renaissance man
Charlie – or later on, Charli – Persip isn’t quite as high profile name, drum wise, as Blakey or either of the Jones-es (see the Drum Night at Birdland discs, below).
Persip came to my attention just recently, on Hank Mobley’s Peckin’ Time. I feel I ought to check him out a bit. Maybe on his stuff with Dizzy Gillespie?
These instrument focussed gigs don’t always create the best music. But they are of course of interest, perhaps especially to those of us who play the featured instrument.
This post is a place to collect a bunch of recent stuff that doesn’t merit an entire post of its own.
I wish someone would put out a Complete Dr Strut, Remastered CD set! Otherwise I suppose I’ll have to get it – 1979’s eponymous debut, Dr Strut, that is – on vinyl.
Dr Strut were signed to Motown, no less! And their music is terrific. Tight funky jazz fusion. On the above pictured album, they do a sublime version of the otherwise unrecorded ‘Canadian Star’, by Becker & Fagen. And their drummer, sadly deceased, was the wonderfully named Claude Pepper!
The old green Ford, in the gallery above, reminds me of Leslie Nielsen’s/Frank Drebin’s Police Squad car. I a aw it delivering in the (?) area. On the same day, I think, and not too far away from the lilies, at the top of this post.
I treated Teresa and myself to lunch at The George, in Whittlesey. A Wetherspoons pub. Ham n’ eggs, with a latté.
We tried to look inside St Mary’s, but it was shut. So I’ve only got these exterior shots:
I’ve now got a hefty double shift, delivering out of the Peterboro’ Amazon depot. I hope they’re both nice easy routes, in pretty places.
Teresa has taken the day off, and is accompanying me on both shifts. ‘Compassionate leave’, looking after her effed-up casualty of a husband.
Had a quick peek in Bob’s Records. Not vast amounts that hits my musical bullseye. For example, the jazz selection wasn’t too exciting. And, like everything these days, vinyl is way too expensive.
But actually there was a respectable amount of music I really do like. E.g. lots of groovy vintage John Mayall. Some Sergio Mendes. And a Live at Newport, ‘72, featuring various artists – Curtis Mayfield, Les McCann, Herbie Mann, etc. – that I’d quite like.
LATER…
Well, the first shift was pretty ‘orrible. Esp’ the first chunk, which was lots of flats in central Peterboro’. Proper ‘orrid!
Between shifts we stopped in the environs of Mandeville (I think?), for a bit of refreshing greenery scenery.
The second shift was all over the shop. But more largely countryside-ish, which I far prefer. Both shifts I had to return a few undelivered items to the depot. I don’t like doing that. But I think it’s preferable to taking a chance on leaving stuff at an address and risking a ‘not received’ outcome.
We got back pretty late. Around 9.45 pm. The above is the view from the doorway of J & B Fish Bar, when I picked up our order of Chicken Chow Mein and Mushrump Foo Yung, for our late supper. Mmm… yummy!
I’m soooo grateful to Teresa, my darling wife for taking the day off to be sure I was ok. I had a very rough night and following morning. And having her by my side today really helped me get through things.
Dammit!
I’ve been drinking small amounts of alcky-hole, in the last week to ten days. By and large it’s been ok. Small amounts, and I’m alright.
But on at least two occasions, last night being one such, I went too far. I’ve got a bit of a sore throat. And that and my general low mood prompted me to buy another small bottle o’ Napoleon brandy.
And, predictably enough, just like last time, this proved foolish. Fortunately only extreme depression, loathsome tidal waves of self-pity, and a heightened desire to quit this wearisome life were all that followed.
I say ‘fortunately’ there, when perhaps one might wonder why, because it could’ve been a lot worse. I could’ve relapsed into other worse forms of self-abuse. I could’ve blown more money, that, as ever, I don’t have.
I wound up waking up at 3am, this morning, and having yet another chat – they’re daily at present – with The Samaritans. This time over an hour long.*
I worked yesterday, and that part of the day was good-ish. But sandwiched between extreme depression, total a-motivation, and a newly arrived weird sore throat, it didn’t stop me from re-lapsing into alcohol abuse.
So it’s back to tee-total, for the fore-seeable. Perhaps for good?
Teresa overheard some of my telephonic misery, about which I feel pretty awful. One good outcome of that, however, is that she’s taken a day off, ‘compassionate leave’, to keep an eye on me.
* If I ever attain sufficient levels of stability and happiness- not looking too likely, to be honest – maybe one day I could volunteer as a Samaritan listener?
I took Chester to Amical vets, for 9am. The lady vet shaved the area where he appears to be in pain. Nothing too clear, nor terrible, or even very visible. A couple of little light red marks. Not altogether clearly a bite. A tiny amount of swelling. And a bit of a raised temperature. Hmmm!?
This visit to the vet cost me £145! Phew… modern life, eh!?
Once home, I gave Chester his first dose of pills, in some Webbox. He guzzled it all down, pills included.
I then went out to the garden, and removed eleven buckets/tubs of soil, all of which have been dug out of the pond (although only about half today). And this lot isn’t all that I removed, in creating this feature.
I deepened both ponds, and the connecting channel. I then did my best to remove all the roots and stones that I could. Especially any on the bottom. I also compacted and flattened the soil.
If I don’t get another delivery shift. And I’ve had no joy trying so far. Then I’ll see if I can add weed-suppressant matting, and pond-liner, before I have to leave for my evening shift.
I have to blow my own horn (oh, how I wish I could!), re my recent ragu. It’s simply delicious. We’ve had three meals out of the batch I made most recently.
The three meats – beef, chicken liver, bacon, – and three veg – onion, carrot, celery – plus garlic, bay leaves, a little wine, and plenty of time cooking. It’s such a satisfying thing to cook and eat, if it comes out right. And this time it certainly did.
LATER…
Ha! Rather than do more pond work, I fell asleep, after watching the Romania vs Ukraine Euros match, on catch-up.
Oh dear. Teresa fell over and injured her head. I’ve had a car crash, and several ‘life crashes’. And now Chester has something up with his right-rear leg.
Teresa noticed he was out of sorts. She was worrying that he was sleeping too much. I was like, ‘Nah, he’s fine. That’s just what cats do.’ And, sure, they do naturally sleep a lot. But Teresa was right.
We investigated, and it quickly became apparent his rear end was not right. And he was meowing more often and more plaintively than normal. Finally he got out of his chair, and limped over to his food bowl.
Clearly he was trying not to use his right-rear leg. Bless him! Limping gingerly along. We’re tried to gently examine the area, and I’m taking him to the vets shortly. But I can’t see any obvious wounds.
I do hope he hasn’t been hit by a car. And that nothing serious has happened to him. Teresa and I have no spare money. What is the vet going to do/ask for?
It’s a bit of a crappy cheapskate way, perhaps? But it’s via affordable sets like the above that I’m able to get my ears around lots of new old jazz, at present.
If money (and space!) were no object, I’d love to have a swanky record player and hi-fi, and get these gorgeous babies as 12” vinyl. But that ain’t viable, under current circs.
And then there’s this’un:
All of this, plus the recent Freddie Hubbard and Dex’ G, has reminded me how much I love classic Hard Bop.
As well as the obligatory Miles and ‘Trane, some of which – Kind of Blue, Blue Trane, etc. – falls into the hard bop genre, I’ve got a ton of recordings by such quintessential hard boppers as Art Blakey and Horace Silver, and now also a fair amount of Freddie and Dex’.
But of course there’s tons more to explore. Cannonball Adderley, for starters. And then maybe a load of the more obscure names, be that Gigi Gryce, or Leo Parker.
It’s astonishing just how much music in this vein was made, between the late forties and mid-to-late sixties. Even on into the ‘70s, perhaps? And it appears I love it so much I simply can’t get enough.
Well… an addiction to Hard Bop has got to be better and more wholesome than many other types of addiction… surely!?
Well, misery and self-pity were off the charts this morning. But fortunately getting out and working helped me simmer down, eventually.
Another cue-card I had out today, was ‘Calm Down’. And, oh boy, did I ever need to!
Initially work wasn’t actually helping, but was aggravating. I’ve had a dip in my ‘standing’, which is the Amazon Flex way of rating performance.
Although I think my record should remain perfect and unblemished – as it had been for a good while – apparently one or two packages were not received. I’m questioning this.
But it seriously bummed me out.
My shift started with delivering in an area with extremely poor – for which read basically nonexistent – network coverage. This makes delivering much harder. And I was starting to get anything but calm!
So I checked into St Leonard’s, Glapthorn, for a five minute cool-down (whilst re-setting the app). It didn’t have the most potent effect. Not being the most glorious of churches. But it did help. I think?
Not much interest in the way of woodwork, or stained-glass. Mildly interesting mix of Anglo-Saxon style curved and Norman/Gothic pointed arches. But prob’ the best things are the font, some remnants of wall painting, and a few carved stone corbels..
I couldn’t linger long.
And to follow, a few pics from out and about, in the pretty countryside…
On the outskirts of the village of Woodnewton, I espied an unusual sight, in someone’s front room… organ pipes.
I knocked on the door and enquired. The gent who lived there very kindly showed me his massive organ (titter). He even sat down and played with it…
I thought my drums were loud. This thing was pretty damn powerful.
Sadly the short video I took totally fails to capture the sound in the room. In fact it sounds pretty poor, I think. Pity!
This unexpected encounter did more to lift my mood than the church visit, which surprised me. I think what I liked best about it was just how out of the ordinary run of things it was. And that the guy was friendly enough to share his front room and his music with a complete stranger.
Gulp… I’ve watched and enjoyed three or four Euros matches, so far. The opening Germany vs Scotland match was a great start. But now it’s England vs Poland… dare I watch?
It’s approaching half-time, as I type this. And England are 1-0 up, after a Saka-supplied Bellingham headed goal. But that’s a slim lead! And since then Serbia have had numerous shooting opportunities.
May the best team win. Of course. Do I have any National feeling? I grudgingly suppose I do have a little. But, as commentator Guy Mowbray just said, ‘England have gone off a bit.’
Well, phew… they’ve kept their lead till half-time. What’s the next 45 minutes got in store? More England goals, I hope. I’d love to see Kane put one or two away!
Later…
Hmmm!? England, eh? We won, one-nil. But the second half was excruciating. Serbia were all over us. Kane could’ve scored. He had a header on target. But, Rajkovic, the Serbian goalkeeper, made an excellent save.
Watching England play international football is a form of torture!
‘Stop The World, I Want To Get Off…’
This is how I feel right now. And sadly it’s neither a new nor an unusual state of mind, for me.
I’ve weathered a number of particularly unpleasant storms in the last couple of years. But instead of experiencing them as ‘what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger’ type events… Well, it’s more a case of being worn down by attrition.
To continue with the Anthony Newley schtick, ‘What kind of fool am I?’
What kind of man is this?
An empty shell
A lonely cell in which
An empty heart must dwell
Unlike Littlechap, the protagonist of the play/film (etc.) that the poster atop this post refers to, I’m not in a circus, nor do I have kids, a successful career, wealth, or a series of interesting lovers.
I’m just a ‘bona fido’ sad-sack loser. I don’t enjoy life. At least not enough to want more of it. Depression has been a near constant companion since mid- or even early-teens.
And what have I done with the life I do have? Feck all. Or at least feck all of any worth. Even of any worth just to me, or those around me.
Everything seems to me like a pointless and lamentable waste. A waste of time. A waste of energy. And as time passes, this makes me more and more bitter and angry. What’s the fucking point!?
I realise that I’m not this way all the time. And sometimes I’m actually happy. Or just ‘comfortably numb’, as The Floyd had it.
When I was a child
I caught a fleeting glimpse
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone
I cannot put my finger on it now
The child is grown,
The dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb.
(Pink Floyd [lyrics, Roger Waters)
Writing like this, to my surprise, seems to help a bit. Maybe just venting a little is ok? I’ve found calls to The Samaritans helpful. So much so I’ve gone from thinking they are totally useless (poss’ even harmful!?), to becoming almost dependent on them.
I guess I need to go back and get more ‘help’? But I don’t really want to. And therein lies one of the worst aspects of the depressed state: lack of motivation.
In fact it’s kind of worse than a pure absence of motivation. Only when I’m actively doing something else, e.g. my Amazon delivery work, do I feel motivated to do other stuff. But as soon as I get home, poof! That’s gone. And I slump back into the slough of despond.
I can dream up schemes when I'm sitting in my seat
I don't see any flaws 'til I get to my feet
I wish I never woke up this morning
(The Police, Darkness [Stewart Copeland])
I’m seriously tempted to just brutally chuck out a ton of stuff I’ve accumulated over the years, as I feel that ‘all my shit’ – both physical and mental – is quite literally doing my head in.