Literary Chicago: Jack Kerouac - "The Subterraneans"

" - returning to the Red Drum for sets, to hear Bird, whom I saw distinctly digging Mardou several times also myself directly into my eye looking to search if really I was that great writer I thought myself to be as if he knew my thoughts and ambitions or remembered me from other night clubs and other coasts, other Chicagos - " 

This is the third work of Kerouac that I've read and the third that has a Chicago reference (previously: On the Road / The Dharma Bums). Although this is a peculiar inclusion in the literary Chicago encyclopedia, as it doesn't say much about Chicago itself, rather the narrator is reminiscing back to other nights, other clubs, other cities, and picks Chicago in particular to call out.

The Bird in question of course is Charlie Parker, who while he played here, isn't as assoicated with Chicago as he is with other cities, particularly New York City. And the story itself, inspired by Kerouac's nights in NYC, is fictionalized to take place in San Francisco.

I'm reminded of Sarah Ruhl's play "The Clean House" which takes place in a "metaphysical Connecticut." I think Kerouac uses this phrase in a similar vein, that maybe Bird noticed the narrator from a night club in another city, and perhaps that city was Chicago, and perhaps it was another Chicago. Is Chicago ever the same place twice or even to two different people? Consider Heraclitus.

Or maybe I'm overthinking a speed-induced ramble of one of America's great writer's lesser works. (Not to mention that cover; it wasn't enough to put one photo of the author on the cover but we need to get his good side too?)

The most interesting thing of this novella overall is the character of Mardou, inspired by Kerouac's real life girlfriend, Alene Lee, who protected her privacy. I stumbled across her biography, written by her daughter and posted in 2010. Certainly worth the read to learn more about the inspiration for one of the period's more complex and entirely underwritten characters.

Ear Relevant: Ellington/Mingus/Roach - "Money Jungle"

Mingus starts. Then Roach. Then Ellington. And then? And then we're in. We're in the 'Money Jungle.'

You don't really have to know too much about jazz to know you are listening to something incredible. Believe me: I don't know that much about jazz. But I do know that these are three of the greatest musicians to have performed the form at all, let alone together at the same time.

Mingus doesn't hold back. Roach never lags. Mingus is abrasive, but Roach counters gently. And Ellington is as smooth as ever, keeping up with the younger guys.

'Le Fleurs Africaines' is a mellow departure but Charlie pairs Duke's elegance with ominous pulls from the double bass, while Max keeps track of the background. 'Very Special' picks it back up again and 'Warm Valley' showcases a melancholic Duke.

This session was recorded September 17, 1962 at Sound Makers Studio in New York City. I bought this album February 6th, 2016 at the Jazz Record Mart in downtown Chicago a week before the store closed. These dates might not matter. It was my only time at the Jazz Record Mart. I should have gone more. Nothing lasts forever.

My copy of the record is a 2015 reissue: may we do what we can to preserve this music, not just this album, not just these three men, but for every artist, if you believe in the art, acquire something physical of it. That's why I'm starting to write about my records more. There needs to be record of these records. I forget about the records I have sometimes.

'Switch Blade' ends side one. Mingus ends it, his bass sounds like a guillotine swaying over a single note, bending it this way and that. I take a sip of tea and get up the flip the record. And then

Poems About Bars: The Whistler (11.01.11)

I only write poetry about bars. This is from a few years ago. I think it's about Mike Reed.

via Food Republic

'The Whistler (11.01.11)'

The fern stood next to the doorman
Who takes a break from his book to check an ID

The drumsticks clacked the rim

                The sax was strangling the bass

                Cocktails

Candlight

                Wood

Leather

                Brick

Curtains

The candle flickered like a Parkinsons’d limb

                His right elbow was dancing

It is only a trick of the light

                It is only a trick of the music