Exhibit "A"


No words can better describe the sort of get down, get rowdy and let it all hang out level of enthusiasm that occurs at a Donald Trump rally, than the above video from the New York Times. Fired up by their idol's borderline incoherent, but very effective, rhetoric, his fans happily and loudly revel in the stew of their collective hatred and bigotry.

Anyone who might suppose, possibly in a spirit of finding balance, that anything even remotely similar has ever happened at one of Hillary Clinton's speeches, would be disappointed. Part political demagoguery, part tent show revivalism, and part wrestlemania, this sort of behavior is, in our country, unique to Trump's events.

*               *               *

This was previously posted at Blue Mountain Winter.


I Met A Color Changing Spider


    A couple of weeks ago, we brought some past their prime hydrangea blooms inside, and put one bunch of them in an old colored pickling jar, and placed that on a shelf in the downstairs restroom, as a decoration. This room is known facetiously in the realty trade as a "1/2 Bathroom", although of course, no bathtub. I guess you could take a sort of a bath in the sink, but that seems tedious.

A few days later, I noticed that a spider had built a web between a hydrangea flower and the shelf; looking closer I saw that it was one of those spiders you see in the garden that have an adaptive color changing capability. We've seen these same critters in the back yard almost totally white, inside a Star Gazer lily, and mostly dark-brown, hanging around the seed cluster of a sunflower. Friends say they're called Orb Weaver spiders, but maybe the ones we have aren't. Got the camera, took a couple shots, and then let the spider be - maybe it would pick off a couple mosquitoes.


Pretty cool colors, huh? Anyway, to get on with this story (and if you have a fear of spiders or bugs in general, please stop reading this post, right now):

Maybe a week later I went into the restroom to straighten up a bit and do some light cleaning. Bent down to pick up the waste bin near the toilet, and as I was walking out it felt like a leaf had fallen onto the top of my head, which was impossible, so I ignored it. Maybe an hour after that, I sat down at the office desk with a hot cup, turned on the iMac, and checked emails and made a quick run through of my usual morning go-to web sites, while sipping what Captain Picard would call "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." Once, I felt a tickling on my neck, next to the shirt collar; scratched it a bit, then hit another bookmark and kept reading. Later it felt like something was moving on the left side of my head - I instinctively did a brushing away motion, and then heard something small go "plop", right into the now empty tea cup. Looked down into it, and sure enough - there was that little color changing spider.

I should have grabbed a phone or camera and taken a picture, but I didn't; it would have made this story complete. My first impulse was to quickly pick up the cup, walk out into the back yard, and hold it next to another hydrangea bloom. The spider rather calmly (or so it seemed) walked right onto the rim of the cup and settled on a petal, staying motionless for a bit. I imagine it's out there still, or, since it's been getting chillier at night lately, done whatever these creatures do to prepare for the coming winter. I hope it's been getting plenty to eat. Especially if it's mosquitoes.


Manzanar And The Lessons Of History

   At first glance, the photograph at the top of this post looks like it might have been taken at a US military encampment somewhere on the far side of the world. There are neat rows of uninsulated tar paper covered temporary barracks, facing onto a central, dust-swirled bare dirt parade ground, an American flag flying prominently, all in the shadow of high, almost indescribably beautiful mountains. A closer look, however, shows a very human, very non-military detail: children running through an otherwise static scene.

Manzanar

In reality, this picture was taken at a United States concentration camp. In 1942, over 110,000 men, women and children of Japanese descent, the vast majority of whom were US citizens, were rounded up at gunpoint, their homes and property seized and forfeited, and transported, along with only those few possessions that each could carry in their hands, to various camps such as this one at Manzanar, located in the high desert of California's Owens Valley.

Herded into crudely built, inadequately heated shacks with questionable communal sanitation, and forced to work in plantations surrounding the compound, none of them knew how long they would be held, or if they would ever be free again. One detail seldom mentioned today are the eight guard towers that were placed around the perimeter of the facility, each with multiple, permanently mounted large caliber machine guns capable of a high rate of fire, manned 24 hours a day, pointing directly into the residential area.

In a testimony to the resilience of the human spirit, the detainees were able to maintain their dignity under almost intolerable conditions. A patchwork social structure was soon established out of a population that up until then were mostly strangers to each other; what they all had in common, besides sharing a heritage, and the reality of their detention, was a basic sense of honor and courage in the face of adversity, passed down through Japanese families over centuries. Schools were established; sports, music instruction, art classes and other recreational activities encouraged, and those with prior medical education and training cared for the ailing and infirm. And throughout the years of their imprisonment, they never let go of the hope that some day, they would be released from their long exile.

After the end of World War II in 1945, these Japanese prisoner of war families were allowed to return "home" to rebuild their lives, although the houses they once owned were no longer theirs, their businesses and financial assets seized, their jobs long gone. It is a supreme irony that, even while our nation was fighting, in the noblest of causes, against the oppression of Fascist powers overseas, we engaged in a certain amount of tyranny ourselves.

These events aren't taught in U.S. history classes, but luckily, this one small part of the American experience has been well documented, and anyone wishing to really dig into the history of the so-called "war relocation camps" can do so easily. Also fortunately, there are numerous photos taken at the camps, by such well known photographers as Dorothea Lange and Ansel Adams, as well as by some of the internees themselves, like Toyo Miyatake.



After Manzanar

Although I'm not old enough to have been a witness to that time and place, I did meet many others of Japanese descent who were. My family moved to the US from Japan not very long after the camps were closed, and settled in a town that had a sizable Japanese community. The interesting thing is, that even though I grew up among, and had daily interaction with families whose older members had themselves been incarcerated, I was totally unaware until much later in life that anything so momentous had ever happened: they simply never talked about it.

The Japanese families of my youth lived in neat, well kept houses, unsegregated, alongside everyone else in what was then a dynamic, multi-ethnic working class town, among first and second generation Italian, Yugoslav, Polish, Hungarian, and Jewish families, as well as long time US residents, and other immigrants from all over the world. Many of the new arrivals had their own stories to tell, as refugees who fled the horrors of war torn Fascist Europe, but they didn't dwell on it; instead, they were all busy becoming, or getting back to being, fully American.

The Lessons Of History

The story of Manzanar and the incarceration of an entire nationality of people is just an example of an essentially good and decent society collectively having a really bad idea, fostered in a climate of xenophobia and fear, and turning that bad idea into reality. It's nice to think that we can learn the lessons of history, and that nothing like this could ever happen again, but - we might just be wrong about that.

When the eventual nominee of one of our major political parties came down a gold plated escalator and announced his intention to run for the office of the Presidency of the United States, he immediately made clear what was to be the focal point of his candidacy. From the beginning, and throughout the long campaign season, the former television "reality" show star has demonized those of Mexican descent as thieves, rapists and murderers, and threatened a crackdown on followers of Islam. For the first time in the history of our country, a presidential campaign has been explicitly based upon bigotry, religious intolerance and openly voiced racism. Nothing underscores this point better than the fact that every Neo-Nazi and white supremacist group, including the Ku Klux Klan, has endorsed the Republican candidate.

Deliberately using fear as a rhetorical device, and stoking resentment and hatred among his followers, a disproportionate majority of whom are white males, the Republican party nominee has called for the rounding up of millions of immigrant families of Hispanic descent, repeatedly denigrated members of other nationalities, encouraged violence at his political rallies, and suggested the assassination of the opposing party's candidate. He has portrayed the press as corrupt, mocked the disabled, demeaned the service of veterans and aid workers, and regularly directs derogatory language and fat-shaming towards women. Endangering both our economic stability and national security, he advocates cancelling international trade agreements, backs the dismantling of long standing multi-nation treaties and non-aggression pacts, and has considered the use of nuclear weapons in Europe and the Middle East.

As extreme as this candidacy may appear, the Republican party's leadership has nevertheless given their blessing and full backing to the nominee, effectively endorsing his policies and positions. Since that party currently controls the other branches of government, there is the very real possibility that the outcome of this year's presidential election will not only determine the short term political landscape, but also alter the very fabric of our nation's society, in ways we may not be able to imagine.

*               *               *

A final note (thanks to Charles Pierce for the info): Korematsu v. United States, the legal case argued before the Supreme Court in 1944, which by a vote of 6-3 upheld the government's right to mass incarcerate U.S. citizens of a given ethnicity or nationality, has to this day never been overturned.



A Honeybee In Crocus


    Poking around the back yard early this morning, I realized I hadn't noticed that some late summer crocus had popped up, as is their habit - not here one day, but suddenly, here they are. Then again, I've been gone for a few days. We never know how many we'll see in any given year; they don't seem to spread much, but that may be due to our crummy volcanic clay soil, which we don't amend much. Lazy gardeners.

Took a picture, just to capture those lovely shining dew drops on the blooms. When I was reviewing the shot, I noticed a honey bee atop one of the petals. It was early enough that the sun had barely hit this part of the garden, and it was still cool under the shade of the young maple. So, like me, the bee was just getting started, moving slowly.

Put the camera in macro mode, moved up closer to the crocus, and snapped another shot. I don't know why I like honey bee faces so much - they're just another flying bug, but something about them appeals to me. Fly faces seen up close, on the other hand, are terrifying; maybe I've seen too many horror movies. Bees (but not wasps or hornets), in comparison, seem almost friendly. Bee-nign, maybe.


How To Pack Up A Pickup


    For some time now I've been thinking about getting a Danelectro style lipstick tube pickup, sized to fit the cutouts in a Strat pickguard, for installation in the Parts-O-FrankenCaster.  A couple weeks ago I found one on the popular e-auction site that would fit the bill: Strat-sized, similar in DC resistance to the Duo-Sonic pickups already in the guitar, looked like decent quality, reasonably priced, and a seller in the States (for quick delivery and ease of possible return).  The brand of the pickup is "Calig", it seems to be well built, and I have no idea what it sounds like, since it hasn't been installed yet.

Even though I don't know if it's a sonic fit for my guitar, I've gotta say I'm really impressed with the level of packaging that went into getting it ready for shipping.  First off, a very sturdy outer box, made in Southern California by PaperMart; upon opening that up, there was another, smaller box inside, wrapped in bubble wrap:


Inside that inner box was more bubble wrap, rolled up around the contents:


On the bottom of the inner box was a small bag with the hardware; what was rolled up was another bag containing the pickup:


After removing the pickup from its bag, we can see that the chrome "lipstick" tube is enclosed in its own condom:


Here's another view of the pickup:


We have three of the old original Danelectro and Silvertone instruments here at our house - a guitar and two basses - and it's no big secret that although they play well and sound great, they were made to a certain (low) price point, and a lot of the construction details are sketchy, to say the least.  This new pickup, while possibly just a mere clone of a classic cheesy low quality design, is far superior in its workmanship, compared to the originals.  As I've mentioned, I still have no idea so far about its tone.  But hey, heck of a packaging job!


Scenes in a Thrift Shop


    A couple of years ago I read a stupid article all about how iPhones were going to "revolutionize photography".  So far, I don't feel part of any rebel alliance or subversive movement, but there's no denying the convenience of having a halfway decent quality camera in your pocket, easily gotten to whenever you see an interesting shot.  On Saturday we went junk shopping at a big-box chain charity thrift store; within minutes I could see there wasn't anything I really wanted to buy, but I had fun anyway, wandering around taking pictures of stuff on the shelves.

So what makes an interesting photo in a thrift shop full of the cast off junk and trash leftovers from our mass market consumer society?  More or less random juxtapositions of unrelated things that may not be interesting by themselves - sure, that's always good.  And color: lots of variety in hue and shade.  But what really does it, I think, are the faces.

Jesus, Rabbits, Angel, Mushrooms
Painted Paper Mache People
Six Furry Faces
So, What's Cooking?

All pictures taken with my old iPhone 3GS, a beautifully crafted piece of industrial art, made increasingly obsolete on purpose, by the crappy company that created it.


Wednesday Bach Blogging: Ton Koopman in the Organ Loft


  World renowned conductor, harpsichordist, and baroque era musical scholar Ton Koopman is also an organist of the first class.  In the above video he gives the sort of high power performance, of Johann Sebastian Bach's Fugue in G minor BWV 578, that we might imagine Bach himself giving.

J.S. Bach's first jobs were as organist in churches at Arnstadt, Muhlhausen, and Weimar, from 1703, at the age of eighteen, until 1714, and it's fair to say that the musical capabilities of the pipe organ informed and influenced most all of the music that he created throughout his life.  The mighty European church pipe organs were, for hundreds of years until the advent of electronic music in the modern age, the most dynamic, harmonically rich, and just plain thunderingly loud musical instruments the world had ever known.

For the most part, however, as of the early 18th century, no one had yet tapped into all the power and polyphonic richness that the organ was capable of.  One can only imagine how it must have felt to be in the pews when the young Bach climbed up into the organ loft and then totally dumbfounded everyone when he started really laying it down, slamming out huge waves of incredibly intense, majestically toneful, and rhythm heavy audio goodness.  Maybe it was something like an early music rock concert.

Here's 3 1/2 hours of J.S. Bach's organ works, performed by Ton Koopman:


Fantasia & Fugue in G minor, BWV 542
Fugue in G minor, BWV 578
Canzona in D minor, BWV 588
Prelude & Fugue in B minor,
Prelude & Fugue in A minor, BWV 543
Fantasia & Fugue in C minor, BWV 562
Prelude & Fugue in C major, BWV 531
Fantasia in C major, BWV 570
Passacaglia & Fugue in C minor, BWV 582
Schubler & Leipzig Chorales


Hidden Bluebell Garden


    In a far corner of the back yard is a small area along the fence, probably in that no man's land part of many lots in the city, the utility easement, under which runs sewer and water lines, and overhead, power and phone cables.  There used to be two stunted cedar trees, old friends, back there behind our compost pit and the place where we keep the rubbish and recycling bins; a couple of years ago one of them died, and the other, possibly grief stricken in its vegetable way, also began withering away.  At the same time, the super predator plant of the northwest, a blackberry bramble, climbed over the fence and started to smother the remaining cedar.

A few snips with a pair of clippers took care of the berry vines, and some swipes of the trimmer cleared away some other opportunistic plants that had sprung up where the other cedar used to be: morning glories, yarrow, thistle, bunch grasses, and a rather sticky unknown species of vine.  That, along with liberal watering over a couple of months, got the surviving cedar back to health, and I continued to keep that small area trimmed down to short grasses.

Recently, especially this spring, there has been a new, but very welcome wild plant invasion: Bluebells (Hyacinthoides non-scripta) have begun growing in that space, and it really lifts my heart to see them whenever I go back there to toss some trash or compost.  As you can see, since I've stopped trimming that space, a few other plants have also sprung up; and I'll let them, rather than mowing everything.  Bluebells are early season plants, and tend to go through their cycle by the time summer arrives here in western Oregon.  When it's time to trim it all down in a month or so, their roots will be well established, seeds will be in the ground, and next spring, there will be more Bluebells than ever, here in this tiny, hidden Bluebell garden.

*           *            *

Click on above photo to see a larger, higher def image.

Wednesday Bach Blogging: J. S. Bach on Toy Piano


    Benjamin Buchanan performs a toy piano arrangement of the Prelude from Johann Sebastian Bach's Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007.  Recorded on March 21 2016, the 331st anniversary of Bach's birth.

In the video below, "keipyan 1227" plays the last, Badinerie, movement of Bach's Orchestral Suite No. 2, BWV 1067:


Next, a toy piano transcription of the Adagio, from the Concerto No 3, BWV 974, as performed by Jakub B:


Continuing on with more Bach toy piano fun, Sander Terpstra plays the Minuet in G Major, BWV Anh 114, part of the 1725 Notebook For Anna Magdalena Bach:


We'll conclude our Bach toy piano concert with the well known Toccata & Fugue in D minor, BWV 565.  This isn't actually performed on a piano at all, but on a giant foot and whole body controlled synthesizer, called a "floor piano", at a toy store, the sadly missed FAO Schwartz shop in New York City.  Once the world's most well known toy emporium, FAO Schwartz is now gone forever, closed down in 2015 by its new owners and executioners, Toyz R Uz or whatever they're called.



The Fender Blues Junior

Fender Blues Junior, Tweed, Blues Jr, Danelectro, 1959, 1995, black, Danelectro double cutaway

Way back in 1995 my friend, blues historian and ace Colorado bluesman T-Bone Thomas picked up a then newly introduced Fender amp, the Blues Junior. It was impressive: with its blond real tweed cloth covering, brown grill, and top mounted chrome control plate, it looked a whole lot like, and was almost the same size as, a late '50s Fender Princeton.

But it didn't sound like a Tweed Princeton; if anything, the Junior got well into mid-60s Blackface Fender Princeton Reverb tone territory. Only better, way better - Fender was able to fit a 12" speaker into that small cab, instead of a '50s Princeton's 8" driver or the 10" in the Princeton Reverb. And, this may go against vintage-y collector's conventional wisdom, but the Fender-labeled Eminence Legend 125 that came with the Blues Junior was so much superior in tone and efficiency to any of the lowest bidder speakers that Fender used in the 1960s, that there wasn't any real comparison.

That Blues Junior rocked. And it rolled. With T-Bone's '57 Strat, the sound coming out of that little box just sliced through all the back-beat shuffling 12-bar roar of a blues bar band, and when Thomas plugged in his harp mic, rolled down the highs, cranked up the master volume, and started wailing, I thought the roof was gonna cave in. Pretty impressive stuff for a brand new, affordable, production line real tube amplifier.

There are good reasons why the Blues Junior is one of the most popular tube amps ever made, and very possibly it's the biggest selling amp of all time. It sounds great, it's really loud for a 15 watter with a single speaker, small and portable and able to handle most any gig, and on top of all that, can do double duty as a bedroom and studio amp.

Of course there are a couple down-sides to this nearly perfect guitar amp, but not very many. The reissue outsourced Italian Jensen speakers used in the newer Juniors aren't quite as efficient and toneful as the older Eminence Legends were, and we might have wished that Fender had spent a couple dollars more apiece and provided real wood cabs, instead of particle board. Also, just a slightly larger rear opening on the cabinet, with more venting on the back panels, would have let the speaker breathe a bit better, but these are just minor issues that don't really get in the way of making great music.

There's a guy on the internet, a self-styled Junior Guru, who claims there are dozens of problems, issues, and manufacturing and engineering mistakes plaguing this amp, most of which have gone unnoticed until he noticed those supposed faults. "Its tone is too thin and whiny! The overdrive is too cranky and bitchy! The volume pot is crackly and fizzy!", or some other nonsense. After spending time on his website, you come away with the impression that the Junior is the most diseased amp known to mankind. But "fortunately" for us, he sells kits and mod services, to correct each of the Blues Junior's many faults, which he always seems to find more of. Job security, I guess.

I just found out that BillM (his web handle) has passed on, but his wankery lives on, thanks to the internet. Rest in peace, dude. You could say the Blues Junior has outlived its most vocal critic.

Let's forget about wanking and quackery. In the real world, in just about every way, stock Fender Blues Juniors really get it right - they're rugged and reliable, look as good as they sound, they're built like tanks, and with every production revision they just keep getting better. Fender is that rare company that doesn't make wholesale changes in any of its successful model lines, only incremental evolutionary improvements, and the currently made Juniors are still very close to the amp that was first introduced twenty one years ago - a very fitting testimony to the basic soundness of its design.

As it was when I first heard one over two decades ago, the Blues Junior is today still one of the great guitar amps, eminently usable, toneful and affordable, and long may it run.

*            *            *

Alongside the 1995 Fender Blues Junior in the above photo, is a 1959 Danelectro. A gift from my brother Jonsan, I've never known what its model name is, and I don't really care to know. The only important thing is that it's one of the very finest sounding, and playing, guitars I've ever had the pleasure of squeezing notes out of.