The Kitchen Cinq

Dear Joe,

As promised, here is my full review of When the Rainbow Disappears: A Drama Worthy of The Kitchen Cinq.

As for the first slab, I’m happy to report it sounds like the product of a kick ass rock band from Amarillo, not a polished product of Lee Hazlewood, Svengali, LSD kidnapper, etc. I was afraid they would sound like a pop group caught in his reverberated web of eccentricity.  Much as I love nearly everything Lee caught in that web, this band sounds like they were their own men.

Sides One and Two sounds like a lost classic LP, filled with nimble pop and rolling rock, no dud tracks here. Any one of these cuts would hold their own on a Nuggets compilation of mid 60s singles. Here are a few highlights as I listened.

The pregnant pause in the chorus of You’ll Be Sorry Someday is worth the price of admission alone.  Nice speedy cover of Neil Diamond’s Solitary Man next. Determination is a charmer too.  Please Come Back to Me gets into Jeff Beck era Yardbirds territory, in a good way. Codine brings it back to American folk rock, great Buffy Sainte-Marie tune.

I was surprised to hear them go into a full acoustic pop ballad, along the lines of the Everly Brothers, on For Never We Meet. Thus ends side one.

I’ve just realized I’m too old and slow to write about this energetic group of young men, so I’m brewing more coffee to keep up. Side Two away. Young Boy kicks it off, appropriately enough. All harmonies and harmonica. These boys can really sing. Harmonies continue on Last Chance to Turn Around, sweet like the Hollies.  In fact they do a Hollies cover a few tracks later called I Can’t Let Go. The Lee Hazlewood penned Need All the Help I Can Get sounds more like an original they worked up in a sweaty Amarillo garage than something written for Nancy Sinatra or Dean Martin.  Credit to their producer Suzi Jane Hokom for getting the best out of them, and letting them be themselves.  Side Two closes with a Zombies-ish number called (Ellen’s Fancies) Ride the Wind.

And on to the bonus LP. Some nice cuts in the bands prehistory here as The Illusions and The Y’alls.  Figareaux Figareaux is a real gemstone.  Great drums and organ.  These guys have awesome rock n roll names, by the way.  Mark Creamer. Johnny Stark.  Hell yes. Nice take on the mandatory cover of Gloria.

Great fuzzy cover of Run For Your Life. I love how bands like this expanded the sinister side of The Beatles universe. So much to be praised here. The brevity, hooks, speed and punch. Some say rock n roll died around 1966, and I can hear how in a way it never got better than this.  Longer yes. Harder. But pushed past its natural limit, eventually forming the scrap metal wasteland of Black Sabbath (who as a rockist I love, but that’s another review for another time).

Anyway, back to the record.  Side 4 gives up some melancholic beauty called Wasn’t It You. Since they recorded a lot in LA, there were hired guns piling in to the studio. Tandyn Almer brings the baroque pop on The Street Song, an Al Kooper tune. And the Wrecking Crew put in some good work.

You can hear the record biz weariness here on Side 4.  Some sweet vocals about dying flowers and cocaine.  As one band member puts it in the excellent liner notes: “LA ate us all alive.”

I’m getting downbeat here, but I have to say thank you so much for this record!  It rules. And it was so good to see you again up in LA, and I’m glad we’re still around to tell the tales.  So glad to hear about your latest projects, especially the Light in the Attic record of your own.  Such a groovy label.

Sorry to break the news about the passing of Patrick Crosby and Paul Grillo.  Sad to say Jennifer and I have lost several in our group of LA friends over the years.  An unexpected part of my psychic experience out here is dealing with death, to be honest. As our young Lyft driver said on the way to meet you at El Coyote: “There’s a reason they called it the City of Angels.”

But for now I think I’ll spin Aretha: Lady Soul and enjoy this coffee on my day off here. I’m forever grateful for these beautiful round relics of the 20th century.

Long live records!

Yours,

Joe

 

 

 

Letter to a friend who died

Dear Bob,

I wish you could’ve been with us last Friday. A friend of mine was in town and had just interviewed David Crosby. I can’t think of any aspect of Crosby Stills Nash Young without thinking of you. I was just being born when the first CSN album came out, and you were graduating high school. I’ve always been a sucker for that sixties and seventies stuff, born at the wrong time I suppose. I was looking back at rock n roll from a kind of historical perspective, while sincerely loving it at the same time. Rhino Records was my favorite record label because of their excellent reissues.

Much later I met you and was turned on to the full CSNY body of work, in all its variations and branches. I was a solid Neil Young fan before we met, but you turned me on to Deja Vu, 4 Way Street, Manassas and the mind-blowing LP If I Could Only Remember My Name by David Crosby. I remember (barely!) those hours listening to it at maximum volume, even jamming a bit on guitar to Cowboy Movie with you. It felt like we really got inside the music together, as if it were another dimension we were exploring together.

I’ve seen photos of you in your younger days, and you looked a lot like David Crosby did back then. I always meant to ask you how intentional that was. It makes me smile now.

Anyway, Crosby gave my friend some great promotional swag, and he passed some my way. Got the CSNY 1974 box set from Rhino Records, and I’m listening to it as I type this. Almost Cut My Hair is playing. Also got some very rare looking red 10″ vinyl of Croz.

Wish we could listen to it together my friend. You loved music intensely your entire life, and that’s a special quality. You were kind enough to share it with your friends.

Love,

Joe

Best Birthday

We got to the cemetery a little before 3pm. It wasn’t a scheduled stop, but it was a place Jennifer wanted to go. We had tried to go to Griffith Park Observatory, but the parking lot was full, orange cones and cars everywhere. We kept cruising down the exit road, carved curves in the drought-dry brush. It was Friday afternoon.

We felt the anxiety of being in LA traffic with no place to go. She decided on North Hollywood or thereabouts, maybe it was time to visit the grave of actor Willie Best. It was her birthday, so we did what she wanted.

There was at least one funeral service going on there, and we were shy about asking the staff for the location of a celebrity grave. A search on my phone gave us the details, and we found the humble grave stone after a bit of looking around.

She had been reading about Willie Best and felt like he had never gotten a fair shake. Here’s a bit from Wikipedia:

“Best was alternately loved as a great clown, then later in the 20th century reviled and pitied, before being virtually forgotten in the passage of time. Hal Roach called him one of the greatest talents he had ever met. Similarly, comedian Bob Hope acclaimed Best as “the best actor I know.”

Aside from the difficulties of being an African-American actor in that period, Best also struggled with drug charges and then cancer, which took him at age 45. His grave was unmarked until fans paid for this stone.

Moab, Utah

We got to Moab and found it to be a town long on charm and quirk. There was a drive thru espresso place manned by friendly longhaired youths. There was hilariously named craft beer available in the stores.

Even a brewpub with a funny name. Thus my greatest fears about Mormon country–having no coffee and no beer–were set aside.

“No gods. No masters.”– Bathroom graffiti in Eddie McStiff’s brewpub, Moab, Utah.

There was also a fantastic little breakfast place called Eklecticafe. Get the banana nut pancakes or anything else. It really feels like you’re in your cool aunt’s house, surrounded by a garden.

Murals and architecture keep the artistic feel around town.

I heart you too Moab.

In Between

We found something in between two very famous places. This is how it goes on the road sometimes. It’s not just blank spaces between highlights. Not just city airport to white clouds to city airport. This is why the road is better, the car is better.

I left the epic space of Monument Valley reluctantly. It was late morning and we wanted to get to Moab and explore a bit before finding a motel.  Our official destination was Arches National Park. So we headed North on Highway 163 to get to Hwy 191 for the 3 hour trip. We found Mexican Hat about 22 miles up the road in Utah. Population 31.

Then we saw this as we headed north. Not sure what the official name of this formation is. I’d be willing to bet there are some unofficial names for it.

We didn’t stop at the Twin Rocks Cafe, but it looks promising.

I love the places in between the destinations. This is where the best surprises are found. Hope you get out there soon.

Monument Valley

Somewhere along the way I became less interested in big ideas and more interested in big places. Monument Valley, however, has equal measures of both. It’s John Wayne and John Ford and America and the Navajo Nation. Deprivation in the desert and world famous tourism.

We spent the night in the town of Kayenta, on the Arizona side. We rode up to Monument Valley the next morning. I remember looking for signs showing we had crossed the Utah border but there were none I could see. We were no longer in the USA. We were in the Navajo Nation. Jennifer had read in the trusty Moon guidebook that photography of the Navajo people was not allowed without permission. Good thing to know.

Don’t expect the paved roads of the US National Parks. This is a Navajo Tribal Park. There are guides with Jeeps available for hire. We tried to make a go of it in my little Sentra and didn’t make it far past the Mittens before turning around. Too much dirt and hills and potholes to trust anything not 4×4.

There’s also a nice hotel built into the landscape:

You can also recreate shots from Hollywood films. Here’s one (Forrest Gump not included):

Sunset Crater Volcano National Monument, Arizona, USA

It’s about open space. Clear air in high elevations. Fields of yellow wildflowers. That’s what we found outside Flagstaff. The huge amount of flowers were a little unexpected.

But there they are, everywhere. In the fields and growing by the side of the road. Thousands of ambassadors to greet you. Welcome to the real Arizona.

After a night on the town we cleared the cobwebs out here at the Sunset Crater Volcano National Monument. Black rock hills with stubborn pines growing on them. Volcanism.

 

 

Twisted trees and more flowers and peace and quiet.

 

A long-haired American once sang: “You belong among the wildflowers. Far away from your trouble and worry. You belong somewhere you feel free.”

Flagstaff, Arizona

The next stop on our Route 66/I-40 trip was Flagstaff, and it was great. We headed straight for the historic downtown area for a look around. We walked to the Flagstaff Brewing Company for beers and sandwiches in the sun. So nice.

This is my happy face.

Can’t find a photo of a full glass of beer from this adventure.

Then we explored a bit more and got to the fantastic Monte Vista Lounge for early evening drinks. This bar is a must see. They have a hotel too, but we weren’t able to book a room at the last minute. They had rooms without baths available (historic!) but we weren’t having it.  Anyway, the bar is awesome:

They have a stage for live bands and a dance floor.

We met a band from Echo Park in LA who were preparing for their gig. I wish I could remember their name.

There was bourbon too.

About the booze, I feel duty bound to issue a warning about this potential road hazard on your trip. Be especially careful not to drink too much on the first night of your road trip. Odds are it’s probably one of your longer driving days, especially if you are escaping the cyberpunk dystopian Hell-sprawl that is Los Angeles. You’re probably very keyed up and it’s the first night of vacation and you’ve got to blow off steam, right? Yes, but be careful. You may find yourself dehydrated, exhausted, road-numb, drunk and ornery by the end of the night. You may even get into a bit of an argument back in your room at the nearest Travelodge. An argument culminating in the most dreaded words to be heard on a long road trip: “Take me home!”

When the scene at the bar starts to look like this, then you’ve had quite enough and you should cool it. Take it from a man who knows.

Save a little of yourself for the next day. There is so much to explore.

 

 

 

Williams, Arizona on Route 66

Arizona. I forget how many times I’ve been to this state. Ten? Twenty? Words like amazing, majestic, epic, beautiful, fascinating will just give you a hint as to what it has to offer. I can’t think of a serious road trip in the American Southwest without it. Here’s a very thin slice of Arizona for your consideration.

Jennifer and I drove east through the Mojave desert of California on Interstate 40. The Interstate replaced the historic Route 66, The Mother Road. If you’re inclined (and I hope you are) you can get off the main interstate and cruise some of Route 66 itself, running roughly parallel to I-40. You’ll see a fair amount of Harley Davidson riders doing this.

One great thing about road tripping is the random surprise you’ll encounter. A dog sitting patiently in an old truck. A strange orb at the side of the road. Groovy rest area design. You just can’t get this kind of thing in an airplane full of annoying strangers.

We stopped in the town of Williams for coffee on this trip. It’s 35 miles west of Flagstaff, and it is definitely worth a couple of hours stop on your journey, or even an overnight stay if you need a good dinner (Rod’s Steak House!) and some rest (many affordable little motels). Some travelers use this town as a base to visit the Grand Canyon. For this trip though, it was just coffee and a walk around the historic downtown. Williams was established in 1874, and the entire downtown area is on the National Register of Historic Places, according to my trusty Moon Arizona Handbook. Lots of good Route 66 atmosphere here too.

 

 

Get out there.

The Starting Line

This is how it all started really. Jennifer and I had been traveling for years, 10 years at least, before this. But something about the little digital pocket camera used here inspired me/us to keep going out there, keep going further down the road, for longer stretches of time. I thought I was the world’s worst photographer in the film camera era, but this little nothing-to-lose Canon point and shoot began to tell me a different story. I started to capture moments, some even in good light and in focus and even decently composed. To be honest I’m not sure which one of us took this photo. But anyway, this is us getting close to the 91 freeway, headed toward the dawn light of the east. There is no better feeling than leaving this town this way.