Big brass fix

Those cases lined up over at the Square could only mean one thing -- tubas! A chance for a great big brass fix. At 4 o'clock, the schedule said.

Yesterday's event? A benefit for the Prescott High School marching band, which needs the money for a trip to a London competition come January. Below, the requisite Tshirt, which was also the costume of the day for loads of kids from the high school.

Promptly at 4 p.m., there they were, tubas galore, climbing up to the stand in front of Bucky O'Neill. Couldn't help myself; I just kept taking pictures of those big, beautiful oom-pah instruments.

Two tubas...

three tubas...

five... and (below) I do believe that the little fellow at the end also is tooting a tuba, making for a total of six. I wonder: is there a minimum age or size requirement before a kid dare take up this huge horn?

Big bass drums, too.

Of course, there were also other brass instruments. Maybe even a fife or glockenspiel. That's what a marching band is all about. Not a single guitar -- for a change. Nor keyboard. I recall when pop music was all about brass and reeds. Remember, Bennie Goodman & Artie Shaw (clarinet) ... Louis Armstrong (trumpet) .. Tommy Dorsey (trombone). Admittedly, I can't recall any tuba players on yesterday's pop scene.

OK, I don't have a word for the banner players. But they were out in force. First cousins to drum majorettes, I guess, but without the gymnastics.

There were even Union Jacks fluttering on the Sunday afternoon breezes. A reminder of the reason for all that music on the Square.

Linkage: Let's start off with a new Prescott blogger that Tombo brought to my attention -- Sam-in-AZ, who recently moved here as a Vista volunteer. He's published several posts with a newbie's eye view of our fair town; kinda fun seeing what catches the attention of a newcomer. Plus: his background color is R.E.D. Oddball Observations sent me over to a lovely video of cats getting high on catnip. Lastly, Pop Mechanics introduces the dark side of sunflowers.

The jam session scene

Batterman's posted the sign above very, very recently. Now we have two folk music jam sessions per week. Monday night at JB's and Tuesday night at Batterman's. Anyone: are there other sessions open to the public/wandering musicians?

For that matter, what ever happened to those Real Jam Sessions (which is to say jazz) promoted by Rich Oxley at one time.

Links Galore: Let's start out in Europe. Steve at Photos & More caught images of mushrooms and morning dew; Lucy of Box Elder posted spiderweb photographs to die for; down in OZ, Meggie followed one spider as it spun a pretty little web, and back here in Prescott, Dagny weighs in with a cool spider portrait. It's beginning to feel like Halloween, what with all this arachnid photography!

Flamenco! Ole!

The troupe was exciting! They were really very good! I hadn't expected this level of talent from a local crew. After all, this is just a city of 40,000 or so population.

The occasion was the Rio Flamenco show at the Elks Opera House last night. Gypsy music from Andalusia has been my most favorite for longer than I can remember. My own deepest involvement with the form (aside from bruising the palms of my hands by loud clapping to accompany guitar music played by friends, my husband or WFMT) came the night my daughter was born.

My husband had made a connection with a guitar player whose flamenco style was excellent (though he really wanted to be taken seriously, i.e., Bach partitias). Said guitarist knew a young woman dancer from Guatamala who was coming to Chicago. We had another friend, a male dancer who knew enough of the steps to serve as foil to the star.

All was arranged for the back room of an Old Town saloon: two movie cameras, a sound person, assorted handy persons, guitarist and dancers. One night only. All volunteers.

I was very pregnant. I owed the magazine a column (way past deadline.) My daughter chose that day to arrive. Husband had to leave my side to keep his date.

The baby arrived while the troops were shooting the dancers. Once over, husband showed up to see me and his new daugher. He said, "she's beautiful!" To this day, I've never known whether he was referring to the daughter -- or the dancer!

The sad denouemont of this tale: we were poor at the time; the dance session was shot on war surplus black/white film and it sat around the apartment for several months because of the high cost of professional processing, especially for old film. Finally, my husband (an engineer by trade) built his own processing machine out of wood, film spools, rubber and stainless steel sheets. We processed the film one hot Chicago summer night. The film reticulated and the beautiful dancer had an alligator skin! End of grand plan.

Rio Flamenco has a website (but lacks a smoldering male dancer.) The musicians only will give two shows May 12 at the Sharlot Hall Blue Rose theatre. Mexican and Latin music. Put it on your schedule!

Serendipity & Sprawl: a Good Sunday

Surprises. I love 'em. Take today. Walked downtown. (Literally. It's a hundred or so feet downhill.) Figured I'd do a post on the walk. Then Sharlot Hall lured me in for more photography. Another possible post. However, I needed a telephone to call a cab to visit Mom.

And discovered, wonder of wonders, that Prescott Coffee Roasters was open. Of a Sunday afternoon. Full of people. And a guitar player. In I went.

On the left at the entrance, big decorated drops of water to Save the Verde river. Causes and coffee houses have always been a matched pair. Can't say I disagree with this particular Cause.

Here's the scene looking toward stage front. This was one of the many shows currently being organized by Silver Wolfe, who also compiles the local arts & entertainment listings for Read It Here, among other activities.

I couldn't resist looking up at that wonderful pressed tin ceiling. Roasters is in the old shopping strip just west of the creek on Gurley Street.

The guitarist/songster/harmonicist is Paul Sprawl. One of his songs dealt with a homeless misfit he met twice in 10 years, the second time as both walked down the railroad tracks toward each other. What could be more reminiscent of Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. But back in those early days of folk music, we had hoboes, not homeless and there was a certain element of dash and romance associated with the country's wanderers. No more. Now it is largely mawkish capital-C Concern. Not from this guy, by the way. But then he considers himself a vagabond.

Of course, coffee-and was available.

Art work, too. By someone(s) very much into the deep sea: mantas (above) and cephalopods (below.)

Part of the art that forms the frieze at the front of the shop. Below, the machine that gives the shop its name.

I certainly applaud the return of the coffee house. Reminds me of my youth; it even reminds my daughter of her very early years, when she learned the body language of chess long before she understood the game. We were having dinner at The Raven last week after the Lippizaner show. Daughter looked around at the decor, the musicians and the customers and wondered where were the chess and go players. Pity -- I suppose that the laptop has replaced the game board. And on this note of nostalgia, I also find myself wondering if the No Exit, which served at least two generations of rebels in North Chicago/Evanston, survived to enjoy the modern renaissance of the coffee house. Anybody know?

Music to My Ears

Long before music from Jamaica and France and Ethiopia and India and Bali and all points East and West was repackaged as Politically Correct, Multi-Cultural World Music, I developed a taste for popular and folk music from assorted corners of the globe.

After all, I did live in Chicago, where obscure little radio stations were beamed to the many ethnic groups in the city. Programs such as the Sakura Hour -- and plenty of polkas -- were the meat and potatoes of the AM dial and fun to listen to.

But maybe I should thank Mike Nichols. Yes, that Mike Nichols. His movie career didn't take off until several years after his first public performance -- as a DJ on that original model for every Good Music Station, WFMT in Chicago. Mike's late Saturday night show was called "The Midnight Special," featuring primarily the Pete Seeger/Woody Guthrie variety of American folk music. (Note: this show is still on the air, over 50 years later!)

But he did introduce his listeners to more exotic fare periodically. He had a favorite album featuring a sexy Egyptian lady who probably would be stoned by the Muslim Brotherhood these days. He played a wonderful flamenco LP that included a chilling version of the saetas (a religious processional.) And I'm pretty sure that I heard South American flute music on that show, as well.


Which is the reason I made it down to the Kokepelli Kitsch show on the Square today -- an announcement in the Courier that Andean Nation had the official platform this year; the last time I heard a similar group here, they were busking -- as were the flute players that frequented Old Town Victoria during the tourist season a few years back.

I popped for a CD -- but not a pipe; I'm long past the age when it would be easy to learn an instrument.


Just as haunting as the Bolivian/Peruvian/ Ecuadorian music is fado, from Portugal. I had the good fortune to first hear this music in a Lisbon courtyard. As the World Music Center explains: "whatever its origins, its themes have remained constant: destiny, betrayal in love, death and despair. A typical lyric goes: 'Why did you leave me, where did you go? I walk the streets looking at every place we were together, except you’re not there.' It’s a sad music and a fado performance is not successful if an audience is not moved to tears."

Popular music from India is usually more upbeat, especially movie music -- a lush and fascinating blend of Eastern and Western styles. To get a quick taste, go to the official web site for Krrish. This hit is an Indian version of Superman. Yes, he does leap tall buildings in a single bound! But this movie is from the Sub-Continent, which means a requisite number of song-and-dance numbers, too.


Reggae never quite filled the bill for me; don't know why. On the other hand, restaurants in Chicago's Greek town down around Halstead & Taylor were for all practical purposes night clubs, with musical entertainment (and belly dancers, of course). Great sounds. I also liked Edith Piaf in her day. Not to mention Japanese pop music.

And let me close with this admission: I was thrilled the day a bagpiper showed up in the alley, piping for all he was worth.

Did I happen to mention J.S. Bach......