Little Arthur Duncan

Little Arthur Backstage at the Chicago Blues Fest (Photo by Alex Cuevas) 

Piano Willie

Piano Willie and Mr. G. (Photo by Alex
Cuevas) 

Gorging on Music

The second weekend in June is Blues Fest weekend in Chicago. The Chicago Blues Festival is allegedly the largest free blues music festival in the world. I was there - I gorged on the music for days; just finished up last night.

The first weekend in June was the Chicago Gospel Music Festival, which I missed. The thunderstorms discouraged me from attending - I hate standing out in an open field in the pouring rain. Well, the thunderstorms didn't last, of course, but once I delayed my departure for the Gospel Fest, family tasks filled up all available space in the weekend. But I did see Nick Moss and the Fliptops on Saturday night (June 4) at my local blues bar. Mr. Moss and his crew are solid, energetic players - traditionalists with an edge. Nick cuts an imposing figure on stage - he is large and in charge, with his tatts and his blistering guitar. He also has a very hot young player in his band - Gerry Hundt, a fine guitarist and excellent harmonica player (and yes, he plays bass, too). And to add to the Fliptops' cache, they have the amazing Piano Willie O'Shawny. Piano Willie is a deeply retro guy - he's got the conked hair, the tight white t-shirt, the wiry frame. I ran into him at Blues Fest and we snapped a picture, which I have posted for your review. Willie is no spring chicken, but he can pound the keys. So Nick Moss and the Fliptops served as my warm-up for the blues fest.

On Thursday afternoon (June 9), I stood out in the mid-day sun to watch Tommy McCracken. Every fan of big blues-belting male vocalists should run to Chicago and catch this man's act! He works very hard and delivers a song like very few others. And he has some cool dance moves, too! He's 6 ft. 2 in. and meaty; he is a multi-racial stewpot of a man. He worked hard out in the ninety degree/ninety percent humidity Chicago summer weather. I felt honored to be in his presence. The man is 66 years old and still kicking it.

On Friday, the Fest hit its high points for me. First, the amazing Robert Lockwood, Jr. held forth for ninety minutes, playing and singing a range of jazz-tinged blues with his large band. He had the "hot set," meaning he was in the mid-day sun. Robert is a powerful performer. He is only 90 years old, so we should get to enjoy him for a few more decades ;-). This man is in fantastic mental and physical shape for a nonagenerian. He still has a lot to say; his music is deep. His version of "Big Leg Woman" is now my all-time favorite. I talked to him after the set, and he was cracking jokes and waving his arms around like an enthusiastic youngster. Robert is one of the last of the original bluesmen still standing - along with Honeyboy Edwards. Lockwood took guitar lessons from Robert Johnson, fercryinoutloud! He played with Little Walter Jacobs, Sonny Boy Williamson II (aka Rice Miller), Sunnyland Slim and a host of other legends - he was probably the top session man in Chicago during the glory years of the blues. He took off for Cleveland in the 1960's and still lives there.

Over on the Front Porch Stage during and after Robert Lockwood's set, a marvelous blues family gathered to celebrate the life and music of their deceased partriarch, Eddie Taylor. The stage was crowded with Taylors - Eddie Jr., Larry, Brenda, Edna and Demetria. Their dad was one of the builders of the Chicago blues. He invented Jimmy Reed's sound with his subtle shuffle and tasty solos. In addition to the Taylor kids, a number of Eddie Taylor disciples were on stage - Little Arthur Duncan uncorked several tunes and re-created the '50's blues world with his keening vocals and earthy harp. Steve Guyger, a massively gifted blues harmonica player from Philly, added energy and zest to the tunes.

On Saturday, I was tired. I also had been a bad dad and husband, so I needed to re-connect with my wife and kids (who are incredibly kind to tolerate my blues addiction). But The Smoke Daddy on Diversey had it going on during Saturday afternoon and evening - pig roast, $1 Buds, and hours and hours of harmonica blues. Oh, yas man! I had to be there. Scott Dirks was the MC - he is a great harmonica player and a scholar of the blues harmonica (he literally wrote the book on Little Walter). Scott brought up a parade of players - Big Al Blake from California, Steve Guyger (see comments in preceeding paragraph), and local heroes Shoji Naito and Big D. The evening entertainment was the Billy Flynn Band. Billy is a nice feller from Green Bay, Wisconsin who has blues blood and blues guts in his lanky middle-aged white body. He has true reverence for the Chicago blues traditions. He brought Bob Stroger with him, so we had the honor of hearing this giant of the blues bass guitar for a few tunes. And Steve Guyger also took the stage with Billy and really stretched out, playing the truest blues harp I have heard in ages - maybe ever. Steve's vocals were authentic and impassioned. To add to the fun, Cathi Norton sang and Joe Filisko played some harp. I left the Smoke Daddy at 1 a.m., completely sated.

Sunday was a day for rest. I went to church, we had a barbeque.

Last night, I went to Joe Filisko's advanced blues harmonica class. This is a group of blues harp zealots, a cult led by Joliet Joe. We are studying the intricacies of "Sixth Position." No, this is not a martial arts move or a page from the Kama Sutra - it is a very different way of approaching the harmonica in a blues setting. So we played, we studied, and we went to the bar for beers after class.

I must now re-engage as a good investment banker and family man, let all of this music settle into my system.

Job History

Here is a list of jobs:

1. Manager of a hot dog stand.
2. Investment banker in a 3-man partnership.
3. Greenskeeper on a municipal golf course.
4. CEO of a failing healthcare software firm.
5. Head of corporate development, marketing and communications at a big finance company.
6. Salesman for an equipment leasing company.
7. Park maintenance man.
8. Trombone player in a band that supported a funky little circus.
9. Associate Director of Admissions for a graduate business school.
10. Commercial banker for major midwestern pharmaceutical firms.
11. Singapore-based Asia-Pacific manager for a small financial institution.
12. Singing, harmonica-playing front man for a blues band.
13. Night manager at the UC Berkeley Student Union Building.
14. Manager of a healthcare industry lending group.
15. Leader of a start-up business focused on investments in alternative energy and cogeneration projects.
16. Night Grill Man at a Jack In The Box burger joint.
17. Independent consultant.

This motley collection of occupations is my job history. The longest time I have spent in one job has been about 6 years; the shortest time - one week (I didn't do well as a night grill man at Jack in the Box).

Sometimes it is a curse to be saddled with a short attention span; sometimes it is a blessing. When you keep starting over, you lose momentum. But if you keep your feet moving, you are harder to hit. I prefer to keep moving.

On the Cusp

There is an old joke - "Question: What is the difference between a harmonica player and a large pizza? Answer: A large pizza can feed a family of four." This joke applies to most musical pursuits, I am afraid. Early on, I decided that I did not have the stomach for the battle that most professional musicians fight every day. A top performing player generally does not receive compensation from the market that is commensurate with the talent and effort expended by the musician. Only a few make it, and I think there is a significant oversupply of musicians relative to market demand for musical talent. So I switched my college major from music to economics, followed up my undergrad degree with a MBA degree, and embarked on a banking career. I am in my 27th year of that career - time just flows like a river.

For the past year, I have been a partner in a small investment banking boutique in Chicago. There are only three partners - no other employees. We have one client that pays us a fee every month, so we have our expenses covered. In order to make decent money, we have to do deals. We have three deals on the cusp right now. The first is a deal we have been working on since last summer. We have been retained to sell a company; we have a buyer lined up, and we are trying to push things along to close. It is hard slogging, but I think we are going to get it done. The second deal is a prospect that we have been working on for about six months. We are negotiating our engagement letter right now. We have hit a snag. I hope that we work through this, because this company will sell readily to a hungry market. The third deal isn't really a deal - it is a consulting assignment with a very large company that could turn into a long term relationship. We have reached agreement on economic terms; now we have to work through the legal language with the attorneys. If we close on all three of these deals, we will have a fat year. If they all fall apart, we will be in a bit of difficulty.

Everything is hanging on the razor's edge, which is making me a bit edgy. I am waiting for other people to take action; I can't push too hard lest I annoy my counterparties; neither can I be too passive. Finding the right balance requires patience and luck. It stretches the nerves a bit.

Well, it is Friday evening and time to wander over to the train station - the 6:00 PM Union Pacific North Line train will take me home to my happy family. I can get my nerves unstretched by immersing myself music - and this weekend offers fabulous possibilities. The Chicago Gospel Festival is happening this weekend! Solomon Burke is the headliner tomorrow night!!! Business matters will be forgotten while I hang at the Gospel Fest.

Small Business Death Rattle

I like to think that I am an economically rational person, but I occasionally invest in things that are pretty shaky. In 2003, I became aware of an undercapitalized guy who was trying to open a blues club in my hometown. Now, I have longed to have a local blues club in my 'hood for a very long time (I am a knucklehead for the blues - what can I say?). I knew that the odds are long against the success of such an enterprise, but I figured out how much money I could afford to lose, got together with a couple of like-minded friends and put the dough in. The club opened in August 2003 and I have had a marvelous time hanging out there, hearing people like James Cotton, Rod Piazza, Magic Slim and the Teardrops, Carey Bell, L'il Ed and the Blues Imperials, Eddy "the Chief" Clearwater -- and many others. I have also hopped up on stage and played some harmonica, sang some songs, and made a complete fool of myself.

The club has struggled from the very first. The operator was over-optimistic about revenues and over-generous on expenses. The Northwestern University community was a big part of the business plan, but the college kids ain't down with the blues anymore. The manager of the club has made many mid-course corrections, but we continue to chase break-even. He raised additional money (including a little more from me), but the well now looks dry. Unless something positive happens soon, the place will probably die over the summer. Last month, the club lacked the money to pay certain amounts to the State of Illinois (the liquor retailer's license fee went unpaid, which causes problems in the booze supply chain. The bar was running out of booze!). Well, the operator managed to scape together enough money to pay the state and we have product on the shelves again. A massive influx of thirsty people is required to get some air under the wings of this sick little business. I think I hear death rattling in the bar.

I think this place enriches our community. It is a dirty shame that the community doesn't care enough to support it.

The Hypnotic Brass Ensemble

For the past couple of days, the northeast corner of Madison and Wells has been occupied by an unusual group of young men. They are the Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, an eight-piece band that consists of three trumpeters, three trombonists, a Sousaphone player and a drummer. They have the instrumentation of a New Orleans brass band, but they have a sound that goes beyond the "Dirty Dozen Brass Band" world. While their tunes have a lot of rhythmic forward motion, there is also a drone to the music (they call themselves "Hypnotic" for a reason). All of the musicians are the son of a single man - Sun Ra's trumpet player, Kelan Phil Cohran. Phil is a legend in Chicago - for his creativity and his remarkable skills of procreation. He has nineteen children, from 4-5 different women.

So I bought their home-produced CD - I am going to tee it up tonight to see if it captures the energy and verve that they spill out on the streets of the Loop.

King of the Blues Chromatic Harmonica 

Blues Chromatic

I arrived back home after wandering the southern reaches of Illinois with Amanda, my 13-year old daughter. And one of the first things I did when I walked in the house was grab my Hering 64 chromatic harmonica, my Brazilian beauty with an antique gold finish. I have gone a week without playing, and it was wonderful to feel the weight of the instrument in my hands. The Hering 64 is a great harmonica, but cranky (like most chromatics). The "64" in the name refers to the number of individual reeds in the instrument. If there are any saxophone players reading this, imagine if you had to deal with 64 reeds on your instrument instead of one! So chromatics are tough to tune, and there are many opportunities for a note to go dead - one bad reed equals one dead note.

The chromatic harmonica was quite popular for about 20 or 30 years, from the 1920's through the 1950's. Remember the Harmonicats? They played technically challenging music, but it sounds pretty corny to most of us today (I still like it - the interplay of the chromatic with the chord and bass harmonicas can be engaging). The chromatic is a complete instrument with a unique voice, and the jazz world began to notice. There are a number of excellent jazz harmonica players (Howard Levy is perhaps the most incredible, since he plays crazed jazz on the little diatonic harmonica). But the inventor of the jazz chromatic is Toots Thieleman. He is 83 years old and still globe-trotting, playing concerts in Mexico, Germany and Turkey this month. He pushes an amazing amount of emotion throught the harmonica - passion combined with technical expertise.

But what grabbed me was blues on the chromatic. And the king of blues chromatic was, is, and always will be George "Harmonica" Smith. George passed in the early 1980's and it is one of my great regrets that I never saw him perform. He did not cut many records. But the work he left behind is a mother lode of inspiration for blues harmonica players. He was a powerful, raucous player with a great musical vocabulary. I am one of the many harmonica players who are George Smith wanabees, copping his licks and singing style. Yeah, the Walters (Little and Big) are great, Cotton and Junior Wells are important, but I REALLY FEEL George Smith.

Wild Illinois

Amanda and I have settled into Carbondale, IL after spending the past few days in the wilderness. There is no internet access in places like Golconda and Cave In Rock, which were two of the small villages we visited during our travels through the Southern Illinois outback. The Shawnee National Forest is a marvelous place, a real gem. The mix of Utah/Colorado-style rock formations with deep green forest is startling.

We visited the new Lincoln Library/Museum in Springfield IL on Wednesday. This must be America's top presidential library - full of high-tech wizardry (check out the "Ghost of the Library" show for an eerie experience). I am an Abe Lincoln fanatic and a history buff, so this was a great opportunity for me to gorge on Lincoln lore. My lovely daughter was less enthusiastic, however, so we moved on south.

The Ohio River valley region of Southern Illinois was "farmed out" in the early part of the 20th Century. The forests were mostly harvested, the soils sucked dry of nutrients. Crop production plummeted, then the Great Depression led to a complete collapse of crop prices. The local farmers dried up and blew away with the topsoil. FDR sent the Civilian Conservation Corps to the Ohio River region of Southern Illinois and the forests were re-planted. Many of the major recreational areas in the region were built by the CCC during the Great Depression.

On Thursday, we had breakfast at the Dari Barr restaurant in Golconda. This was a classic small town diner - full breakfast for $3.00, a smiling waitress that called me "hon," and a clientele that consisted of farmers and hunters. Wednesday was the last day of wild turkey hunting season in Illinois and we sat next to a couple of hunters in full camo (including hats). Their clever disguises did not work - they were moaning over their failure to bag a turkey. Turkeys are not geniuses, but they are elusive, apparently.

Of the four hikes we completed in the past two days, Amanda and I would award four stars to Bell Smith Springs. We hiked along a spring-fed creek into pretty rough terrain and arrived at a sizable rock overlooking a pool. And we sat, and listened to the world.

And as we drove out of the nature preserve, a large wild turkey strutted across the road in front of our car. He probably made it through the last day of hunting season, so he is safe for another year.

Abnormal in Normal (Illinois)

My 13-year old daughter and I are chillin' at the Signature Inn in Normal, Illinois. I can report that Normal is normal - bland, flat and juiced up with strip malls, fast food joints and lots of traffic. This is a place that has no sense of place. We stopped here to rest after our first day of a father-daughter vacation.

Amanda and I have concluded that we don't belong in Normal. I am listening to Amanda chatter at her laptop, which is playing an anime' DVD (in the original Japanese - she doesn't like the English translations). We had dinner at Bennigans, which was OK since they have cheesecake on the dessert menu. We cruised Illinois State University (which anchors the Bloomington/Normal "metroplex") and did not feel inspired. We are abnormal, so this is not our kinda place.

We did see some interesting stuff today. Outside of Joliet, on the road to Morris, we stopped at Lock 6 of the Illinois Michigan Canal. We had a nice hike and chatted with some fishermen that were hoping to catch a mess of crappies. The IM was completed in 1848 and operated until 1933. The folks that built it were immigrant workers - Irish, Chinese, probably some freed black folks. The 96-mile canal connected the Great Lakes to the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers - this was a major reason why Chicago became such a great hub of commerce.

We also stopped in Pontiac, Illinois - a lovely village with a grand old courthouse and a dead downtown. The two restaurants we visited in Pontiac were both closed - for good - with "for sale" signs on the windows. The notice in the window of the "Pub and Grub" read "To our dear customers - thanks for 18 great years. Due to the poor economy and our poor health, we must close effective immediately." Just another small business tragedy in America....

We are heading to Springfield in the morning and will visit the brand new Lincoln museum. I am pumped about this!

Farewell, Bad Man 

Doug "Badman" Randall's Services

I am going to be out of town during Doug's funeral - I feel bad about this. Here are the details for any Chicago area friends/acquaintences of Doug Randall.

Funeral arrangements
Services for Doug Randall are as follows:

Wednesday May 4, from 3:30 - 7:00
Matz Funeral Home
3430 N. Central Ave.
2 Blocks south of Addison on the NW side

Doug ( The Bad Man ) Randall, of Big G and The Real Deal

Good bye, friend.

Who is Reginald Robinson?

Those of us who live in the Chicago area have heard rumors of a fellow that rose from the gawdawful Henry Horner Homes on the West Side to play, of all things, ragtime piano. Needless to say, this was not a path to riches and celebrity. Reginald Robinson became the Scott Joplin of our time, and nearly starved. He finally gave up, and turned his attention to making enough money through menial jobs to stay alive. Then he received a $500,000 "Genius Grant" from the MacArthur Foundation. last fall. God bless the MacArthur folks - they probably saved this man's art from disappearing. Howard Reich at the Chicago Tribune has written a wonderful story on Reginald.

Let's hope that Reginald continues on his current path - it would be encouraging to see ragtime break out of the museum and become a significant part of our musical landscape again.

Photo by Rick Trankle

Doug "Badman" Randall  

Doug "Badman" Randall RIP

The Chicago harmonica community has lost another stalwart. Doug Randall played just about every type of harmonica invented - not just the little diatonic "blues harp" that has entered the American mainstream, but the chromatic harmonica and even the bass harmonica. Doug was a killer blues player, but he could lay down the Harmonicats stuff, too ("Peg o' My Heart", "Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White," etc.). They called him the "Badman" because he looked a bit crazed - a wicked toothy smile, the mustache, combined with hair-raising stories of a mis-spent youth. He always would reach out to a fellow harp player - a warm, kind-hearted person. As the years passed, Doug ratcheted back his lifestyle - he quit smoking and drinking. His work with a local band here, Big G and the Real Deal, was intense and edgy.

Liver cancer snatched Doug. He kept his condition under wraps - very few people knew of his illness. He played up until the very end.

This has been a tough spring for Chicago harmonica fans - first we lose Harmonica Kahn in March, now Doug Randall.

Northwest Arkansas

Here is a fun fact to know and tell - the Northwest Arkansas metropolitan region is the second-fastest growing region in the United States after the Las Vegas region. Why is this happening? Two words, people - "WalMart Effect." The retail leviathan has been gradually re-creating the region. Not too long ago, folks that had business with WalMart would take a puddle-jumper from Cincinatti or St. Louis into a funky little airport in Fayetteville that had the ambiance of a Greyhound bus station. WalMart muscled through funding for a very nice regional airport that is out in the country, 10 miles away from Springdale, Fayetteville and Bentonville - Northwest Arkansas Regional Airport (XNA). There are now lots of non-stop flights between major US cities and XNA. My trip from Chicago went from a 4 hour ordeal to a quick one-hour hop. Then WalMart told their suppliers that they would only do business with firms that placed a senior executive with decision-making authority in the Bentonville area. So there are tons of new executives moving into Northwest Arkansas. This ain't hillbilly heaven anymore - you got big-ass executive houses, country clubs and lots of brand new schools opening up. The tax base is growing; the job opportunities are, too (if you have the "right skills" - high school drop-outs need not apply). In addition to WalMart, Tyson Foods and J.B. Hunt Trucking add to the business activity. And the University of Arkansa in Fayetteville provides lots of activity (jobs, culture, sports). Northwest Arkansas is frothy right now.

Folks in my neck of the woods (Chicago) don't like WalMart (Target is fine, though - this mystifies me, since Target and Walmart pay identical average wages and are equally brutal on local retailers...). A store on the rugged South Side of Chicago was blocked, mainly due to the fierce efforts of liberal folks - local and non-local. Some people in the neighborhood wanted the store, but they didn't have the clout to get it through the zoning board. Sam Walton re-invented retailing, and many people don't like the changes. The constant squeeze on costs to keep prices low leads to outcomes the rile up some people. Radical change in retailing is tough to swallow, especially for small retailers and union people.

I spent 2 days in Northwest Arkansas last week, working on a deal for my client. I can't reveal any details - it is all tied up by a non-disclosure agreement. I can reveal that my role was to serve as advisor and "stage manager" as my client met with potential business partners. It is interesting work, and loads of fun for a student of human behavior and relationships. Think of several dogs sniffing each other at the fire hydrant, trying to decide whether to fight or mate, and you have the picture.

I love my job, man.

April Blues

April is the cruelest month -- ol' T.S Eliot nailed it. In the Chicago area, April is a bi-polar experience. The sun comes out, the land warms up, people start to smile, the coats come off and folks head outdoors. It feels like the cold weather is gone for the season, then WHAM!!! In comes a cold front, the temps fall 30 or 40 degrees in 30 minutes and the skies look like slate. Add on the April 15 extraction of taxes by Uncle Sam (and the State of Illinois) and the April blues can hit - hard.

So I went down to Bill's Blues Bar last night to work out my bad attitude at the blues jam. I spent some time talking to the operator of the joint and, surprise, the blues business stinks in April. Cash ain't flowing. I left after I blew my harmonica on a couple of tunes with some reasonably good blues musicians. In spite of the music, I felt more downhearted going out than I did going in.

I just got back from running some errands. The weather is raw and obnoxious. I parked outside the Citibank branch and ran in to get some cash - it took five minutes, tops. When I came out, one of Evanston's finest was writing a nice parking ticket for me. I ran over, jumped in my car and waved him off. I avoided the ticket, but it helped to darken my mood. Feh!

I think it is time to retire to the bedroom and pull the covers up over my head. This dismal day is a wrap. I am heading down to northwest Arkansas tomorrow to meet with clients. I hope the sun is shining in the Ozarks.

Piece of my Dead Father

I was pawing through the flotsam that collects on the top of my dresser and came across a piece of my father - his old eyeglasses, tucked into an amazingly slim clamshell case. These glasses were U.S. Army issue, circa 1943. My dad's serial number was written inside the case. The old lenses were held in place by these cool retro frames - wire, round, with the flexible earpieces that wrap around the back of your ear for a tight fit even when you are getting bounced around in the back of a Jeep going down a rough road in France in 1944.

My dad died suddenly at the age of 76 - it has been fourteen years since I got the 3 a.m. telephone call from my mom from the hospital. My mom died shortly thereafter - in 1994 from cancer. She smoked heavily most of her life, so the Big "C" took her out early - she was a hale and hearty 72 when the tumor broke out of her bladder and invaded her lungs and her brain. Those unfiltered Camels did the job. My dad died of vascular failure - he smoked too, but quit in his 50's. He had a massive pot belly and sat on his ass for the last 35 years of his life - it is amazing he lived to 76.

Well, I can't say that I was real close to my father. The reasons for this are many and varied - it would take too long to explain in this blog, and no one is interested in my mopey family history. I left California to go to business school at Northwestern and never moved back out west. We would see each other once or twice a year after I left the coast. But looking at those old glasses, I realized that there are many things about my father's history that I don't know. He never talked about his World War II service, for example. And he wore those glasses as he rolled through Europe. He got frostbite right before the Battle of the Bulge and was sent to England for treatment - so he avoided that horrible battle and lived. I exist due to my father's frozen feet.

I took the old specs down to my local optometrist and had them fitted with prescription tinted lenses - now I have a pair of retro shades. And I can meditate on my father when I wear these glasses - the things I know about him, and the things I will never know.

Second Hand Tunes

"Second Hand Tunes" is the name of the local independent record (CD) store in my neighborhood. When I am feeling at loose ends and in need of a deep dive into an old school music retailing environment, I step into this corner shop. Almost all of the CD's are used, and therefore sell at a significant discount to the price of new CD's. This is a classic hunting and gathering exercise - you really don't know what you might find in Second Hand Tunes. I bought 10 discs for about $70. Here is the list:

1. Eddie Harris - "Eddie Who?"
2. Muddy Waters - "Hard Again"
3 Billy Boy Arnold - "Back Where I Belong"
4. Miles Davis - "The Best of Miles Davis: the Capitol/Blue Note Years"
5. J.J. Johnson - "Jazz Quintets"
6. Steve Miller Band - "Young Hearts/Complete Greatest Hits"
7. Robert Bonfiglio - "Through the Raindrops"
8. Bonnie Raitt - "The Bonnie Raitt Collection"
9. Bobby Blue Bland - "Midnight Run"
10. Solomon Burke - "Don't Give Up on Me"

Yes, I am heavily tilted towards old blues and R&B. And jazz. These musical forms pull on me - grab my head and my heart. They feel timeless and passionate to me. I have some rap and hip hop in my iTunes library, and I appreciate the talent it takes to perform in these genres. As Miles Davis allegedly said, "There are only two types of music - good and bad." But I get tired listening to all the spoken word stuff - I need melody, musical skill. Music is part of all cultures and throughout history it has served as a humanizing force that is common to all. Music connects the past to the present. Muddy Waters, Mozart and Dexter Gordon still speak to us today.