't play the drums because he said they were flying away. Gregory wasn't really into psychedelics so maybe he didn't take any, but the rest of us were flying, so we just called off practice and the day finally came to what it should have been, hanging out. There's been a lot of stories told about how we had this incredible jam, but we couldn't even play.

Gregg: I had mainly played rhythm guitar. That was my instrument, but the Allman Brothers had too many guitars, so they blindfolded me, took me in this room, sat me down, took the blindfold off and there sat a brand-new, 1969 B-3 Hammond and a 122-RV Leslie, with a few joints on it, and they said, "OK, we'll see you in a few days! Good luck! We'll bring you food and check back with you now and then. Learn how to play this thing."

That's only a slight exaggeration. The truth is, my brother knew I really, deep down, always wanted a Hammond. I always admired them when I saw them with blues bands and whatnot. But then I stayed up day and night, hour after hour, learning how to really play it.

Dickey Betts (lead guitar): Duane and Gregg had a real "purist" blues things together, but Oakley and I in our band would take a standard blues and re-arrange it. We were really trying to push the envelope. We loved the blues, but we wanted to play in a rock style, like what Cream and Hendrix were doing. Jefferson Airplane was also a big influence on us; Phil Lesh and Jack Casady were Oakley's favourite bassists. We liked to take some of that experimental stuff and put a harder melodic edge to it.

Duane was smart enough to see what ingredients were missing from both of our previous bands. We didn't have enough of the true, purist blues, and he didn't have enough of the avant-garde, psychedelic approach to the blues. So he tried to put the two sounds together, and that was the first step in finding the sound of the Allman Brothers Band. When the two things collided, by the grace of God it was something special. You can't say someone conceived of it all. It just happened and we all played a big part.

Steve Morse (guitar player, Dixie Dregs): [It's] a Les Paul Custom with tiger stripes and a sunburst paint job. It doesn’t have a pickguard, and the neck looks like a regular Les Paul neck, a sort of dark brown. It was cracked once, but Twiggs [Lyndon, road manager] had it fixed when we were in California. And it’s got regular humbucking-looking pickups, but the one in the lead position is so intense! It’s so powerful. Something is so right about it. That’s the main thing about the guitar. I think the reason Duane had that guitar is because it would scream so much on the lead pickup. I remember Twiggs saying that Duane used that guitar on Layla and a lot of the Fillmore East. He liked to use it for songs where he’d switch from playing regular fingerstyle to slide. I’ve used the guitar for solos on every album, just about. You can hear it on the melody of ‘Cruise Control,’ the slide guitar parts in ‘Rock and Roll Park,’ and in ‘Twiggs Approved’ there are two short guitar solos – one is in a regular style and the other is slide, and both of those are on the Les Paul.

That guitar of Twiggs’ has gone through a long journey. Twiggs traded a car to Gregg Allman to obtain the guitar. Twiggs had a lot of old-time cars, in really good shape, and it was one of those. It wasn’t like Gregg was just giving the guitar away. He knew that Twiggs would really take care of it. At a time when Twiggs was really broke, someone offered him $15,000 for the guitar, and he wouldn’t take it. Twiggs all along was planning on giving it to Duane’s little daughter when she turned 18, so the family is holding the guitar until then. The reason Twiggs was gonna wait until then is he didn’t think that the girl would realize what she had. And Twiggs was just that kind of person – the principle of the whole thing was more important than anything.

Derek Trucks (guitar player, nephew of Butch Trucks): The sound is so distinct and powerful. There was definitely some extra spirit in the room. At one point, Butch looked down, saw I was playing Duane’s goldtop and was really struck.

Butch: It was during ‘Dreams,’ And seeing and hearing Derek play the solo on the guitar Duane used was very emotional.

CCXXVII - Day out in town

Got up early today in a little caravan park in Wanaka. It's a town about an hour's drive from Queenstown. Funny, seems like a few things are an hour's drive from Queenstown. Anyway yeah got up early today, had an egg and bacon pie. Microwaved it, too. Lot's of food today. Took a little walk in Wanaka, walked right into a little park by the lake. Gate led into an arch of lime trees from Berlin. Beautiful place, had lots of old trees, open grassy spaces, totally my thing. Quite a few nice homes around. It made me wonder whether it's expensive to own a place down there. Not of a lot of places do that for me.

Got a ride back down to Queenstown, had a gas station cheese and steak pie. Pretty good pie, but nothing like the ones from Mrs. Woolly's back in Glenorchy. That day I had two large pies in one sitting. Mince, and salmon and bacon. Real pastry, man, not a machine pat crust. Anyway, dumped the bags, made some coffee, thank God, and went up a little trail in town to do the zip lines. Great times on the lines, good speed, between the trees, looking at the lake. Met a couple of crazy women from Hawai'i. Kinda miss them already. Told them I didn't like Adele. Something in her voice I don't buy. Didn't go over well.

Anyway, that, then down to get a Big Al Fergburger. Double everything, pretty much. Pretty good, but for my money the Center 4 Hamburgers in Takayama was better. Better taste, more love, Japanese whiskey, can't quite put it in words. Devoured it watching a couple bands rock a little park with a stream. Pretty good for a garage band, actually. Some dad rock, no big deal.

Popped back home, little one and a half walk, for a shower and sunset photos. Raced back up to the gondola for a night time astronomy lesson. Hell, we caught the international space station tonight. Learnt the southern cross from alpha centauri. Had a couple hot chocolates on the way down, bought a five dollar pizza for breakfast tomorrow. Wine to wash the day away.

It feels like I did a fair bit today. Good weather, too, God willing. I'm happy. Got a little teary listening to the Man in Black on the way to town. Well, what can I say. Lovely day for it. Wouldn't be bad for a groundhog day. Alright. Time to be heading home.