BOBBY COLE - BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM

Below, “Bus 22 to Bethlehem,” for several reasons. First off, it’s seasonal. Second, it’s more accurate now than ever (“…the Christians and the Muslims exchanged frozen looks.”) OK, sometimes the exchange is gunfire, and usually one-sided by terrorists at unarmed people. I know a Coptic Christian who fled the Middle East to come to America and safety. If you check Wikipedia to find out more about Coptic Christians, you’ll find this line: “ The abduction and disappearance of Coptic Christian women and girls also remains a serious ongoing problem…” But I don't want to digress...

The THIRD reason for choosing this song is that it jump-started my long friendship with Bobby Cole. I may have mentioned this before. I’m not an “old fan,” who used to get loaded at Ali Baba and listen to the original trio. I didn't rush out and get "NEW NEW NEW" when it appeared on Columbia around 1960 or whenever it was. It was an era when the "American Songbook" was given a little extra "swing" by hip new musicians, but to modern ears, that stuff doesn't sound all that new. Having a member of the trio join Bobby in singing from time to time is quite a distraction. As for Bobby's solo on "Ebb Tide," which I thought was a highlight of the album, I got a typical Bobby Cole growling response: "I sound like I've got a sock in my mouth!"

You wanna see a publicity shot promoting the original trio, one you might not have seen before...ok....

I didn’t become enthralled seeing him on “The Judy Garland Show," either. I was a kid who was buying Beatles singles. My intro was the revelation of hearing “Mr. Bojangles” on the radio. Who had a voice like that? What was going on with that wistful electric violin? How did the calliope from “Mr. Kite” break down and end up in the shabby world of a “down and out” entertainer in jail? Who’s this BOBBY COLE guy? Where do I see him perform?? Jeez, how the hell do I get a copy of the record? As it turned out, some record stores only had the Jerry Jeff Walker ATCO version, which came out at the same time. I had to get Bobby’s via mail order!

That’s when I discovered the B-side, “Bus 22 to Bethlehem,” which Bobby told me was quickly done in a folk arrangement, maybe only a few takes, just a quick B-side thing for the rush-release of a song he had discovered by hearing Jerry sing it in a small club...before Jerry got a contract to record it. Cole had devoted all his energies to producing his vision of Jerry’s simplistic country strum. It was just an irony that Walker's buzz extended to ATCO and the ATCO version arrived almost simultaneously as Bobby's version on Columbia's DATE RECORDS division.

Many years later, I finally saw the ad I was searching for: Bobby Cole…The Bobby Cole Trio…playing at the Savoy Grill. Time to put on a suit, act cosmopolitan, and saunter in, dealing with the affected world of a maitre’ d and all the rest of the high class pretense. Lady and I entered this world mainly because of two songs that Bobby wasn’t even going to perform that night. His sets were loaded with the “American Songbook” material that were crowd favorites...music they knew from his jazz days at Ali Baba or Jilly's and other joints where Bobby's friend Frank Sinatra might be in the crowd. And yes, he played those vintage songs and sang them wonderfully with his ace new trio members, and was, to use one of his favorite words, “unique.”

As was expected of him, during a break in the sets, Bobby “worked” the crowd, going from table to table with a smile, and some “are you having a good time” quick comments, and getting nods and smiles and little compliments back. He got to our table, and we offered our compliments to him, and then I said, “Are you going to play BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM?” Bobby gave a quick little comical mock-frown (ala Robert DeNiro) as if I was being a wiseguy, and said, “You hang around…I wanna talk to you later!”

After the next set, we talked for a little while, and I mentioned how much that single knocked me out, and he gave me his card. Yes, if he had a mailing list, put me on it. Let me know where and when he’d be playing, and I’d be there. It grew into a very close friendship…there was a period there when I was the “go to” friend when he was alone or in trouble. Part of it, I admit, is that I wasn’t miles away as some others over the years ended up, and I was new to his alcohol problems while others had, under the sound advice of AA, chosen to “let go and let God.” Anyway…

December of 1996. It had been an upbeat time for Bobby. For many months now, his lifestyle had changed. He had moved out of the apartment next door to the Dakota that he had shared platonically with a very strange actress-widow-religious nut. He and a cute blonde (he nick-named her “Little Mouse” affectionately, perhaps not to her face) and she had found a love nest where they could live together.

She was smart, enthusiastic, and…unfortunately heading into the last week or two of December, having some problems with Bobby’s inevitable little falterings. Going out to get two bottles of Heineken from a bodega, was sometimes not quite enough, and he sometimes missed a night or two at Campagnola, which was his steady booking for many years (and a a time when bar-restaurant piano players were more and more of a rarity).

The Wikipedia entry, re-written several times with the help of friends, relatives or both, has finally gotten December 19th right…adding what was written here many years ago. Bobby didn’t “slip on the ice and hit his head on the sidewalk,” a weird supposition that Ron Meyers placed on his defunct website where he sold CD-Rs of Bobby’s demos and outtakes. Bobby may have been under a bit of a strain, having to find other places to stay for a little while when “The Mouse” told him he couldn’t keep drinking while in the love nest. But he was still smoking, still weighing several pounds over fighting weight, and in his 60's. He had lived a rugged life and it caught up to him in just a few moments. He simply slowed down as he walked, a block uptown from Campagnola, seized by an apparent heart attack.

Back to the incidents of December 19th. Within a day or two of Bobby’s passing, “The Mouse” wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery of what happened and where he was found. She talked to Salvatore at Campagnola, and then traced Bobby’s movements that day, coming to the scene where the ambulance picked up Bobby and took him to the hospital. She spoke to the store owners on the block, to see if they came out to find out what was going on. As irony would have it, the incident happened in front of a bar. The bartender hadn’t yet opened the joint for the evening, and happened to look out the window and notice a white-haired gentleman in distress. He was leaning against a lamppost for support, and then slowly, slipped downward. The ambulance came quickly, but he was probably DOA by the time he got to Roosevelt Hospital (yes, same one that received John Lennon).

Patrons at Campagnola eventually got the bad news. There would be a replacement for Bobby...the somewhat grim looking guy who so often was called in when Bobby was having a wayward weekend...but The Man was not coming back. A little update on the joint for you:

Campagnola no longer has a pianist. Some entries on social media about the place mention how much “fun” the current pianist was, and how he would encourage everyone for sing-alongs. I'm not sure if this was the same guy who was Bobby's sub and steady replacement, or yet another replacement. The "jolly piano-man schtick" was, of course, the exact opposite of Bobby’s approach to entertainment. I suppose the sing-alongs may have delighted the peculiar crowd that would stand around at the bar in the middle of the night. I assume the songfests didn't start earlier, causing indigestion for the dour and affluent (and sometimes dangerous-looking) patrons who were paying high prices for their pasta, fish or steak. Oh yes, and the expensive Italian desserts. And drinks. And they knew to order the ITALIAN brand of bottled water, Pellegrino, NOT PERRIER!! (Mention Perrier and it was like you gave the wrong password from Gotti).

I walked by Campagnola one night a few weeks ago, and it was freezing cold and the place of course had NO indoor service because of the pandemic. They did erect an outdoor shack, which was long enough to seat about four tables. How any food could stay warm for more than five minutes I have no idea, but there was an elderly affluent couple in winter clothing, chowing down on some pasta. There were several uniformed waiters standing at attention waiting for the affluent diners to issue a command, or ready to “seat” new customers. You do NOT just go sit down, even under such ridiculous and shabby conditions…you signal for the waiter or the maitre’ d! I looked in the window…no piano. There was a framed photo of Bobby’s replacement on a little table that included some bottles and a vase of flowers…a table probably ready to be removed once indoor dining resumed.

Yes, there was a little memorial to Bobby, thanks to “The Church of the Healing Christ.” Bobby and I sometimes talked about religion, or poetry, or his favorite films (“I call him AWESOME Welles!” he declared). Bobby was not only extremely well schooled in classical music and theory and technique, he was well read, as you might tell from some of his lyric references, and the quote of a fairly obscure poet on the back of his Concentric solo album.

While the woman he’d lived with for so many years was most definitely a bit off the deep-end when it came to religion (she had a veiled bust of Christ in her bedroom), Bobby did accompany her to Sunday services quite a bit, and not just out of obligation. Though he was typically gruff about the name of the place (“The Healing Christ!”) he was a sincere seeker of meaning and of trying to piece together some of the deep, deep issues in his life, from deaths in his family to estrangements from ones he still loved, to his battle with the bottle.

I didn’t want to intrude on Bobby at the church, but I was certainly curious about the place, and I did attend a service there, knowing that for one reason or other, he wasn’t going to be there that Sunday morning. I also attended the service that included a memorial tribute to him in the program. I didn’t see any familiar faces at all from the world of Bobby Cole. I do remember speaking to a couple who apparently recognized me from Campagnola, and mentioned that they saw him there many times. And I did talk briefly to the Reverend Nielsen, the very unusual woman who was the heart and soul of “The Healing Christ.”

Here's a scan of the Playbill-sized modest booklet for the service held on January 12, 1997.

Long time ago. 1997... well before the days when I owned any “sneaky” little camera or device that could record video or take pictures surreptitiously. I wish I could show you a picture of Anna May Nielsen in all her splended glory! She presided over the services in a flowing gown, more ornate than what you might see being worn by a woman singing in a choir. The robe-gown seemed like some heavenly creation that Kitty Carlisle might have worn in a light opera. She looked very much like Kitty Carlisle, too, an older woman with flowing dark hair to her shoulders, her voice and manner confident, loving, and reassuring.

“The Church of the Healing Christ” was founded in 1906, and had only a few leaders over the past decades. I think the fortunes of the church took a hit over the years. I'm assuming that in the 30's and 40's and 50's (when leadership changed only once) they held services in an actual church. By the time Bobby Cole was attending, services were being held in a very large auditorium that was used primarily by a music school, as I recall. There were folding metal chairs that could seat maybe 50 people or less, and there was the bare stage, where Reverend Nielsen stood in front of a podium.

There were modest refreshments on a long table in the back, along with a donation box. She was an eloquent speaker, and as quaint as the surroundings were, she did have a presence that quickly made you feel like you were truly in a church, and in front of someone who was blessed with some kind of divine spirit, and might pass some knowledge, righteousness or comfort along to you.

Bobby died on December 19, 1996 and Rev. Anna May Nielsen died at the Specialty Care Granite Ridge facility in Canada on December 22, 2007. Her husband had died before her, and her relatives were mostly neices and nephews and two step-children. She attended the University of Manitoba graduating in 1939, and her “regular job” was with the United Nations, first at the Department of Economic and Social Affairs, and later at the editorial department of the United Nations Industrial Development department (whatever that is) for a total of 33 years. The remarkable woman could speak French, Spanish, Danish and Dutch.

She attended the Unity School of Christianity, became a licensed and ordained minister, and on Sundays presided over her devoted following, which included an avid student that those in attendance knew as Robert Cole.

BUS 22 TO BETHLEHEM

THE WRITINGS OF PHIL OCHS (and a December 25th song from Bonnie Koloc)

This has been a tough December (following many and many a tough month in this most immemorial year. Heading into the supposedly “cheerful” holiday season, which many find depressing even in the best of times, we had the 40th anniversary of an assassination.

“...distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor….”

For me, and so many others, it still is a bitter hurt.

Of course, the pandemic came back with a vengeance. The KILL rate may be somewhat low (in America, 3,000 die each day but the country has about 300 million, so what are the odds, the “so what” people snicker). Meanwhile, those sickened by Covid are clogging up the hospitals to full capacity, and anti-vax anti-mask assholes will prolong the suffering well past another few months, for sure.

TODAY? DECEMBER 19th?

It’s the anniversary of a death not particularly well remembered at this point (see: COLE, Bobby) and a birthday that unfortunately lets us know that Phil Ochs is not among the small circle of friends celebrating his 80th. He died at 35 by his own hand, at the end of his rope.

His friendly rival Bob Dylan has apparently retired, by the way. The “never ending tour” was no rehearsal for retirement, but perhaps he was feeling the strains, and the pandemic shut down was the final push. Rumor has it he instantly took his band off the payroll, and of course, soon after, sold the rights to all his songs. That does seem like he may simply spend time painting, sculpting, writing memoirs, and perhaps calling in some people for a new studio album if he feels like it.

A bright spot for me was, after being postponed by the pandemic because nobody was able to work at the publishing house or the printer etc. etc., “The Writings of Phil Ochs” scheduled for May, FINALLY made its appearance here in December. For those “50 fans” who can’t be wrong, and hopefully another 500 or 1000 at least, this is a handsomely done volume that saves us a grip to fucking Oklahoma to try and make an appointment to peruse the actual documents for a few hours at the “Woody Guthrie Museum” where they lay. (It’s nice, and often the only thing to do, when material is donated to a college library or a museum, but so many of these places are proprietary. They won’t stream online or allow scholars to get copies for a legit research project. They deny rights to documentary film makers. So big thanks THIS book appeared at all!)

The mild caveat here is that the book IS dated. Only Phil fans would be interested in his Free Press interview with failed mayoral candidate and current L.A. police chief Tom Reddin…and then, only because the interview exposes Phil’s honesty and vulnerability. He admits to having panic attacks while talking to the guy, and Reddin comes off as mature and sympathetic, telling Phil to take it easy, have a glass of water…rather than snicker at the hippie who has crumbled in confronting “The Man.” Phil’s interview questions, by the way, are much more journalist than Abbie Hoffman wiseass, another thing to his credit if you bother to read the piece.

As for “Will Elliot Richardson Be Our Next President?” that’s one of the bon bons I’ll save for last, or not at all, like the nougat piece in the Whitman sampler box. Likewise, “Brezhnev on TV’s Let’s Make a Deal” probably wasn’t all that hilarious to readers even at the time it was published. The provocatively titled “James Dean Lives in Indiana” is actually just a screed against Hubert Humphrey. Anyone remember “The Happy Warrior?”

For happiness…for a shot of Phil the wicked wiseguy, I’m glad to say that the book fearlessly (who knows who owns copyright, if anyone, for 60’s magazines and newspapers) reprints an article from Cavalier. Cavalier was a B-level men’s magazine competing with Playboy. It just happened to be a very worthy adversary, with a lot of the more radical writers and comedians contributing pieces, and the girls showing a little more, and a little more often than what you got in Hef’s mag. Along with Rogue (where Lenny Bruce had a column) and Swank (with Bruce Jay Friedman editing), Cavalier back issues are certainly worth reading.

Phil’s put-on contemplates a bunch of new releases with exciting photos on the cover. It was first published in DECEMBER of 1965, and includes these:

COVER: A color close-up of a large female breast.

TITLE: More of Judy Henske

COVER: A dungareed half-smling long-haired boy walking down a snow-covered street wth Susie Rotolo.

TITLE: The Free-Stealing Phli Ochs

COVER: A dungareed half-smiling long-haired boy leaning over the body of a dead Negro woman with a cane.

TITLE: Still Another Side of Bob Dylan.

There’s more to this still-amusing article. MUCH more interesting and often valuable writings in here, including a few diary entries from Phil’s trips overseas. If it’s any consolation, though Phil died at 35, he traveled the world more times than some seasoned 80 year-old, and left behind a prolific amount of songs and writings, too, AND his political activity from New York to Chicago to Los Angeles would have exhausted most anyone else. As Paul Simon sang it, “some folks’ lives roll easy…” and some people just meander through it, and Phil…for much of it, it was an amazing rollercoaster of a ride with a great amount of highs.

A discovered gem from Phil’s very early days (yes, they’ve got his writings from college newspapers and even earlier) is “The Fight,” a short short story he wrote while attending the Staunton Miltary Academy in 1958.

There’s a lot to enjoy in this book, and it’s always interesting to see who Phil was championing (Buffy Saint-Marie, Gordon Lightfoot) and true fans will even wonder, marvel, and be confused by the assortment of never-before-seen poems he wrote. If you were mildly baffled by some of Phil’s liner note-poems, here’s more of the same.

There are also never-before-seen photos, which show the artist at his best; revolutionary and challenging, cheeky and satiric, or just staring right through you with poetic poignance, seeming to know you and holding secrets he will reveal in song.

David Cohen’s previous tome was a valuable bio-bibliography published long before the Internet, which remarkably gave Phil fans a huge amount of stuff to try and find, from writings (now collected here) to bootleg concert recordings.

There will be celebrations for Phil’s birthday if you can find them, including “Phil Ochs Night” things, and I suppose some “helpful” people giving away Phil’s Elektra and A&M records along with the more forgivable passing around of the thirsty boots.

BIG thanks here to David Cohen for ALL his research work and editing, and to the “Phil Ochs Estate” (listed as copyright owners for this book ie, brother Michael Ochs and daughter Meegan Ochs).

This December, we can still give thanks for staying alive, and for most, being able to say the same for friends, relatives and those we admire. And, cliche though it is, the “archive’s alive” on Phil’s recordings, and now, at least, submitted for your approval…here is “THE WRITINGS OF PHIL OCHS.”

Your download?

Well, there are even more obscure folkies out there. And I’ve always liked Bonnie Koloc’s melancholy “25th of December.”

“My baby left me a little too soon….and it’s so hard to find just a little piece of mind when everything you’ve got’s been taken away…”

BONNIE KOLOC- THE 25th of DECEMBER

For Chanukah: "WHEN MESSIAH COMES" - Herschel Bernardi and Sheldon Harnick versions

Chanukah starts at sundown tomorrow. Or does it? Doesn't it? The Jewish people are indeed very smart, to keep track of their major holiday! The Christians know "December 25th" and shoot for it every time, but the Jews? Like the people themselves over 2,000 years, their major holiday keeps moving. "What date is it this time?" and "Who hit you in the head because you're Jewish, and won't be arrested for committing a hate crime? This neighborhood...maybe we need to move again..."

Fact is, more slavery and hate crimes have befallen the Jews than any other race, but since they don't blow up theaters or riot and break windows and steal sporting goods, nobody much gives a damn. That's a fact. But let's leaven the grimness with some typical humorous Jewish irony: the song "When Messiah Comes."

The song was cut from "Fiddler on the Roof." It seemed like the reason was that the song was just a tad too dark in acknowledging that the Messiah hasn't come despite all the misery (Jesus hasn't shown either). In Brooklyn, part of New York City, which has the largest Jewish population aside from Israel, many Orthodox Jews were convinced that Rabbi Schneerson was the Messiah, and after his death, he would somehow come back to life and prove it, and all would be well. No, it hasn't happened yet and he's been gone many years now.

So what happened to "When Messiah Comes?" In the show, the bedraggled, bewildered townspeople of Anatevka must flee for their lives due to a pogrom. Tevye acknowledges this misery, but muses that "When Messiah Comes..." things will finally improve. Only the song is loaded with bitterly humorous truths. Yes, "we're still here," but the Messiah's reason for the long delay? "How terrible I felt you'll never know!" Oy.

Audiences were not laughing. The song is, admittedly, not going to put a smile on the average religious person's face, but it came at a dramatic and sad moment in the show...the uprooted Jews having to trudge to hoped for safety in a foreign country, preferably America. Sheldon Harnick, who wrote the lyrics, is no stranger to irony. Some might remember the Kingston Trio's "Merry Minuet." In that one, Harnick wrote about the bloodthirsty world of countries warring with each other, but done with the joy of a grinning skull. I had the opportunity to meet Mr. Harnick, and I brought along the printed out "When Messiah Comes" for him to sign. I did admit I almost chose "Merry Minuet." Anyway....

"When Messiah Comes" is of course not on the original soundtrack (Zero Mostel) and not in the movie version (Topol), but when Herschel Bernardi took over for Mostel on Broadway, he was such a hit, Columbia put out a solo album in which he sang all the hit songs from the show AND added the missing song.

Here's a bit of levity to go with the unleavened bread that some might figure should be eaten around Chanukah time as well as Passover.

Sheldon Harnick is still with us, though he de-activated his Facebook page. Herschel Bernardi (October 30-1923-May 9, 1986) could still be alive and with us, except it either wasn't God's plan, or there is no God. Or God is selective about who gets to be 100 and how miserable it is to actually be that age. Is the pandemic just another test before the Earth is saved and pollution and over-population and war cease? Will people stop getting awful diseases or shoot each other, and live hundreds of years instead of popping off routinely at 70 or 80 or even at birth? We may not know for sure until Messiah comes.

HERSCHEL BERNARDI VERSION

SHELDON HARNICK VERSION

For Christmas: TURLEY RICHARDS - I HEARD THE VOICE OF JESUS

 

 

The fictional LOU GRANT once declared, to MARY RICHARDS, "You have spunk....I HATE SPUNK." 

One of the many things I hate...HYPE. There's no shortage of dopes who will tell you, perhaps with a finger jabbing your chest, "THIS is the BEST rock and roll record ever made..." (You also have to suffer people who will tell you about THE BEST in just about any category. Like, they insist you go to their favorite pizza joint because "THEY HAVE THE BEST PIZZA IN THE WORLD.")

So I hesitate in saying that Turley Richards has given the BEST performance ever on a single 45 rpm (which truncated the song from over 6 minutes on the album to about 4 minutes).  But using the Prof. Irwin Corey "HOWEVER," it would be difficult to find a more impressively versatile performance. From Elvis to Orbison to McCartney to Aretha and back, most great performances are touching, exciting, or memorable but remain in one genre. THIS song, if you stay with it, manages (Edwin Hawkins did the arrangement) make great use of Turley's multi-octave range AND his ability to sing folk, blues, soul, gospel and falsetto. (Stay with it...the song starts a bit slow, and gains amazing momentum).

That, along with the subject matter, is what makes it so impressive, if not a "BEST." Quite an achievement for a recording now 50 years old.

 

For the "holiday season," sober and muted as it is for most people, and when certain obnoxious stores INSIST on playing atrocities like "Feliz Navidad," "Frosty the Snowman," "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," "Wonderful Christmas Time" and "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," here's a song with a lot more meaning. 

Turley Richards, who was on many major labels without major success, makes a living teaching people to sing, and helping people record themselves. You can check other entries on the blog to read his remarkable story (two blog entries are devoted to his book Blindsighted). The good news, in these troubled times where it would be difficult for him to teach except via phone or Zoom, is that Turley's just released a new 2 CD compilation of his best work. It's called "The Man in Me," and you can get it on his TurleyRichards dot com:

In the words of the great Eta James, “at last!” This has been a monster project to create-sifting through all of my unreleased recordings to choose what I wanted to present to you, would be a tough task for someone sighted. It’s made even more difficult for me as my “filing system” is to listen and listen and listen again. And then I started writing again a few months ago and decided to record three new songs to include. I think it will be worth the wait!

Some of these recordings were master demos and some were live performances. All have been re-mastered by Chris Greenwell at Louisville’s own Downtown Recording Studio to give you the best quality listening experience.

These songs cover 50 years of my career from 1970 to 2020

"I Heard the Voice of Jesus"

Download or listen online: I HEARD THE VOICE OF JESUS 

THE PLAGUE - Here Today Gone Tomorrow especially if you listen to Clapton or Van

 

One thing we've definitely learned from the pandemic: a lot of people are assholes. Some are ignorant assholes. Others are arrogant assholes. Still more are just plain stupid assholes. The ignorant ones don't understand the importance of masks, distancing or vaccines. The arrogant ones figure they're somehow immune, or it's a sign of weakness to be cautious. Then there are the stupid ones who think it's all a government conspiracy or some kind of attempt to "infringe" on "freedom." 

Of course its possible to be both ignorant, arrogant AND stupid. (Nobody like that reads THIS blog). Perhaps fitting into all three characters is a certain idiot savant "guitar hero" named Clapper, or something like that. He was influenced in his efforts to prove that drugs can continue to affect a person, by a guy who has developed the body of a suckling pig while singing like a rabid goose. Moving Van or something like that. That's what he fucking looks like. A moving van in a pork pie hat. 

Keeee-rist: 

What you see from the pictures, by the way, is that Clapper hasn't opened his eyes in 40 years. (Let's face it, "Layla" was a long time ago, and his mute, moody slow version of the song was pretty lame, as has been most of his later albums). Van? Blind completely to sanity. Now, this asshole also hasn't done anything too great in 40 years, and he sounded retarded when he was mildly worth listening to. "Moondance," yeah, some kind of jazz-rock fusion that wasn't bad. I'm not sure why he was babbling so much about a "Brown Eyed Girl." They are VERY common aren't they? How about wanting a girl with one brown eye and one green one? THAT would celebrate a much more unique female. (One blue eye and one brown one, or one blue eye and one green one, or a cyclops...all would've have made that garble-voiced song a lot more interesting).

Van Morrison somehow thinks that the government is being “FASCIST” by protecting assholes from themselves. What else, Van, no speed limits on the highways? Legalizing heroin? Allowing everyone in England to own an assault rifle?  

Wearing a mask is not wearing a muzzle because of government sadism. It’s to protect people for their down good. IT IS THAT SIMPLE. Making sure people stay the fuck away from each other via distancing is SIMPLE, too. Fact is, if this wasn't a rule in stores, arrogant assholes would get in your face all the time, instead of being shown the door.
 

Funny, Van Morrison doesn’t believe in “Freedom” when it comes to protecting his music. He is one of the most virulent anti-blog anti-piracy guys around. Try to put up Van Morrison’s shit and WHAM, it’s taken down. Is he being a FASCIST? He actually thinks some government laws are good?

 What Eric and Van are mostly grumbling about (and really, nobody under 60 gives a fuck about them) seems to be the government NOT doing ENOUGH for musicians. 

 There's been a bit of elitist shit from musicians and the Broadway crowd: "We need the arts! It's an outrage the venues have closed! Give money to all the simpering actors and the glowering musicians who are not being allowed to prance around on a stage! We NEED entertainment! Don't shut these venues down just because of the worst plague in 100 fucking years!"

To this I reply: VAN, ERIC, take a look down any fucking street in a city or town. How many theaters and rock venues do you see...compared to restaurants? Bars? Schools? ALL have suffered. So have business from barber shops to bowling alleys to gyms to recording studios. It's pretty arrogant to be spouting off about rock shows, when schools are closed and museums and libraries too. PRIORITIES. It's unfortunate that famous has-been rock stars can get publicity and attention for what THEY think is a priority, and the media wouldn't pay the same attention to a spokesman for teachers, the curator of a museum, or even the owner of a chain of failing restaurants...all of whom deserve the publicity too, if not moreso.

Here's Van whining "save live music," as if that's the priority, above saving lives, putting kids in school, having restaurants open, helping Mom and Pop stores stay around, keeping nursing homes safe, and taking care of so many people who have essential jobs that have been fucked over for the past six months!< P>

Who is speaking out for "save the restaurant owner and his staff, who don't have "take out food" and rely on people to come in for steaks or spaghetti or whatever, and have been starving for the past six months?

Shouldn't the government's priority be the average person who can't work? In the USA, the government sent out ONE "stimulus" check. That was it. Sadly, a lot of businesses have failed over these agonizing months. Many restaurants have gone out of business. It's not just ROCK venues that are suffering. If Eric and Van want to raise money, via a bad record anybody can bootleg on the Internet free, fine. But have some common fucking sense about it. It's not "FASCIST" to protect people from their own stupidity. Unfortunately, it isn't just STUPID people who die of Covid because they all crowded around on the beach or defiantly in a bar, they spread it to normal people.

Van supposedly will send his royalty checks to needy musicians who have lost work due to Covid. I do hope that includes guys like Turley Richards, or ladies like Sonja Christina of Curved Air, or Eleanor McEvoy, and others who play the smaller venues and rely on touring for several months because they don’t play the arenas like Van and Eric. I doubt anyone will see much money...let's remember the farces like the "Concert for Bangla Desh" where the profits got mis-managed. Rockers are notoriously stupid when it comes to trusting managers and accountants with funds!  

To quote an R.E.M. line, “Everybody hurts…”

Perhaps none hurt more than the front-line nurses and doctors, who are overwhelmed in some towns and cities by cases of Covid. Some have fallen victim, either physically or psychologically. That's a lot worse than somebody with a day job having to sit out "open mic" night in Bristol.

 Phil Ochs used to say that the liberal was “ten degrees to the left of center in good times, ten degrees to the right of center if it affects them personally.” And Van Morrison, because it affects his flatulent, inflated ego so much, has gone 70 degrees to the right, to the point of being a Trumper; a totally ignorant loudmouthed fool.  
    
 Governments have been trying, ever since this shit began, to get people back to work …. that way they can collect taxes and have a strong economy. Fer Chrissake, the last thing any country wants is tons of people sick and/or out of work. Get real, my drugged up rock "idols."

Hey Van, whatever became of "The Plague?" Just one of many rock groups who didn't quite have the luck in getting a song played by a disc jockey, and instead having to give up on being creative and getting paid for it. We're all "Here Today Gone Tomorrow" or at some other unspecified date in the future. Let's not making it "Here Today Gone Today" because somebody breathed Covid on us! 

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