Sitting In.

November 28, 2008 at 9:00 pm | Posted in links, music, writing | 18 Comments
Tags: ,

(scratching his head and lighting a cigarette) backlit olden days, we had to learn to sit in. I mean gigs were hard to get and you couldn’t learn a living with twenty minute solos. Touring artists who couldn’t afford to bring their own band, I saw Jimi squeezing the lizard into a light blue tux, Bootsy said, chuckling and handing me his sunglasses.

The best gig I ever had was in Berlin, sitting in on short notice with Bertolt Brecht, the arch conniver with a heart like Mother Courage. I looked over George Grosz shoulder as he sketched the audience, ha, and then who should step up to the microphone…

The leopard next to him arched its claws, relaxing in a way that accentuated their sharpness. Here, he said, take these, and handed me his sunnies, you’ll need them. Tell F. about Ozymandius and then go and play, that Herbie Hancock Riff
backwards.

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  1. Don’t worry. Just treat it as a tone poem about the sounds. I don’t expect anyone to ever make the connection between the links. Sheer selfindulgence as I say. It’s not important except to my biographer.

  2. This flows beautifully and the last para starts so sexual and flows into a nudge, wink, told you all along. I will have to wiki a few of these names, Mr Squires, but it is always a pleasure. Wish I’d seen Jimi do that, oh well.

  3. i like this enjoy read but im a little afraid to say anything cuz it seems like you gotta know something b4 even knowin sumthin
    or sumthing

  4. yes it is important to learn how to sit in gracefully and not just blow your own horn

  5. Okey dokey, I’ve edited in all the links. Now if anyone ever wants to figure out what’s it about they can. One of the things about blogging is that sometimes I want to make things just for me, I don’t want to take up people’s time or have anyone click links or do anything out of a sense of obligation. In fact, at the moment I’m not really blogging, I’m using the blog to extend the range of my writing, so I apologise.

  6. ((I laughed out loud at Bootsy and went oh! at F. I like the links – another layer clever brain ovaltine))

  7. what a link extravaganza! a virtual thanksgiving buffet to visit and revisit!

  8. A self-indulgent comment entitled: Hyperlinking.

    Hyperlinking, yes, in fact, Mr. Squires does it with aplomb. But a few years ago, when the old Mr. Squires was the young Mr. Squires learning to sit in, the concept of a hyperlink, let alone the thought of typing words onto a little glowing screen, would have set his hair on fire, and therefore also his brain. Hence, he would have died, and none of us would be reading this piece, hyper or otherwise. In fact, we would all probably be jazz musicians, doing our best to learn to sit in. Instead, thanks to the magic of hyperlinking, which we now take for granted, we’re sitting in reading Mr. Squires hyper, linkypoetry and thinking, “do these links mean something and, if they don’t, should they… when really, we should just be ordering up another drink and playing along, backwards.
    Cool, 3 dimensional nonlinear text used as pastiche or mosaic to make time-independent self-portrait inside a setting defined by the language and so on. Connecting a series of ideas about the meaning of art in society, the struggle for a meaningful definition of freedom, respecting the tradition by acknowledging one’s sources, connecting this work to the larger cultural and historical context in which it exists and I’ll stop now, I think and have a beer and watch some football.
    (of course, to determine whether the links mean something one would have to make the leap of faith required, time investment-wise to actually click them.)

  9. On lead guitar…Jimi Hendrix. On bass…Bootsy Collins. Funk groove by Herbie Hancock. Motive force supplied by Bertolt Brecht and George Grosz. Balancing being and nothingness, F. and Percy Shelley. And sitting in and watching on, Squires,

  10. and the photo at the top of the page looks like (if i squint) the young salvador dali sketching harpo marx and that fades so nicely into the loverly world created by this piece
    Thanks, Jason. I thought the pixallation created a 3d effect but it just upsets people’s eyes, so I set fire to the piano instead.

  11. Oh yeah! A fascinating hyper-window on your thoughts here, Paul.

  12. i have to include you among the wordartists whose riffs stir my imagination towards inspiration…

    just one of the reasons i keep coming back…

    peace:

  13. Excellent references stimulating both ideas and all the senses. Provocative, unique, so Ginga.

  14. the linkage is ultimate webbiness in 5D
    especially like the one that takes you off to immortality

  15. may i sit in too?

  16. this is what it’s all about, using the entire apparatus to it’s limits in an attempt to find your own.

    So the jam is a great metaphor!

    Keep the jam going, this could be a powerful form! I’ve made the occasional post with a ton of links before. I once wrote a story and used every link to every blog I’ve been to, repeating links as little as possible to tell it. I still have never posted it, though. Should do that one one day soon…

    Keep the jam going!

    Peace out

  17. The guy who opens the back entrance looks like Mr. Potato Head

    He is round, bald and wears a cowboy hat two sizes too small

    He has a security tee shirt with a tag hanging from his neck

    His massive paw swallows mine like a feeding octopus

    as he unclips a walkie-talkie microphone from his collar

    ” Rest of the show’s here Maggie.” I can smell the tic tac on his breath

    I am ushered down a hall into a room packed with equipment

    There are guys unpacking cords and pedals, smoking cigarettes

    One quickly gets up and asks if I am hungry, do I want a drink

    I tell him no and find a chair to sit in while I tune my guitar

    The stage manager comes in to talk with the crew, they all shuffle out

    I tap my calloused fingertips against a spare cymbol on a stand

    Then walk over to the backstage area to meet the guys in the band

    I get a cup of coffee and talk small talk with the bass player

    He tells me Lyle Lovett played here last week, kind of proud

    Out front people fill up the seats; talking at once low and loud

    “You’re that folk singer guy?” I’m asked by a man half my age

    “I heard you play up in Austin, You’re pretty good.” he says

    I tell him thanks and sit listening as the house band finishes up

    As I head toward the stage the roadie reaches out and takes my cup

    “Break a leg.” he says, winks to emphasize the words important cause

    I smile as I step out into the warmth of tonight’s footlights and applause

  18. Shoot, I’m sorry ’bout that, just had to do it. lol


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