The Basket Beat

Got Next: Leon Marin "Beyond Limitations"

2012-01-27T21:51:00.010-05:00

"So much heart I'm blastin'" It's only one phrase on a 17-song offering packed dense with loaded lines. Yet that mere piece of a refrain to the breakneck-paced second track on Leon Marin's latest resonates, encapsulating the oversized personality and snarling talent that distinguish this young emcee. In just a week since Beyond Limitations was made available for download, the mixtape has received praise for its consistency and reached thousands of ears, many belonging to hip-hop fans who may have been previously unfamiliar with the Brooklyn artist.

Don't expect the low profile to last. The laudatory blog posts are on point -- Beyond Limitations is rock solid from open to close, while demonstrating a versatile array of flows and styles. There's the loquaciously bitter ruminations of "Jaded" and crass bounce of "Women N Some Cash," offset by the earnest "Strugglin 4 Life" and eminently eponymous "Leon Marin Show." Some songs may call to mind hip-hop's biggest names -- his lyrical contradictions and technicolor expressions make it difficult to avoid Kanye comparisons. But listen, really listen --Marin's word choices and themes bear so much originality, his impact is utterly fresh.

Don't just take it from us -- grab the FREE download below and introduce yourself to one of the next generation's bright stars.

Click here to download Leon Marin's "Beyond Limitations"

Leon Marin will be performing Saturday January 28th at Paint and Poetry: A Collaborative Effort of All Things Art.

Meet Me on the Flip Side

2012-01-17T21:15:00.007-05:00

I've always lip-synched along to songs played silently in my imagination. Lyrics can keep you company that way, no matter where you are. It started with Bruce Springsteen's epics echoing across my mind during longer walks home. At some point, Steve Malkmus' four winding verses from Pavement's masterpiece Watery, Domestic EP were recited like a mantra. Later, it seemed that 90% of my mute mutterings were written by NaS and other emcees. With hip-hop I'd become sensitive to repeated incantations that didn't in any way reflect my own experience. It wasn't just that. Some lyrics are just trite, some violent or disagreeable to the point where I wished neither to vocalize nor internalize them.

With NaS though, I ran into trouble. Here were some of the most masterful flows and displays of lyrical prowess committed to beats. Even if I couldn't own these words, the rhythm with which they were written energized me. And so these 'Flips' were birthed. Some have been posted here, including one based strictly on AZ's legendary first verse from "Life's a Bitch (and then You Die)". The conception for NaS' verse and development of this entire flip-to-a-more-positive-tip only came this year when our first son was born. Recently I posted the piece, "Life is Rich (and Love is Why)" on my "big kid culture" blog boobuddha.

Mr. Big Shot's Deadpan Aim

2012-01-07T22:22:00.002-05:00

Soaking in the media-rich Southern California environs, new Clipper Chauncey Billups doesn't have to do much to hit the perfect comic note in this new video campaign for his Billups Elite - Sweet 16 non-profit.
(via TDA_Boulder on Vimeo.)

New Year's Eve-olution: Stalley's "Go On"

2012-01-02T20:43:00.000-05:00

Fastbreak Flashback: Camp Lo's "Double Doors"

2011-12-30T12:39:00.001-05:00

Brooklyn photographer Alex Bershaw gets the assist for spotting this vid on the cut. Another reminder that the Golden Era shines on.

On Golden State Grasshoppers and NYC Point Gods

2011-12-20T16:13:00.011-05:00

It's no doubt exciting to see the Knicks head into Christmas Day's debut. One question that won't be answered right away is whether we'll see the bouncy, flowing Baron Davis this season or the roly-poly injury-prone version. Despite the fact that his initial sideline makes it seem the latter is present, I feel confident about the veteran guard. I'm sure B-Dizzle will bring it, motivated to be among players he considers peers and counterparts. I'm probably more positive predicting that he'll become a regular guest at SNL and/or Jimmy Fallon's studios, but with Bibby backing him (and always the chance to add a stronger/younger point god come trade deadline, depending on playoff outlook), MSG audiences should expect a lot of the upside. On the other hand landing Tyson Chandler was a victory for the organization the magnitude of which cannot be overstated. True centers are the rarest of commodities. PGs can be developed, and there is the chance that Baron could lead by example in New York and make Toney Douglas a better floor general.

But with respect to the position, the prime mentor in the league right now is an NYC native and former Knick currently in Oakland about to start his first season as an NBA Head Coach. Plan on reading positive anecdotes from Mark Jackson's practices in the San Jose Mercury sports pages and elsewehere these next few months. Charles Jenkins isn't the only Golden State grasshopper about to do some post-grad studies under Coach Jackson. When one looks at Monta Ellis and Stephen Curry now the only thing lacking from their uber-talented games, the only thing keeping them from All-NBA discussions are the very leadership qualities Jackson is certain to impart. Boom, though!

(image via)

Ode to Shooting Stars: Arkells - "Agent Zero"

2011-11-30T10:51:00.010-05:00

"I used to find a little peace in the layup line..."

Whattya think-- is Gilbert the most overpaid inspiration for a song, ever? On their new album Michigan Left, Ontario's Arkells austerely render "Agent Zero" for posterity. The track limns Arenas' tale from its almost mythic single-parent, barnstorming beginnings to a state of reminiscence too soon arrived, as the stellar realization of dreams fades to a distant apex in the rear view.

Irish Cagers Brooklyn-Bound

2011-11-28T18:15:00.005-05:00

"For trees to grow in Brooklyn, seeds need to be planted" - Talib Kweli (via Betty Smith)

According to the Chicago Tribune (scroll down for item), the 2013-14 college basketball season will see Notre Dame and Kentucky face off on neutral territory: the Barclay Center, slated to open in Atlantic Yards and serve as new home of the Brooklyn Nets -- sooner than one might think.

Thought the Viper was simply boring us...

2011-11-18T17:01:00.004-05:00

...with an unmitigated flow of legalese describing the deepening rift between former Knick Charles Smith and the National Basketball Retired Players Association.

But when Post readers finally arrive at story's end, all is revealed as deadpan prelude to Vecsey's kicker: "There's something to be said, I suppose, for a man who never seems to tire of getting blocked."

King Shames

2011-11-18T15:10:00.003-05:00

"What had happened was no mystery. West had revealed the season before that he suffers from sever bipolar disorder. And now he was off his meds.

It wasn't treated by the organization or reported by the media like any other illness or injury. It was as if a large dysfunctional family had agreed that Uncle Delonte and his illness were a horrible, inexplicable embarrassment, and the entire family was better off pretending that he was ... invisible.

Nobody on the Cavs talked about it. Nobody in the press covered it. West never spoke of it—hell, he never spoke at all if the media was present. All season long, West was catatonic before and after games. He sat in silence in the middle of a loud locker room, staring into space, focused on nothing. Teammates, music, food, the pack of media hounds: West sat through all of it with a thousand-yard stare trained upon nothing visible.

Delonte's living image has stayed with me longer than LeBron's. I profiled Shaq during the course of the year, and Shaq talked about West with more admiration and respect than any other member of the team, including James."

-The Whore of Akron author Scott Raab

Gadget Freak

2010-07-16T15:49:00.002-04:00

My co-worker and friend Terance received some well-deserved recognition from the Atlanta Post today. The opening line...

Calling someone a ‘freak’ isn’t generally a compliment, but if you called Terance Thatch a ‘gadget freak’ he wouldn’t even be mad.

...inspired one of my signature, hasty rewrites of a classic jam. (Apologies to Rick James, bitch):

He’s a very 2K boy, the kind who’s Facebook friends with mama
He will always let you hear what’s “now” (once you read up on his tweets)
He likes the toys in his hand, he says the iPad is amazing
When he makes his moves to new grooves in real-time
He Facebooks every step indeed

That boy is nerdy hip now (the boy’s a gadget freak)
The kind of boy you read about (in mobile marketing e-zines)
That boy’s way more than 2K (the boy’s a gadget freak)
I’m really glad I follow him (every time he tweets)
He’s on point, he’s on point, the dude is on point with things, yeaaaaah, he-he-HEH!

Ode to The Truth

2010-06-18T01:54:00.013-04:00

O Paul, where are all your other rings?
Dude was wrong about a couple things
It came back to the city of angels, now the fat lady sings
Show's over, Show Time got over, better luck next spring

Pierce is an 'and one' artist, so L.A. got, to guard this

Fearless not flawless, Queensbridge's hardest,

He's to a fault, honest but when he's on it's

Raw regardless. Congrats, Ron Artest

A test defending champs passed, the final exam

Extra credit points to Phil Jackson's plan

Breathe as one, even Kobe be just one man

To repeat, many rose in turn and learned to stand

Big Spain's inside tips and turnaround swish

3rd game's massive 4th quarter from D-Fish

Odom owed em, and showed em he can finish

Team D slowed em, we all know what we witnessed

So Paul, we're in awe of your one ring
Some legends end up never winning
But Boston's had so many true kings
The Truth? The cost of this loss must sting

Well Said

2010-01-28T10:24:00.002-05:00

A timely verse on the state of The Association.

Refreshingly the meter owes more to John Ashbery than to Shawn Carter.

boom blip

2009-01-28T19:06:00.008-05:00

Been around the world, dwelled coast to coast

Met a few opponents, been a friend to most

Walk among the living, talk with ghosts

DJed radio shows and like an emcee toast

True dub survivor, tryna revive with flows

My inner sphere inscribed in this pithy pop post

We

2008-09-28T10:34:00.030-04:00

My heart flows, gushing like an ocean from a cup

Tide’s always high, ‘cause your love fills me up

Awoke my third eye, when you found me

Broke down my fear, hear? You ground me

Ignite me, stoke the flame of my desire

I’d burn through salary like my calories to attest to the fire

Your passion ever lasts, my very best you inspire

And soothe these uptorn roots, boots made to walk

But I feel we in cahoots, it’s the truth when we talk

Your inner soul comes right through

Make me feel like a right fool

Tryna fake cool as you take me to school

Life’s lessons? Light blesses

Every stress with fresh reflections

Our paths joined, and point in one direction

Follow? I want to walk the earth with you

Or aim higher, I might even return with you

Eternally, when we learn our essence through and through

All the bards of legend pen their paeans to you

Hell, I wish I could bring everything to you

Thought I needed Lou Reed to come and plead on my behalf, understand

But this is PD’s deed to do, besides, Lou ain’t agreed with that plan

He said “I’ll say what you like

You know I’ll say what I can

I’ll say whatever you want

But Peter, you love Suzanne”

Indeed I do. Love chose us two, though the wind blows us too

Even when we oppose, we see it through ‘til it’s right

With time left over to get cozy and tight

I just knows I’ll doze divinely intertwined with thee every night

You rose like Lady Gwenyvere--well baby, I'm here to be your knight

And propose, you and me become we, and unite

(P.S., She said yes!)

Son of God's Son: "Made You Think"

2008-06-23T12:38:00.077-04:00

A response to NaS' "Made You Look", cast in the original's lyrical flow

Let's shape this hook in a new direction
Take edification, a taste of correct sh--
You know I waited long to give this a retool
Slow, but still street, fool, y’all know how Pete do
Keep it clean, deep inside the beat, too
Maintain a vibe you imbibe, cool as ice cubes
Well paced, no stress
Dressed with finesse in pastel
Puff or pass to me, pal
Wife sharp as a knife, plus she's like "...mmm, POW"
Put us on the F train—F’ cars, they insane now
If we could drive through the city, like de nada
You'd see us in a hybrid Prius en la esplanada
Petro-free style, it's Pedro's freestyle
Get up your hand, child, that ya fuel your coupe with
Slurp soup with, burp your little papoose with
Same hand that you hoop with
Raise a fist, we ain’t stupid
Streetballer? Yeah I be that
You know my steez
I rain threes. "Splash!"
Ya do the 'Smurf,''Wop,' 'Baseball Bat'
That Souljaboy, that super—-naw, buck that

I mean yooooou! – Aw made you dance
Moving to a groove, put you in a trance
Getting light-headed? Breathe like it's yr last chance
Where’s them gods at? Where the truth at?

He provin'! – Aw made you think
Got thirst for knowledge, take a long drink
Getting light-headed? Life sped up, don’t blink
Where’s them gods at? Where the truth at?

This is happening, this how Pete rock
Now get up off your ass, shake the whole block
My kush cousin, spark up the trees, sir
Funk in the trunk? Get krunk if it please, girl
Don’t start none, won’t be none
No reason for you kids be trippin
Just want to see you sway your hips and
Sip $8 drinks, holla, pounds up
That’s how you pop-a-collar in this house, what
Let the music diffuse all the tension
Divine intervention, death protection
Hustlers and players stay on the grind
Lady move in time, we can grind to the tune fine
All my outta-towners, count the hours
Spend mad paper, take a bath, let it shower
Make it rain? You people so crazy
Pull out my waist, sizzurp and purple hazey

They blazing! – Aw that's just smoke
Why you front? Nature gave us the blunt, toke
Getting light-headed? Chill, boy, don’t choke
Where’s them gods at? Where the truth at?

I seen dudes puzzling, yo my mood is dark-brewed
Wire you up just like the feds do
Heads don’t snitch, now they live by a street rule
Let a stool pigeon fly the coop? Nah, they turn cruel
NaS told kids, "learn more, change the globe"
Yet this honor code kill mode, keeps it real…tragic
Wankstas stunting, cash or plastic
Whatever you do, whatever you choose
Stay true to yourself, versatile too
Like a renaissance man is. Ask my friends
See they never understand this
How I manage my flow over QB standards
With just enough nastiness to top the class
Baby reach in your stash, pass the spliff
Ignite like Fela, rule the nation on a boom-bap tip
Rewrite slick, eclipse the edit like a lunatic

(Fela Kuti portrait,
courtesy of Discoid Terrorist)

It Ain't All About Me #3

2008-06-20T22:51:00.030-04:00

summer's first sunset blessed
today's blacktop lesson beyond introspection

young bro' showed & proved
a few steps slow for our pace of competition
yet, due to unprecedented intermission
(hectic cell phone interruption)
down 5, we had a discussion.
he asked what we gotta do
i'm like "you just be you,
but talk to us on D, they ain't pickin' you
so we ain't switchin';
no help on yr man
unless you holler, unnerstand?"
glad we got a new plan,
i caught my breath

checked the evening's signs,
selected an inspiration in season
summoning jackie gleason
(in the hustler,
you know the reason)

lunacy or did it seem to me
the daydream made the tides sway
this-a-way, and when Big Ray
got off his call, 4-on-4 was recouped
I said "men, let's play some hoop."
we lost that game, then won a deuce
i considered the test's truth,
later on when i was mellow
centered on the young fellow
whose pride highs and lows flipped
the moment his man got past him, then damn
his head hang down to his hand.
Nah bring it again fam
recover quick
when you get crossed up or mixed
don't trip on top of it,
talk and claw your way back into it
that team D,
seems to me,
got a chip for the Big 3

photo: Hoopedia

Hoop Haiku #2

2008-06-09T10:54:00.004-04:00

Halfcourt? Slick streetball legend
(in my head). Fullcourt
I hang back on D instead.

[photo by Manabe]

Pencil Stash

2008-05-19T11:14:00.053-04:00

I play chameleon with my style, but it's your smile I'm feeling
And eyes can't spy what the soul's really seeing
Maybe they don't know a lick about the deals I believe in
Or get the inside joke on the looks I'm thieving
Baby, if I could talk a mile a minute, no mystery--stands to reason
I'd just be breathing needless b.s. into the breeze
Yet if I slow my riff, will you follow my drift
Get uplifted by the myth, or just catch a whiff of what you missed
From those smoke signal designs we weave in

(image courtesy of Anna Fleshler)

Crossover Dream #1

2008-05-03T16:00:00.009-04:00

Retraced repeatedly just at the surface of my subconscious
A mantra of moves visualized to a tee my handles is me

On the baseline, the rock in my right hand

Scooped forth in a sly spinning bounce from the back

But mix it up from the first step: my left foot attacks,

Swings across, slices an angle in my pivot, i'm with it

Facing away from the foul line i crouch and get mine, let

Long fingers sweep a dribble low behind my feet

I don't mind if he reach, that ball's mine i can tease

Then snap it back across my front, chest-high

In a quick, tight revolution not televised

Park prime time be gone in a flash so get wise

I'm at the rim just like that, finish nice, got that

April Pools

2008-04-01T20:02:00.007-04:00

[photo by miniluxalex]

The prohibitive mist which slicked the Carroll Park courts when I got off the subway was countered by the buoyancy of a decidedly warming humid evening. Perfect weather to get loose.

An effective enough argument that I sized up the twenty minute gap of free time I had as ample opportunity to ask the lone figure shooting around if I could join him for a few shots. When the court's wet--particularly the painted part, which in this instance is everything inside the three-point arc--the body naturally wants to take baby steps, and consequently it's hard for one to get much of a workout, let alone build a rhythm, shooting hoops alone. So assuming Shooting Stranger here was interested in getting his money's worth in court time, I wasn't just asking to play, I was offering my rebounding services. At a tremendous value, I might add.

But the point, not just my point but the point, is to build that rhythm, isn't it? The spins, the tracings of footwork.

On this particular evening, the movements invoked included slower, hypergliding shifts in direction, balanced to let the ball go just gracefully enough to not cause the shooter or passer to keel over in a slick-sneakered squall. Finger-rolls off the glass, especially the Gervin-esque, english-laden variety I usually favored, were useless against this weather; no spin intended to guide a carom off the backboard would grip the wet surface. Flatter, more basic bank shots were found far more effective. After about fifteen minutes or so, the two of us had made other such adjustments, and were into a beautiful rhythm all its own.

So when I left the court after not much longer, my body and spirit had gotten a great deal of the benefits basketball provides. Forced to focus on correct form so as not to injure ourselves, while having to use our heads and physical intelligence to employ that form in accordance with our environment, just going through the motions of a shoot-around never felt better.

For the love of...?

2008-03-27T10:24:00.007-04:00

Last nite's basement-battle between the Knicks and Heat was far from a thrill, and despite going to OT, didn't lift me out of the ephemeral doldrums with nearly the positive effect of, say, today's Mutts.

What did elicit some interest, however, was that MSG's broadcast provided me my first chance to watch Miami guard Chris Quinn play for 40 minutes, which is oh, 30 or 35 more than I'd been accustomed to seeing in the box scores beside his name over the course of his two NBA seasons. As a few folks have noticed this morning, the Heat are knee-deep in implementing a "rebuilding" strategy that involves introducing fans to some less-than-household names. Would-be D-Leaguers, not only giving New York's finest a solid run for their money, but getting a better shot than most players in their position to demonstrate why they belong in the same rarified air as the NBA's many millionaire athletes.

Quinn had been in my radar ever since I saw him in action a little over two years ago, against Marquette at Notre Dame's Joyce Center. My empathy for his game may seem like your standard Irish-alum fanaticism, but I felt more simpatico for the fact that at just over six feet and 170 lbs (he's since bulked up to 185), I was watching a player with approximately my physical attributes with a chance to make it big.

Two years later, and Quinn's still collecting a little under $700K, and occasionally even outscoring strict gunner Ricky Davis (who makes almost exactly ten times Quinn's contract). Though it's not all about money, the difference between Quinn and Davis is not nearly as interesting to me as the difference between Quinn and say, Garry Hill-Thomas, a former Nevada standout who, after dominating various leagues in New Zealand, Venezuela and other distant shores, has returned to the vicinity in the humblest of triumphs, getting picked up by the Utah Flash of the NBDL earlier this year.

My experience watching Hill-Thomas in action is in fact limited to summer league play; the SF Pro City games played just off the panhandle provided ample material to convince me that at a moment's notice GHT has the skills and will to take over a game. At 6'4", however, his powerful small forward approach runs into trouble matching up against the upper echelon employed in that position professionally. I believe he can conquer the odds and spend some time in the NBA, driven by the same internal fortitude which helped him lead his East Bay squad to consecutive championships, in 2004 and 2005, against Pro City's 5%NBA/50%NCAA YayArea best. I think Garry Hill-Thomas believes it too, and that's why he's been at this relentlessly the past several years, regardless of the time zone.

Will to Win

2008-01-18T02:02:00.001-05:00

Tests of nerves. Great competitors embrace them. Memorable battles bristle with them.

Earlier this week I found myself re-reading a passage written by Bill Russell, wherein the career champion described experiences when the level of play between two teams transcended boxscores. Russell did not know when to expect such moments, nor how soon they'd evaporate, burst perhaps by an errant pass or bad call. Yet the prerequisite to each experience would invariably be that both teams engage in the high level of play, that each opponent rose to meet their foe shot for shot.

Staying up into the wee hours this week to catch glimpses of the Australian Open, I've been witness to fierce comebacks and fiercer prolonged outcomes, head-to-head struggles which have tested nerves, demanded the best from each side of the net, and summoned a distinctly transcendent aura to the court.

Earlier in the week Tathiana Garbin showed mettle in her second set against 4th seed (and currently 3rd ranked) Ana Ivanovic. Down 6-0, 4-0, Garbin grew suddenly and resolutely resistant to accepting what would seem her inevitable plight. She broke Ivanovic in a game that not only seesawed on either side of deuce, allowing the underdog to develop some semblance of momentum, but also disturbed Ivanovic's focus when the latter's request to use one of her alloted challenges on a debatable line call fell upon oddly deaf ears--with an electronic sensor failing, the chair umpire seemed too faint of backbone to make an overrule.

The transcendent play in this instance occurred in contrast to Russell's description; unnervingly bad calls threatened to burst the bubble of excellence before it even got afloat, or worse (for Ivanovic, at least), swing the momentum completely to Garbin. Nevertheless, Ivanovic's ensuing display of heart and focus was thrilling, and seemed to spring from both her opponent's steely resolve (Garbin faced 5 match points before ultimately succumbing) as well as her own refusal to focus on matters outside her field of control.

Two nights later, 2nd seed Rafael Nadal seemed to bring the entire court under his control. Down to 28th seed G. Simon, 5-2 in the first set, the charismatic Spaniard turned invincible, willing himself to fend off repeated set points en route to a 7-5 victory. The crushing tide of one-sided excellence showed no signs of abating, as Nadal cruised to a two sets-to-none, 5-3 lead. Undeterred by his Sissyphean circumstance, Simon vaunted his own lion's heart, facing 4 match points with fearlessness and clutch precision. At this time Nadal could be seen pacing the baseline. Sneering, his eye flashed the glint of a predator who's tasted blood, and isn't about to remove his teeth from the chosen prey.

Soon, a dazzling rally cut fresh angles across the court lines, drawing each man to the outer reaches of his field of play before eliciting a looping, topspin lob from Nadal that ducked deftly over Simon's head for match point. In a match where the outcome seemed inevitably headed towards Simon simply being pummeled into submission, the victorious stroke was, in fact, far more entertaining and unexpected. Accustomed to victory (so long as there are no Rogers around), Nadal's flushed grin at the net revealed a deeper appreciation for the moment.

As the man said, both sides have to play strong.

AP Photo/Rick Stevens

P.D. Cure

2007-09-12T13:58:00.006-04:00

I'm flossin' glossy toes, a little moss will not frost this ego

But my feet are lost if I don’t foot the cost to prep these rows

I don’t presume I'm on parade -- my rep precedes me, tho'

Got "best groomed" in 8^th grade, you can check the yearbook! So,

I let the pros massage my calf, push the cuticle

At least try to treat these beasts as if they’re beautiful

Still got callous but now I’m stylish when I hit the floor,

In my flip flops, I'm flippie flop flippie to the flip flip flop and it ain’t pop

Just a cool, crazy response to anyone teasin’

My vain ways in this lazy footwear season.

Let My Children Hear Music: Speaking with Butch Morris

2006-08-11T16:02:00.001-04:00

Witnessing Lawrence D. “Butch” Morris conduct an orchestra, one is subject to sounds and expressions that suggest more than the mere playing of music. Rhythms repeat, clash, build to a crescendo and are swept away in the blink of an eye. Time tilts, as the atmosphere fills with a sense of discovery.

In the last year I saw three of Mr. Morris’ conductions, at Firehouse 12, New Haven’s wonderful venue for new music, and at The Stone and NuBlu here in New York. Varied settings, and quite different casts of musicians accompanied him at each performance. Yet after each, I couldn’t get rid of the idea that Butch Morris made music that felt more like film, moving images edited and spliced with a master’s intuition. It was suggested that I pursue this line of questioning in conversation with the artist.

Following a phone conversation, Mr. Morris emailed me a “manifesto” entitled the Blue Book, published by New World Records as a companion piece to the artist’s series of Conduction CDs released by the label. The first sentence met me squarely: “In 1968 I had this notion that music could be read like a book.”
I immersed myself in the rest of the Blue Book—during which time The Herb Alpert Foundation named Mr. Morris the recipient of its annual Alpert Award for artistic vision and contribution to contemporary life—and eventually we were able to sit down together in Tompkins Square Park and enjoy: a conversation; the sounds passing by us; and the many friends of Butch’s who stopped to say hello that afternoon. I discovered, in fact, that Butch Morris is not in any way a movie-maker amongst musicians nor obsessed with the aforementioned notions of ‘reading music like a book.’ Rather, to spend time with Butch Morris is to observe that every time he raises his hands, there is music.

Butch Morris will be conducting “A Chorus of Poets” on October 7th and 8th at Brechtforum, and on October 14th will be at Cornelia St. Cafe as part of the New Trumpet Underground festival.
This article first appeared at Gathering of the Tribes.

First off, congratulations on the Herb Alpert award! When did you find out, April?

Yeah, probably in the third week of April, second week of April.

Does this [award] change your plans for the year—how long do you have to be [at CalArts]?

It’s a week-long residency. That’s the only mandatory thing that accompanies the award. You go out and do something, and you can pretty much do whatever you want, and from what I understand, I made a proposal to them, and I’m actually still waiting for the answer…it’s best that I don’t say anything about it until I know it’s going to happen.

But I’m certainly looking forward to being out there. Actually I spent many, many years right across the street from it, my family used to own land across the street from where it was built and we used to go up there on weekends and holidays, so I know that area, Valencia, California—or Val Verde, anyways—I used to know it pretty well, until I was about seventeen. That was the last I went out there—no, that’s not true, I went out there in 1971 because a friend had a trailer there, I went to hang out with him.

I’m looking forward to it, I’m looking forward to having a well-rehearsed ensemble in the United States. It should be a thrill.

You’ve written about nostalgia being a source for some of what you do. Going back to a place [like Val Verde] where you’ve been before, is there a musical nostalgia you tie to that area? Or do you always reach further back?

Not necessarily, but I won’t know until I get there. I have no rhythms or melodies tied to that place or anything like that but you know, I am fond of listening to conjure up old things rather than new things. I would still rather hear some Platters or Ink Spots or even some Marvin Gaye before I play anything else, because it puts me in a place, it gives me a date or time.

Structure…

Yeah, it gives me a certain kind of thing. Even though my thing is going to veer off from that, there’s a lot of food in there for me.

You got all them nuts man, give up some nuts! [Interruption as friend on bicycle approaches with cashew-filled sack]

This idea of nostalgia…I’m fascinated by some of your hold cues—

Hold cues.

When you’re telling musicians not to play?

Yeah, but that sign means to yield because there’s going to be some new information coming. Now when I’m conducting and I’m stopping people like [gesture], that’s part of a sign called panorama. It’s like I’m assigning their physical area and we’re in the panorama. When I can be stopping someone, and as soon as I leave they start.

Yeah, you’re creating space in the music. And when you do that, and you talk about nostalgia, I wonder if you’re leaving room for something else that you’re hearing in your head, that maybe the musicians aren’t always playing yet.

Mmm, not necessarily, but I mean often—but on the other hand, yeah! Because even when I’m stopping them I’m hearing something, actually what I’m hearing is telling me when to let them go. Not so much what’s happening in that space, but when will be the correct time to release that sound into the room, that’s the way I see it more. I’m hearing this continuum of sound that’s going by and I stop it, and I’m hearing—it could be the rhythm that’s going on in the room or it could be something going on in my head.

You definitely pick up on the crowd, the architecture, all of that…

I try to, yeah. Often we use information that comes from the crowd. If we’re waiting to start and I’m not sure how I want to start and somebody in the crowd goes [gesture]—I take that information and I move it right on to the ensemble. Or if I hear a door slam or if I hear footsteps or something like that I tell the ensemble to repeat that sound and we use that sound as the motive to start developing the information.

One thing I really enjoyed about the show at NuBlu is there was different music being performed before you, some hip-hop acts from L.A. and Detroit, that left a different audience at 12:30 AM when you guys were getting on than might have been at some of your other shows. I felt your music spoke to that audience as well, perhaps created a…vibe that I hadn’t heard [in other recent performances].

I use the musicians for what they do. I never tell them you can’t play this or you can’t play that. I just say you do what you’re going to do within the context of what I do. You supply the content, I supply the structure. If I say “repeat,” I don’t care if it’s a hip-hop repeat or a jazz repeat or classical—I don’t care where it comes from, just give me some information and I’ll do something with the information, but you’re repeating. No matter what your cultural or stylistic background is, you have to give some information to me that repeats. If I say “sustain,” I don’t care what the sound is as long as it’s a sustained sound. If I say anything else—it’s gotta come from you.

I never ask anybody to play over their heads. Hopefully I can create some kind of momentum in the music to push you over your head, but I’m not asking—if I say “play,” I just want you to play what you play. I’ll take something from what you play and I’ll start distributing.

One thing I like about that is there’s this generation shaped by DJ culture, and there’s something about what you’re doing that’s like being a DJ, and that speaks to the mindsets of some of the musicians you’re working with.

Well I can’t say it speaks to the mindsets of the musicians because half the time they don’t know what they’re in for. Especially at NuBlu. A lot of times people are new and don’t know what’s going on, but if I agree to let them play I try to work them into the ensemble. What I’m doing takes a lot of patience. A lot of cats want to sit in but don’t know it takes a lot of discipline to be a part of that ensemble, or any ensemble. Two weeks ago I conducted this kind of electro-acoustic jazz ensemble, then I went to work with this classical ensemble, then I went to work with this free jazz ensemble and all the music was different simply because there are all these different histories going on and every time I go like this, or go like this, I’m using the same signs and gestures with all of them, but they’re giving me all different information. That’s what’s so interesting for me, and for them once they get it, but they gotta get it. It’s not something you can fake.

Like, a lot of times, musicians are thinking “I’m gonna improvise my way through this” and I’ll say “what are you doing?” because at every point the musician has to know what they’re doing. They’re either developing a repeat or they’re developing something that has happened, something that is part of the gross product of what we’re doing. Some people think “I can just improvise over the top of this,” and that’s bullshit. I don’t let that happen. I call ‘em on it and say “what are you doing?” And if they can’t tell me what they’re doing, precisely what they’re doing, they’re bullshitting me and they’re bullshitting the music.

I know you say you may not still believe everything you wrote in the Blue Book, yet early on you said there’s a definition of a musician as being somebody who has surrendered to sound or at least to those sounds that make them tick. I was wondering if there was any way you can put into words, you know, the certain sounds that make you tick?

I think I’m in touch with the sound within me. The sound within me is a huge definition of what I might consider music. I’m in love with a lot of things. Music is a lot of things to a lot of different people. I hear a chorus of angels in an idling ’59 Buick, know what I mean? There’s all kinds of stuff—that sound right there, that acceleration [of a passing car], there’s all kinds of information that makes me…you can tell what kind of lighter that is, that Zippo [of a passing pedestrian] just simply how it closes. Information, it tells you stuff. The prop flying overhead. There’s all kinds of stuff, and that drives me. That bongo player, the bike going by, the car there—Nore! [waves to friend]—how you put things together, that makes me tick. But for other people—like you—it’s certain sounds, the sound of that or the sound of that. It’s not so much that for me it’s how we make sense, how we can sit here in the park and put all these sounds together, with our eyes closed. It becomes this huge, symphonic thing, you know?

And when you pointed out the propeller in the sky, [on the street] there was a bad wheel going another way, yet they were with each other.

Everything, everything—on the other hand, you know, I’m in love with early R&B, I love R&B. I love R&B because it drives me. It’s something of my childhood, something that takes me right back, and it’s very interesting and I use it as a source.

You talked about Marvin before. Is there a certain period of Marvin that gets you?

His early stuff, but I like it all. I like his last stuff, I really like the way he brought layers and layers and layers…

I love that period between What’s Going On and Let’s Get It On. That song “You’re the Man”—

I love that stuff too. Amazing stuff.

Do you think ever about the general effect of the vibrations of music on the world about you, just putting them into the air when you do a concert?

Rarely. I don’t know because I don’t think about it. I guess if I sit and think about it—yes I have thought about it, but it’s not something I think about.

I’m always curious about people in the audience who may not expect to be there and aren’t initiated into the music and yet they hear it.

Yeah, well, I’m always trying to convert somebody. People who say they don’t like jazz or they don’t like free jazz or avant-garde or…I’m always looking to convert them, yeah. That, I’m always interested in. I’m always interested in why somebody doesn’t like—because labels are something else, and ‘styles’ are something else. Somebody will say “Oh, you play jazz.” And I say “yeah, I’m a jazz musician. But I don’t know if what I do would be called jazz.” I’m a jazz musician. Yes I am, but listen to this and tell me, what do you think? Oh that’s not jazz? Tell me why it’s not jazz. Yeah, I don’t necessarily call it jazz, but I am a jazz musician. That’s a very interesting thing.

Whenever folks say “that doesn’t swing,” I wonder, well, why can’t you[they] swing with it [the music]?

Well, I figured out a long time ago that there was one thing really more important than swing in jazz, and that was the essence of swing. If those elements aren’t in place it won’t swing and that is a fact. Now whether somebody wants to deal with that fact is another thing, but that is a fact. If spontaneity isn’t in place, if momentum isn’t in place, if combustion isn’t in place, it’s not gonna swing. But I figured out how to take those elements and use ‘em to, as far as I’m concerned—let me just say, I figured out how to take that essence of swing, and use it in another way, and figured out how to get an ensemble to swing in a totally different way.

Yeah you did. You’ve worked with a few other conductors?

You mean taught them?

Yeah, I mean is that something that's important to you, that you have somebody who gets what you’re doing and is doing it in their own way?

Yeah, that’s very important to me but I’m not trying to push that on any faster than it’s going to come. I mean, one of the people that’s worked with me the most is J.A. Deane, and he is doing a marvelous job at finding and having his own identity at it. And I’ve seen other people who have their own identity at it too. Some people have a totally different style that’s called something else, like Walter Thompson [whose form is called “soundpainting”]—and that’s lovely too, it’s beautiful. What’s interesting about the people I’ve seen do anything like conduction or soundpainting—everybody’s making their own music. No two musics sound the same.

That is great, but it’s like I’ve said for years—conducting is a tool. You use it like somebody might use a string instrument or a wind instrument: you find your identity within it and you make your music with it. I have not once complained that somebody else is conducting. That is for everybody to do. I’m always happy when I see somebody else conducting, and it sounds like them, and they don’t sound like me.

Do you feel people are going to carry [the tradition] on?

They have to. That’s one of the points I’m trying to make. What I’m doing has basically been around since 2700 B.C. There are cave drawings of it…there’s documentation that there were people who sat in front of ensembles and conducted sound. Now, even in the dictionary of conducting they have documented how some of this was done. But this time, because the growth of this runs concurrent with—as you said—DJs, and turntablism, and the internet, it opens the door for a lot of new music to be made. A lot of new music to be made, and a lot of old music to be reinterpreted. You know, the classical music market has never been as destitute as it is today—

—is that necessarily true? Now in the digital download age I’ve heard the market is not nearly as dead as people thought it was.

I’m talking about the CD and record market. But maybe it is coming back. Still, perhaps it’s just that a lot of people need an education and want to go back and listen to that stuff. Classical music has not expended its wealth yet. There’s still room for a lot more interpretation.

And there’s still a lot of classical music people haven’t learned to hear.

[under his breath] Well, there are still a lot of classical musicians who haven’t learned to play.

[laughter] I’ll delete that.

Ah, I’ve said it before. There’s a lot of people that carry instruments, who are not creative. A whole lot. A lot of musicians get involved in music for some pretty strange reasons.

How many times have you performed the Chorus of Poets?

I’ve been doing it for 14 years. Steve [Cannon] and I started it, actually in 1989!

Were there certain sounds you were looking to hear? Not words but sounds?

I was looking to hear words and sounds. I was looking to hear a new description, a different poetic description, a different dramatic description. I started working on it for one reason, but then Steve said, ‘aw man, we gotta do that with one of these plays’ and we incorporated it into one of his plays. And then I did it with 4 or 5 poets. And then we were asked to do it for the New Year’s celebration at the Whitney…I was asked to do something, and I decided to take 18 poets up there. It was a wonderful concert, and I’ve been doing it almost every year since, at least once. I haven’t done it yet this year, I’m supposed to do it October 7th and 8th at the BrechtForum. I’m looking forward to that because what I’m actually going to be doing there is the UnaBomber’s Manifesto. I’m doing it as the soundtrack to a film.

How did you get involved with that?

A friend of mine was doing a film, Howard Monath. He wanted me to do some music for his film, and when I read the script I said “you shouldn’t really do music, you should do the Chorus of Poets.” Then I let him hear the Chorus, and he said “yeah, this is great.” Then I took this text and I started arranging it for the chorus to read. But what we do with that text will be something else.

I don’t have much of a reference point for it. I always liked Luciano Berio’s Eindrücke (Impressions). There was a certain kind of tension that was created in the rise and fall of the voices, and the narration.

The voice is still the most amazing instrument…there’s still a lot of music to be played. I feel like it’s one of the most exciting periods of my life.

Like you’re just getting started!?

No, there have been other exciting periods. But I feel like this is a very, very important period in my growth and a very important period in music—if people pay attention. Like I said, there’s a lot people don’t want to pay attention to. I think this will be something that sooner or later people are going to have to pay attention to. I mean, not only what I’m doing but there’s a lot of stuff happening out there. There’s a lot of beautiful music happening, all over the world. And I’m not talking about something that’s stylistically clear, like it’s world music or it’s jazz…it’s stuff that you can’t put your finger on. Not just some weird shit, there’s some doors opening to some very grey areas, and I think those areas can be a world of discovery.

You find out about most new music through interaction, through working with—

Yeah, definitely.

That gives you an interesting perspective, in that you kind of see the creative process, even if you’re primarily interested in the end result and what to do.

Not in a very deep way. If I get to know that person, yeah. I mean, I just worked in Italy with a 22 piece ensemble and I didn’t know those musicians and I didn’t know how it was going to go. But the more I coaxed that out of them, the more they gave to the music, the more I understood about where they liked to go. It’s interesting, I don’t know their process. I can know a little bit about their history by listening to them, but knowing someone’s creative process can be a very, very difficult thing. If you see me on the bandstand playing my cornet with some band, you have no idea that my love is conducting. But my true love is music.

I think you have another love—dancing! When you’re conducting, there’s a lot of dance involved.

Well, you’ve got to try to do your best to get out, what you want to get out. If I have to move, I have to move!

Sometimes are you not satisfied with the terms you’re ‘supposed to’ use—intuition, improvisation, et cetera?

Sometimes. Improvisation is certainly one of the terms I’ve overused in the past. In some cases, [musicians] walk out [of one of my ensemble’s rehearsals] and go “I can improvise now.” That’s bullshit—you can’t improvise. You’re just interpreting symbols, using one’s intuition. Getting in touch with one’s intuition or one’s intellect or one’s will—these are very important things in the creative process. Now how they put that to use is another thing.

Do you read anything off-topic these days?

I don’t read novels, and I’m not a big movie fan. I read stuff for information. Plus, I’ve got enough material—[pulls out a small black leather book] I fill one of these books every two months, I fill it with notes, and graphs, and…I’ve got to keep up with what I’m thinking.

Like figuring out a puzzle.

That’s what music is, trying to put together a puzzle.

hectiCity

2006-03-12T23:10:00.001-05:00

Life got kinda rough, changes came in a flurry
'Bout the same time that Del dropped 3030
Can't complain now but shame how that year was so wrong
Livin' with an ex, I stress: we didn't get along
She had her other men, said I was free to sow my oats
But then came the evening when that script got rewrote
We were at the same party and after, out on the block
Sister hollered "who was that skeez on your jock?"
Firsthand she'd seen a lady friend end up in my lap
Try to tell us she wasn't jealous, this time somethin snapped
Arms were flying, she was crying, situation was iffy
Post-sundown in Oaktown so cops came in a jiffy
Slapped me up against the car my hands behind my head
Threw me in the back seat but then one of them said
"Talk to us, tell us a few words we need to hear
We’re gonna take it slow, you just speak real clear
Based on what you say, you could go to jail or the hospital
See a shrink or sleep in the clink, either outcome is possible
Use your words carefully, they’ll make our choice
You might save us paperwork, but it’s gotta come in your voice"
I swear they coached me a few beats, tried to calm me down,
See they would follow the law to a tee, per every damn thing said now
Was it my innocence or white face? I’ll never know which
Doubt my black brother’d get the same choice—now ain’t that a bitch
It was just us, but justice was getting so hazy
I said "call it 5150, y'all are driving me crazy!"

Ear Game

2006-03-09T20:05:00.005-05:00

KRS drops the science, I get more specific
Liquid swords flash fire 'cause I'm sick with the physics
Talk in spatial dynamics, no treats or tricks
Start with knowledge of self on nobody’s tip
Not perfect, I kill time looking out for hip kicks
What I should explain plain I cryptically spit
Like a flak jacket, Jack, crack verse indeed thick
Not soft I shake it off my skin can take a deep hit
Make you leap quick, faked you! Peep this before you step to
Two steps ahead hear what I said? I'm an old head too
A wise vantage is advantage, we OGs instill
Loose like willow my styl-o has an Ornette influence
Choose to call it free jazz? See there’s lots more to it
Before you speak listen--your mouth can't hear
Yet if you stayin' in that cut you got zip to fear
The observer never stops, our art pops because of ear

Rawr 44

2006-03-07T22:09:00.000-05:00

(remix)

At times I feel weightless
And savor that taste
that flavor, its danger
Might catch me later
On streets a leader's
Nice handle defeats
& with a flow I know is sick
None predict my behavior
Move slow and I'll rip ya
Hit finger-rolls and faders
You whiner, I’m major
Ambidextrous, hater
Who’s next up, players?
Was raised while saviors
Blazed away when I came up
In my soul filled the hole
With a mystic great
Pantheist's creator
On some men's blocks, cement boxes
Paint my Mother Nature
Ain't all brothers still
Gods, the queens too
Shorty-wop I means you
Can’t overstate it
Couldn't care if you're famous
Do your thing, build and sing
On this perfect spaceship
Ride relationships
Thru the pain and bliss
Speak your mind
Your imagination
Shifts the placement
Of myths and brain waves
That spliff ain’t said it
We wrote and read it
So do it, g’head kid
Spend your blessins
Use yr less'ns
Don’t defend in the end
Your grand confession
Ain’t nothin’ but a thing
Of life progressin
You look for answers
I'll leave 'em guessin

Dem Copy Katz [Ode to my Co-workers]

2006-02-08T21:15:00.000-05:00

Throwing pebbles from the belly of the devil, I'm OK
Them iced out rocks, now, have never been my way
In midtown some clowns speak with tongues of venom
Not Allison, she'd prefer to sell you deals on denim
Nor Alejandro, no, he schemes to tell all his dreams
Ray in proof represents with a pool game supreme
In the middle there's Gil, giggling at his own jokes
And Mike be, likely, outside for a smoke
Leaving EJ to replay his most recent movie scene
As for me, I'm down with sounds and the spaces in between
Simple words are our jewels, occasional zingers serve as bling
If you sing real nice but lyrics simply aren't your thing
Leave the top lines, the pop rhymes, to the copy team
Talk to our boss Chris, the quick wit with the black shirt and jeans

Blindside Blues

2006-02-08T00:16:00.000-05:00

I didn't watch my back it was a matter of time
Make sure you've got your wallet, once someone jacked mine
It had train tix, charge cards and numbers i need
But worst of all they made off with all my IDs
I called and cancelled everything, now that's a fresh start
They can mess with digits but they won't get my heart
They can't remove the rebounds I pulled down that night
Erase the positive space that fills me with light
Or take away my job, of course if I'd needed another
It might have required written proof of my SS #
So who was I with no papers, off the books
Perhaps my name will get around, at least help out those crooks
I mean, it's a dark day when instincts direct one to steal
Thieves lack more than wallets, do you hear what i feel
I only pray there's no prolonged backlash in store
I can take the red tape, but damn I can't take much more

Heel Holler: 23

2006-02-06T16:22:00.000-05:00

Not exactly a commissioned work, but a UNC alum and
good friend, Rod, requested some fightin words in step with
his feelings in advance of tomorrow night’s  classic rivalry:
[p.s., post loss: Get’ em next time, Rod!]
[p.p.s., post-ACC tourney revenge: Poem or prophecy?
Them freshmen remind me of the A's rookies]

Look out, ya shook up Dukies
Your season so far is a fluke, see
You got the late calls, but in truth
I think them refs got seduced
Or maybe Coach K's credit card deals
Bought some special interest! The Heels
At any rate will check ya
And after Reddick gets rejected
Your whole O will be divested
Sure your big guy seems a savage
When he's got a height advantage
But Shelden's got brick hands, no
He can't hang with Tyler Hansbrough
Or pick off Bobby Frasor's
Passes accurate like lasers
You might lose but even worse
Your alumni wear a curse,
Yeah Dickie V tries to care
But yr boys don't go anywhere
Carolina's youth fly high
Cause of their future's brighter skies
Light blue's victory is clinched
When Krzyzewski's face gets all pinched.

Roar

2006-01-30T10:07:00.004-05:00

Savor this, taste what I say, the sharp flavor is
Paperless, just sounds, get down, I'm no hater
But my favorite days in the Bay were still dangerous,
Them ravers trippin on X make-a-me vex. Relationship was
Pain and bliss--couldn't breathe or leave, I paid for it
Afraid a bit, spooked by the proof, in truth, change is
Strange and it chafes at the places you're safe--it's a major trip
But facing it, I got strong, moved along, now I labor but
Later, kid, I'll know that I made, first let's get faded

You know I got all that grade A shit

And you can hit it one time to open the door
Hit it two times to even the score
Hit three times, I done it before
Don't quit it, son you just have to roar

Listen up, hush, don't rush in while I'm riffin'
If you're missin' I'll go slow, you know I'm on a mission though
My missles don't float yo, they spray just like my spittle
Shift a little to the left and the mist might miss
You might slip, don't trip upon this rhyme's riddles
Take your time, I save mine, then mix it like a dish up
Take a taste, don't waste, I'm kinda superstitious
If you're rude you'll get screwed, karma is quite vicious
Just be kind, unwind, and sip this fine elixir
Hit it one time to cushion the blow
Hit it two times to loosen the flow
Hit it three times then push down the door
Don't quit it son, or do I have to roar?

(Feelmatic)

2006-01-16T15:40:00.002-05:00

On Nas and AZ's Money Mentality:

love is realism, not fluff, the stuff of fantasy
f--k what they think is sexy, a true partner brings you sanity
and my humanity is peace orientated
destined for a soul mate my third eye appreciated
cuz, i was a virgin till i gave in to my urges
but when i was on the verge again i learned another version,
now some caress with kisses, others do their thing with ginseng,
brothers such as myself just want the other half that's missing
to keep alive the eternal vibe that lets the heart beat
hits em with a riddim and changes bitter to sweet
some say it's known that we all die alone
but as long as i still breathe i will believe a heart's a home, so
until that day i expire and pass in silence
i'm a turn the other cheek, kinda shy away from violence
yeah, i keep it real but what i feel is my reply
and love's a bitch, but i still try

yo love's a bitch but i still try, that's why i don't mind
when i go home, to nothin but a poem
love's a bitch but i don't mind
you know i stay kind

Holiday Freestyle

2005-12-21T12:51:00.000-05:00

The gist of the flow I soft-served at Tim & Allison's party; Ron's percussion inspired:

Go on, snap your candy canes, slap those silly sticks
A drum lick and rhymes quick, to wish you Merry Christmas
Hope yr shopping list weighs light as a feather
It's great to give thanks, remember, however
To stuff stockings with loving
It's sweetness and not things
That make your loved ones smile,
But how you give them
It's how you live, man!
How you snap your candy cane, make the rhythm slip,
Take a little time to give an extra kiss,
Make a special call and don't count your minutes
Cause love, it's infinite. One love--infinite.

Tough Post-Season Loss for A's, Bay Airwaves

2005-10-18T20:25:00.000-04:00

Finding myself back in my New England hometown since May, I've nevertheless felt a little estranged from a place I've called home for most of the past decade, and have been relying on internet radio to bring me a little bit closer to the SF Bay Area. My daily dose of audio reminiscence took a particularly poignant turn today, when I tuned in to Rick Barry and Rod Brooks' afternoon show on KNBR only to learn that Bill King had passed.

The voice of the Oakland A's for the past quarter century, King was a true legend of sports radio in the Bay. I wasn't around for his historic calls of Warrior and Raider games, but he was the main reason why radio is for me the number one way to experience baseball. When I made it out to the Coliseum, I usually made sure to bring my pocket radio along, with AM 610's broadcast playing in my ear even as I watched the Athletics live. King's knowledge of and respect for the game itself were always a comfort, and his even-keeled delivery made the listener feel the timelessness of the sport. His absence began to be felt this season, when hip problems forced him to miss the A's away games. After entering San Leandro Memorial Hospital Friday to undergo surgery, complications led to the blockage of an artery in his lung, to which he eventually succumbed. He was 78.

As I sat down to put my thoughts in order this evening, I made a call to the most faithful A's fan I know back in Oakland, my friend Marcos. He'd just gotten off from work when he answered, and so I found myself in the undesirable position of breaking the news to him. Marcos did touch upon one aspect that made King so special: his modesty. Aside from the memorable imprint of his catchphrase "Holy Toledo!" the impression King gave was never one of blowing things out of proportion, that is, taking advantage of a great play in the field by trying too hard to make his play-by-play ripe for rebroadcast.

In an age where ESPN radio regularly replays the "calls of the night" across the nation, Bill King never called attention to himself. He simply called the game, and sports fans will miss him dearly.

Get the Rebound

2005-08-24T10:56:00.000-04:00

I made a trip down to the Rucker tournament in Harlem at 155th, that mecca of streetball where the EBC classic now retraces the footwork and legendary walks on air of Wilt, Dr. J, and Connie Hawkins. I'd never been, so I took the B train up one afternoon, early enough to beat the crowds at the entrance's metal detector.

After the 5pm women's game came down to a thrilling close, announcer Al Cash, still not tired of the nickname-bestowing-play-by-play he'd been parlaying, pacing the sidelines for an hour, asked if there were any out-of-towners. I played it cool, and shouldn't have-- I'd like to think my moment in the sun would have come had I gotten to test handles against either the Ohio kid or the local named "Chunky" selected to play one-on-one.

But no, my fate would be different.

My large white tee may have made me feel appropriately clad for the venue, but still left a lot of pale skin on display. The announcer soon walked up and looking square in my eyes asked "--and what's your deal, man? you ain't from around here."

All eyes and ears are now on our convo. Asked what I did I said "writer." So I must know a little poetry?, he pushes. I let "sure" come out in response, trying to recant as he says "then come out here and give us a little poetry!"

"I meant POULTRY" I protested, but no dice, the gig was up. At center court he made fun of me a little ["you're sure you want to leave your bag on the sidelines? This is Harlem, pal...So, you must have come to town today to buy drugs, yes?"] then handed me the mic in order to read a poem. With ESPN2 camera in my face, and what seemed a thousand more onlookers in the stands, I recited the only poem I had memorized, one I wrote a long time ago:

"Missed" 2.8.93

The genius tramps a heavy trail
picks up flowers on her way
without words for what she's gathered
or time to wonder why
no need
even under jealous leer
she knows
looming round the bend bloom more
while those now relishing her grasp
only hope for a bit of handcrafted
upheaval in her wake

A poem which means a lot to me, but does not rhyme, nor did it really capture this particular moment. What did hold the audience's attention was my hand, quivering as it held the mic. Nevertheless, I got through it, our emcee prompted the crowd to give me a hand for "showing some heart" and the young kids near my bleacher seat proudly handed me my bag as I returned to my seat: "Here Pete! You dropped your pen, Pete!" A positive enough experience, if humbling.

Thing is, as the DJ kicked the music back into gear (where had my beats been, bro?) my mind raced with [plu]perfect responses. The rest of the night I couldn't even watch the men's games. Junie "GE" Sanders and Black Wall Street fast broke the competition on their way to what would prove to be a championship run, but I was just mumbling to myself as obsessively as if I had a syndrome. By the time I left the courts, though, I had the rough outline of the "Rucker Suite" posted below. As the experience still resonates through my imagination, I offer as well an evolved version of my original Rucker mic offering:

"Missed" Remixed 8.18.5

It was blank verse, a bass solo, nothing too loud
I rewrote it full of flow, more apropos for a crowd
Its meaning always clear but the rhythm was hidden
Now syncopated recreated so you all will feel let in

The first line observant of individual force
“The genius tramps a heavy trail”--visionaries change our course
Imperfection and invention make their impact on all
The next line points more specifically to those in the thrall
“picks up flowers on her way”--you ever fall in love
With a brilliant mind that answered to some call from above?
Or marched to a different drummer, a different beat than you ever felt
Them folks can move mountains & make your scenery melt
Or build a new technology that sweeps you along
They makin’ all the money while I’m singing a song
Their effect on you is something they’d rather not heed
“without words to wonder which or time to think of why, no need”
Another's individual import as a topic is blurry
Each creates their own destiny, but don’t even worry
“even under jealous leer she knows”--you’re born you die, the story goes
Don’t overestimate your heroes or demonize your foes
“looming round the bend bloom more”—but our genius ain’t overwhelmed
'Fact we respect their poise so much we say, you take the helm,
As “those relishing her grasp” we “only hope” for fifteen minutes
Cause these tidal waves are fun to ride, their swell, hell, it’s infinite
“a bit of handcrafted upheaval in her wake” is our glory
Those few moments we’re little stars in the whole crazy story

That’s why we say ‘What up god?’, we respect the power
Any man feeling bad enough can bring our final hour
Or give us reason to live, a new way to see light
The intense ones are tricky, some strangers want to fight
But the genius in them is sure to rock your world
If you’re paying attention a new path will unfurl
And you’ll be walking down a heavy trail of your own
You made an impact right back--2 geniuses got thrown

Rucker Park Suite 7.20.5

2005-07-25T12:44:00.000-04:00

The EBC Blues

I never thought rhymin’ at Rucker would be a cinch
And the first time out, I admit, I flinched
The mic shook in my hand so much it looked like live fish
I’m not cryin or tryna be on some kinda pride ish
I was glad because at least I tried this
But on the matter of my skin, emcee teased me
Called me “Caspar the Friendly Ghost,” awful cheesy
Took the cliché route, no doubt easy:
White boy uptown? Must be down for something sleazy
Came to Harlem for the drugs? Nah, brother please see
I’m wise, besides them ends are beneath me
See, I moved here from the Yay—may I teach thee?
Northern Cali’s valleys tally fine qualities :
365 a year its chill and you feel breezy
Kids got hyphy 'cause they bump that E-Feezy
In Oaktown Roscoe cooks chicken and waffles, greasy!
And the 415 is where you drive to get the trees, B

I know the A’s tend to start a lot of rookies,
Still their winnin’ streaks freak out all the bookies
A few more lines? I’ll give you time, you look shook G
A vegan eats no fish—do not bite my hooks please
On the court, call me “Monster”—I get the cookies
Not “Caspar.” Dude, you've been a wonderful host
Maybe you should sit down, you're starting to look like that ghost
With your name, why'd you ask me to open my mouth?
Al Cash, if you got smoked they'd call you "all cashed out."

Joe-No-Lino

I’d like to leave, when I’m done, in one piece
So I’ll stop here to say: one love, one peace
Then stay on point this here joint's about EBC
Flashback to a recap last year on TV
A game Terror Squad won, they were getting interviewed
No Stephon, just them lower profile dudes
Who got nice game, but just the same, outside the hood
Ain’t household names—it’s only fame, it’s all good
Anyway, here they are on the televised tip,
But before a word drops from their lips
Their manager bum rushed, man I started to trip!
In fact from where I sat, it looked like a total eclipse
He was crowding all the shots while his men stood in back
Waving his three fingers—y'all remember that?
Now this man has skills I certainly lack
Business acumen, promotional tools, cash in stacks
And face time? Every hour BET spins his tracks
But Joe, when your hoop bros give their minutes, 15, a crack
Homeslice, take your own advice, “Lean Back!”

Susie Ibarra & Min Xiao-Fen at Firehouse 12

2005-07-07T10:44:00.000-04:00

The capacity crowd chatters in anticipation, emitting a dense mosaic of conversational rhythms into the creative space. Even the small talk takes on a musical tone at Firehouse 12, New Haven's newest jazz venue. The club's performance space also functions as a state-of-the-art recording studio, and the meticulous design offers every listener optimal aural delights.

Adding to our pleasures, this summer's initial series of concerts curated by guitarist Joe Morris has been deliciously varied. Following pianist Matthew Shipp's christening gig, Firehouse 12 has featured the delerious drums of Dutch master Han Bennink, unsung tenor saxophone hero Joe McPhee, bassist Chris Lightcap's buoyant arrangements for quintet, the strings-cum-reed lushness of the Rob Brown Trio, and more.

Tonight's lineup offers further surprise, as Ms. Ibarra is one of those rare percussionists who serves up not only unique tempi, but flowing melody from her kit as well. Moreover, after she and distinguished pipa player Min Xiao-Fen have taken the stage, the audience is informed that the duo is performing together in concert for the first time.

Their ensuing set is nevertheless a showcase of intuition and expertise, Ibarra's shifting rhythms meshing with the Chinese string instrument and mesmerizing the crowd. Where much avant music finds its innovations in angles, the elements of this music are supple and curved--during one gorgeous piece, the percussionist plays a bowl of stones as accompaniment to the exquisitely plucked pipa. At such moments her duties seem far outside those of the traditional timekeeper. Rather, the time becomes one with the musicians' imagination, and all present are truly brought inside the music.

Melodic references to Western standards seem to reach out to any listeners needing to alight on the familiar: Miles Davis' "All Blues" appears within an extended solo, and Xiao-Fen makes merry with sizzling incorporation of a traditional Appalachian fiddle melody she dubs "The Red-Haired Boy Dances With The Dragon." For me, this concert's most sublime passages were those which seemed most inspired by the wind, gentle then tempestuous by swift turns. Eschewing sticks and brushes, Ibarra on one song played her entire kit using hand cymbals to strike the skins, breaking the rhythms into a myriad of propeller-like vibrations.