RUDIMENTS, pt 486
(stop making sense, pt. one)
Whenever it was that David
Byrne came out with 'Stop
Making Sense,' 1982, or
whichever year and era
it was, a light went on. I
mean for me, with words
and ideas. I immediately
grasped the extension of a
concept I'd been dwelling
on. You see, everything
comes through a person
in a small self-contained
tunnel, and as we accept
it, each of us, whatever 'it'
is and however different
it is for each of us (face it,
we all live in separate
worlds), it expands outward,
as it all exits that tunnel,
(us), and we become what
we are or what we make
of all that. That's why all
that preparation, and
coaching and scholastic
stuff is a bunch of nothing
more than business. You're
choosing a product you'd
like, but it's never going
to be you, or perfectly
characterize you, because
you are, primarily, what's
already in that tunnel.
Which is why most
people spend life trying
to fit through hoops
of their own imagining.
Listening to that music,
I realized what he was
meaning to get across
with the entire 'stop making
sense' thing; I'd just always
called it, before, absurdity.
I'd guess the very first time
I ran across true absurdity
was with the 'Freak Out'
album of Frank Zappa and
the first 'Mothers of Invention'
group he had. That certainly
had stopped me short - at
whatever age I was then.
'Brain Police' in fact is
even more valuable today
than it was then. And just
as true. In his day, the world
was clean, and his music
was whatever it was (no
one, of course, knew),
now the world is dirty,
and it's that music that
seems clean and right.
-
Back in the seminary,
weirdly enough, in the
'lounge' rooms, the other
guys in my age group
often sat around listening
(and singing along) to a
song by a British group
called 'The Animals,'
(Eric Burden), that went
'We gotta' get out of this
place, if it's the last thing
we ever do...' (and there
were other versus, 'Daddy's
hair a'turning gray,' and
'Girl there's a better place
for me and you,' which
was twisted about because
'we ever do' needed a rhyme,
which became 'you' - all
trite stuff, but whatever)...
and I used to shake my
head and just say to
myself 'What's wrong
with these guys? They're
here of their own stupid
choice, and now they're
wailing about it as if it
was prison. And if they
want a 'girl' to escape
with what in the world
are they plopping their
dumb asses here for?'
Yeah, yeah, please -
stop making sense.
-
I guess, one sticking
point was that I never
had a scintilla of gentility
in me. There was, however,
around me, a certain level
of it going on - a number
of these priestly people
were pretty high-up livers,
society types - who knew
their way around shirts and
ties, shoes and socks too.
I had no clue. It was as if
someone had taken this
really stupid 'catching the
school bus at the Shop-Rite
corner' Avenel guttersnipe
and thrown him into Eton,
or some other weird-ass
prep-school where the
differing strata of society
quickly becoming apparent,
and with me on the losing
end. (That always worried
me, being so close to the
word castrati). There was,
I admit, a large gulf
between myself and
many of the others.
I often bluffed, and I
guess it worked. No
one ever really turned
me out, of anything. I
always liked those
'telling' moments that
get across a whole
theme. The kind of
person I was becoming
was the sort who watched
for those sorts of things,
and recorded them. One
for me was, in the Drama
Department, on the stage,
being a stage-crew guy
at first, I was able to go
way high up, onto the
catwalks and ladders that
ran quite high above the
stage area, and where all
the lights and filters for
those lights and effects
were. There were chains
and brackets and hoists.
All high above the stage
and affording a view out
somewhere onto the heights
of the theater itself - seats
and heads, etc. I'd clamber
up there and just watch -
the outlined beams of light,
the dust in the air, listen to
the coughs and chatter from
those in the seats, the rustle.
I already knew the plays and
the actions below, so it was
all just passive witnessing
at that point. I loved it. From
rehearsals, I knew already
the lighting changes, the
exits and entries of varied
characters, the tape marks
on the stage, each showing
location and position for
this or that scene. It was
sometimes stunning, and
miraculous for me. Other
times, I'd think of 'bounding
off' into the open air, leaping
to my death over the heads of
others, my flying, descending,
carcass intruding on a scene,
disrupting everything, forever.
Or, with a heavy rope around
my neck leaping down to hang
myself, above the stage, above
the crowd and characters, and
I'd wonder - how long would
I be hanging there before they
cut me down, how rigorous a
task would that be, what
would happen?
-
I was only a 'stage-hand'
during my first year there.
Very soon after that (I was
also a 'page-turner' and
back-up organist for the
accompaniest to these
productions, who played
organ music during the
interludes, intermissions,
and when 'soundtracks'
and scenes demanded it.
That guy was John Banko).
Very soon after that I got
involved in the productions
themselves. One of the big
affectations there, was, for
those guys who weren't
really into the gung-ho
religious aspect of the
entire gig - such as me -
the Drama section afforded
a way out. We were a stringy
clique of our own; playing
jazz LP's at will, hanging
out, (and with black coffee)
in the separate lounge for
the stage people. It was
almost beatnik-like, if
you can consider 12 and
14 year olds beatnik-like.
This is where I first heard
John Coltrane music, and
Miles Davis, and numerous
others. Here I saw Jack
Ruby, on live TV, kill
Lee Harvey Oswald.
Malcolm X was killed,
and Winston Churchill
died. And even, as I recall,
Pope Paul VI visited NYC.
This was all big stuff to
my already stuffed, young
and growing mind.
-
The likes of all this had
led me into very strange
and deep positions. Lairs.
Situations. I was roaring,
and raring to go. Act One
was just about to get started.
was just about to get started.
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