SONGS ON TRAINS

One of the most classic aspects of New York City is songs played on the trains. I’m not referring to everyone’s iPods that have now replaced the New York Times or Mitch Albom’s new inspirational, yet not really inspirational at all, book – or whatever reading material that riders used to use to avoid staring at all the other riders. I’m talking about the bum that walks on the train who has no grasp of our reality anymore, but has the guitar strapped to his back – and starts singing “Nowhere Man” (Song #1). Now, I know I just called him a bum, but singing a song about me was just straight-up rude. Here I am on my way to the interview stage of NYC Teaching Fellows – “Oh, Garrett, you’ve gotten an interview to teach…good for you…what are you gonna teach?”…-“No…no…not a real interview…interview to get into……well, who really cares…I’m trying to tell a story here.” …I am on a train to my future of being a History teacher and by the voice of this here writing you can tell I’m pursuing this career with vengeance. People say to not dwell on the past, but I can’t help it. I’m very nostalgic and I want to teach History! So, MC Bum is playing “Nowhere Man” and he asked, “Isn’t he a bit like you and me”, and the person next to me and I look at each other, shook our heads, smiled in agreement like the losers in the audience of a comedy club that clap and shake their heads at each other instead of fucking laughing… …It was pretty cool though because that’s exactly how I felt on my way to an interview for a career I really will never per say pursue. One day I’ll eventually find myself in front of a high school class, living “Nowhere Man” and telling tomorrow’s leaders how the American Civil War was a myth – slavery still exists and my buddy Nate is in South Carolina right now trying to secede from the Union…I’m even living that song right now as I write. Did I ever pursue living alone in NYC, a city filled with 8 million people who I don’t know, and while watching Desperate Housewives (yeah I fucking watch it, Eva Longoria is one of the greatest of all time), writing an excerpt for my new blog that I’m thinking of calling “Songs on Trains”…yaw, this is what I pursued since I was 12, playing shortstop for the Little League Cardinals – then a “Nowhere Little Shit Wiseass”…and I’m still a wiseass. George Bush will enjoy this one. I’m a wiseass because instead of reading books, I sit on them… …but here I am writing for this blog and in all honesty, music is often played on NYC trains and it fascinates me. Yeah, I just got a ruling. I can say fascinating. Hearing “Nowhere Man” actually made me relax and just say fuck it…let’s do this five minute teaching lesson and whatever happens, happens. I’m not saying it made my day or any sentimental crap like that. What made my day was finishing my lesson about the Civil War and then getting to stare at the cleavage sitting in the next desk while others presented their lessons… …for now I’m just going to write anecdotes about songs on trains and who knows, maybe it will lead somewhere – for now I’m waiting for that bum to get back to me so I can interview him about why he chose “Nowhere Man”, and plus, he’s supposed to teach me how to play guitar. I gave him my email…all-n-together now – Beatles – “Nowhere Man”

He's a real nowhere Man,
Sitting in his Nowhere Land,
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody.
Doesn't have a point of view,
Knows not where he's going to,
Isn't he a bit like you and me?
Nowhere Man, please listen,
You don't know what you're missing,
Nowhere Man, the world is at your command.
He's as blind as he can be,
Just sees what he wants to see,
Nowhere Man can you see me at all?
Doesn't have a point of view,
Knows not where he's going to,
Isn't he a bit like you and me?
Nowhere Man, don't worry,
Take your time, don't hurry,
Leave it all till somebody else lend you a hand.
He's a real Nowhere Man,
Sitting in his Nowhere Land,
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody.

...lil' sidebar...

I like writing the word SOUL - - because I've got it -- like Van Morrison.

Jonathan Richman Live @ The Knitting Factory

Last Saturday I went to see Jonathan Richman at the Knitting Factory in NYC. It has taken a week to write this and that’s the kind of affect the performance had on me. I was entertainted, but saw more of a comedian than a musician…don’t jump to conclusions on me yet though…I enjoyed myself…The Knitting Factory was a small venue (approx. 200 peeps there), a pretty cool place to see live music, most of crowd was mid-30s-40s…all that thought JR was hilarious…however, as funny as we think he is, we showed up to hear his music…recognizable songs for me were “Dancing at the Lesbian Bar” and “Pablo Picasso” (‘never called an asshole’)…both two very funny songs, but JR isn’t Adam Sandler and we listen to these songs for the music and then additional chuckles…JR was joined only by a drummer…we’ll call him “boy” and he didn’t add much…and unfortunately JR’s instrumentation didn’t either……playing off the crowds enthusiasm for comedy, JR spun his g-tar around often, doing some comical dances…I don’t give out thumbs or anything, but I’ll just say I don’t know the last song JR played or whether he got an encore…I left before that could happen…after I finished my 6 buck Boddingtons…I will certainly check out future bands playing at the Knitting Factory again…and would like to eventually see Jonathan Richman with a band…

...lil sidebar...

..yeah...yeah...I'm thinking...thinking of painting my ass black and walking down the avenue, pulling my pants down, and asking the passerbys to kiss my black ass...



...oh yeah...picked up Norah Jones' "Not Too Late", and Regina Spektor's "Begin to Hope" today...I know...I have got to work on my transitions from paragraph to paragraph...I'm just pretty excited about my purchase...too early to give full reviews...but after first listen...Norah adds another solid performance with her first album with all her own lyrics...seems a little more comical and freewheelin...also gets a little political on songs "Sinkin' Soon" and "My Dear Country"...I like...if you're a musician nowadays and don't come out with at least A token political song then you're no longer a musician...


...and Regina I have never heard before...her single "Fidelity" is a song my punkrockin' bro will say he doesn't like, but if you have ears, you fooking like it!...they say...and by they you know exactly who (whom?...what is the damn rule?) I'm referring to...THEY say Regina is anti-folk...and I will correct THEY because nobody really claims to be anti-folk...that's just corny - that is off the cob and G don't like corn off the cob...she definitly makes pop music but it's still good...I'll add to this after more listens if it is necessary...although I'm about to add pictures...two of them...so that will add 2,000 more words...that should be enough...later...one love?...

...lil sidebar with Obama, Ms. Jones, and de Grammys...

60 Minutes

...eh more like…more like 40 minutes because of the commercials…and eh more like 30 minutes because some of the topics just aren’t interesting…eh and more like 20 minutes because the actual headlining topics turn out to be not so great as advertised…mide as well just watch advertisements for the headlining topics…and after that it ends up being a 1 minute segment and we can conclude Barack Obama rhymes with Osama and he used mary jane (inhaled because he ain’t inhale although his middle name is Hussein) and used candy…and Norah Jones um…on the next 60 minutes…Grammy’s following and this time we promise real music and this is obvious by having Justin Timberlake as the spokesman for music’s biggest stage (I thought their actually concerts were) and Justin doing his version of American Idol...

Grammy’s
…the Police are back…New Orleans wondering when the governments coming back…I bet that Stung…some bands say they are back and get the response of - why?...Roxanne must be confused – other than being a garden tool, she doesn’t know whether to turn on the red light or not…

…Chicks with – watch yo mouth…Dixie Chicks perform “Not Ready to Make Nice” and introduced by Joan Baez…where’s Bob???...think I asked same question last year...don’t know about you, but I can’t wait for Timberlake to perform…in fact, I will not wait…I’m gonna put it on mute and put my Justin CD on until he performs live...

…now, the Dixie Chicks aren’t my favorite musical flavor, but I’d rather see them perform the whole show than see Timber (Lake and Land) or Beyonce and the Black Eyed Peas…I’m gonna throw up during these performances…well maybe not during Beyonce…sexual chocolate…sexual chocolate…

…performances I’m truly looking forward to are Corrine Bailey Rae, the Chili Peppers and John Mayer…let’s get a surprise appearance by Ben Harper, Dylan, Jack White…or Cat Power…fooking shit…

…well…Justin Timberlake was Justin Timberlake…I like the dude…he’s actually pretty funny and has a resume of females all dudes would love to have – but his music simply…sucks…he probably knows it though…wish the Grammy’s did…come on Grandma…

Fergie (female from Black Eyed Peas)…sounds like an overgrown bush…

Corrine, John and John are performing together – I’m pretty excited…I respect John Legend; he serves himself better by surrounding himself with the likes of Rae and Mayer…not exactly a collaboration on the performance, but cool to see them on stage together…little disappointed Mayer played “Gravity”…has better and newer songs from album “Continuum”…but I don’t decide these things…maybe someday......we will all be free…

…Dixie Chicks’ “Not Ready to Make Nice” wins song of year…Cat Power’s “The Greatest” album I guarantee has a better song; every track is probably better, but at least these Chicks with – shut yo mouth…say something…

…Mary J. Blige to you but I just go with Mary J. because I’m Ryan Seacrest…not a huge fan of Mary…but hey…she’s a recovered drug addict and now is performing at the Grammy’s and that’s why she performs the way she does…good for her…moving on…without the Crest of Sea…

…stopped watching for an hour until Christina Aguilera performed…why does she perform like that, which again isn’t my musical flavor, but still good…and still insist on making really shitty songs?...-“it’s a man’s world”…oh ok…

…not an everyday fan of Ludacris but “Runaway Love” ain’t a bad song…good for him for finally saying something in a rap song…still shouldn’t be Grammy worthy…

…interest faded as the best music of the year never showed up…

...The Raveonettes' Concert..

About a month ago, JK and I (G-Man) went to a concert of his choice, The Raveonettes…they were visiting NYC and that night played in Brooklyn, our home borough, at “Southpaw”…a solid venue for a concert, small enough to get a good spot for viewing, but large enough to leave room in between the smelly stranger you got stuck standing next to…going into the concert, I remained open-minded because that’s just the way that I am…this was JK’s band, and previously I’d listened to the Raveonettes…I liked the music, but was turned off by the apparent voice distortion of vocalists, Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo…JK advised, “When in doubt, just stare at Ms. Foo…she never fails to entertain”…and I quickly observed she was sporting the cleavage for tonight…how thoughtful…

…We got there an hour early for entrance into “Southpaw”…this was to get good spots, and to throw down drinks…another method to create entertainment for self in case the music didn’t supply enough…we maintained by the bar, and I was leaning against it, showing off my backside, for I was wearing my new pair of tighter jeans…JK hit me on the shoulder, which I didn’t appreciate, but he did so to point out that Sharin Foo just walked by…I forgave him…he had informed me that she was white and Asian, a deadly combo, but I didn’t believe it until now…me and Tokyo Rose will make beautiful kid’s…that is for sure…

…A question for Microsoft Word…why does one have to capitalize Asian, but not white?...furthermore…

…Ms. Foo proceeded to sell merchandise to the suckers that were lured by her attractiveness…not sure whether the white or Asian magnet was more powerful tonight…

…Ms. Foo put away the t-shirts and headed for the stage…the concert started and JK and I had a solid spot…one diagonal to the stage and next to the bar…a quick slap to Charlie the bartender and we wouldn’t miss a note while maintaining the drunken zone we had achieved pre-concert…

…Seeing the Raveonettes live changed my mind…as said before, I had liked the music, but seeing them live subtracted the distortion from their voices, equaling some pretty cool music…I imagine their music is similar to parents, fans of 50s and 60s music, seeing their kids create their own version of that era…I’m now a fan of the Raveonettes…unfortunately, the burned copy of their CD JK had is all scratched and not listenable...this is not due to JK being a DJ…the Raveonettes had a real nonchalant vibe to them, in a good way, ending one song and quickly going into the next…

…What ruined the night was what I thought would make it…being next to the bar turned me into the doorway between concert and drink – so the whole concert I heard “Excuse Me, Sorry”…I almost began thinking this was a Raveonettes' classic their fans wanted to hear…but whatever, I now have a new band to waste money on…I recommend seeing the Raveonettes live, along with “Southpaw” as a venue…but…I can’t believe I’m giving this advice…stay away from the bar?...

Bob Dylan's Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie - best thing ever written

Below is Bob Dylan’s Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie followed by something I wrote (Cliché) that wouldn’t have been written without me hearing Last Thoughts. I didn’t write it as a reaction, or because of, but more so I wrote it and then looked back and realized Dylan’s influence. I have so much to say about this spoken word, but don’t want to say too much – because chances are my words wouldn’t add anything to it. For now, please take my suggestion and FIRST LISTEN to Bob recite it before you read it. His voice still resonates with me – from the first time I accidentally came across this and heard it – to now, and every time my conscience wants to start questioning what I’m doing with my life…the backstory – Woody Guthrie was sick, in his last days, and Dylan was asked to write something about Guthrie…this is what came of it…Enjoy?...

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie link

Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb

When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb

When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace

In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race

No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up

If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup

If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on

And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone

And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it

And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it

And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long

And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong

And lonesome comes up as down goes the day

And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away

And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'

And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'

And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys

Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys

And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'

And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'

And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'

And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'

And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm

And to yourself you sometimes say

"I never knew it was gonna be this way

Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"

And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat

And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet

And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air

And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare

And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying

And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'

And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet

And you need it badly but it lays on the street

And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat

And you think yer ears might a been hurt

Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt

And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush

When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush

And all the time you were holdin' three queens

And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean

Like in the middle of Life magazine

Bouncin' around a pinball machine

And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying

That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'

But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head

And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed

And no matter how you try you just can't say it

And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it

And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head

And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead

And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth

And his jaws start closin with you underneath

And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind

And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign

And you say to yourself just what am I doin'

On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'

On this curve I'm hanging

On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking

In this air I'm inhaling

Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard

Why am I walking, where am I running

What am I saying, what am I knowing

On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'

On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'

In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'

In the words that I'm thinkin'

In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'

Who am I helping, what am I breaking

What am I giving, what am I taking

But you try with your whole soul best

Never to think these thoughts and never to let

Them kind of thoughts gain ground

Or make yer heart pound

But then again you know why they're around

Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down

"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping

And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping

And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'

And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking

If that was you in the dream that was screaming

And you know that it's something special you're needin'

And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'

And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding

And you need something special

Yeah, you need something special all right

You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track

To shoot you someplace and shoot you back

You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler

That's been banging and booming and blowing forever

That knows yer troubles a hundred times over

You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race

That won't laugh at yer looks

Your voice or your face

And by any number of bets in the book

Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze

You need something to open up a new door

To show you something you seen before

But overlooked a hundred times or more

You need something to open your eyes

You need something to make it known

That it's you and no one else that owns

That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting

That the world ain't got you beat

That it ain't got you licked

It can't get you crazy no matter how many

Times you might get kicked

You need something special all right

You need something special to give you hope

But hope's just a word

That maybe you said or maybe you heard

On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve


But that's what you need man, and you need it bad

And yer trouble is you know it too good

"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills


"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill

And it ain't on Macy's window sill

And it ain't on no rich kid's road map

And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house

And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ

And it ain't on that dimlit stage

With that half-wit comedian on it

Ranting and raving and taking yer money

And you thinks it's funny

No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club

And it ain't in the seats of a supper club

And sure as hell you're bound to tell

That no matter how hard you rub

You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub

No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you

And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you

And it ain't in no cardboard-box house

Or down any movie star's blouse

And you can't find it on the golf course

And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus

And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes

And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons

And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices

That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'

Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin

Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow

Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry

When you can't even sense if they got any insides

These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows

No you'll not now or no other day

Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache?

And inside it the people made of molasses

That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses

And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies

Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny

Who breathe and burp and bend and crack

And before you can count from one to ten

Do it all over again but this time behind yer back

My friend

The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl

And play games with each other in their sand-box world

And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools

That run around gallant

And make all rules for the ones that got talent

And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do

And think they're foolin' you

The ones who jump on the wagon

Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style

To get their kicks, get out of it quick

And make all kinds of rnoney and chicks

And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat

Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that

Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at

Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel

Good God Almighty

THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"


No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race

You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face

You gotta look some other place

And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'

Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'

Where do you look for this oil well gushin'

Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'

Where do you look for this hope that you know is there

And out there somewhere

And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads

Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows

Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways

You can touch and twist

And turn two kinds of doorknobs

You can either go to the church of your choice

Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital

You'll find God in the church of your choice

You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital


And though it's only my opinion

I may be right or wrong

You'll find them both

In the Grand Canyon

At sundown


====


Cliché by Garrett Kennedy


When walking the city streets

You catch a glimpse of your reflection

Off a store window

Yeah, you feel cliché

Concluding in your mind that -

Yes, this is exactly how I planned on looking at this young age

It is your prime

Your smile shine from the sarcasm

Proceeded by the realization

You can’t afford what’s beyond your reflection

And you’re no longer laughing

Continuing your walking

That is in no particular direction

To only change your step

Because of the poverty lying

Next to the luxury clothing store

And somehow because of other’s lesser situation

Your facial expression’s restored

Not to confidence, but more so it’s monotone

Like you’re bored

But you’re no longer adolescent

And recently you’ve realized

That’s the only time when you have time to be bored

You wish you could afford some of that

Rather than that sweater that was on that rack

That was beyond your reflection

And yes, you have changed your perception

As you reflected that the once needed sweater –

With the horse

When taken out of the store and stored in your own closet

Well, it ain’t that needed anymore

So you ask what else does this life have in store

Keep walking and learn some more

Keep walking and learn some more


(short pause)…


Go to school

Learn the golden rule

Forget it the day after graduation

You should have learned patience

But didn’t

And now all you feel is -

The constant act of being on the run

You want to be like those writers

That make your mind run

But don’t know they’re always

“In the constant act of becoming” -

Vonnegut

And you don’t just want something, no

You still want everything under the sun

But sometimes it gets cold

And you don’t know your role

And all they can give you as advice is to -

Just keep rolling

So you tell yourself to

Just keep writing

And reading

And maybe it’ll add up to that arithmetic

If that’s what you’re after anyways

Spending many days in this haze

Just to make it sound inspiring, it’s a poetic phase

Leading you to the man

If he asks you, “How does it feel?”

You keep quiet, you keep it concealed

Everyone running ‘round trying to keep real

When if it’s happening - it’s oh too real

Talk is cheap

And people will pay millions to let mouths run

Just don’t let the chatter make you run from

Whatever it is you’re chasing

And question whether what you’re chasing is real

Sooner, but more likely later

It will be revealed

Clocks stole hours away as you wondered

What could have been

You’re guilty of thy sin whether or not in thy religious bin

Hindering your within

It’s known that it’s within you

From your mother to friend

To the stranger lying back then

It’s the places our minds are in

Nobody knows how to deal with the questioning

But all have ideas

Fears - keeping you from pursuing

Not ruining life, but also not truly living life

There is so much more you could be giving this world

But - but you just don’t know


(short pause)


I just don’t know

All this stuff that makes life rough

It feels like it’s shoved in your face

No matter where you go you feel liked your chased

Don’t look in the mirror as much anymore

You don’t recognize the face

Did you waste that day

That too fast became yesterday

Should you stay for one more drink

When on the brink of something

But, but you feel it slipping

You just can’t poeticize the description

Can you poeticize a prescription?

There certainly ain’t no doctor that can prescribe a prescription

That will get me back to the days of living

And neither will that sweater

And I know that was beyond your reflection

Until now

Find time to afford this.