Past Tense

In the early morning hours of June 25, 1994 my father, Lee Bacino, died, unexpectedly, in his sleep; he was 62.

My dad passed away while on vacation visiting the tiny, eastern Long Island, summer cottage he and my mother bought with their hard-earned money back in the winter of 1982. A small, country dream realized for this born and bred Bensonhurst boy who, contrary to the urban surroundings from which he came, loved the outdoors, the water, fishing, hunting and working with his hands.

By trade my father was a sales and distribution manager for a local NYC milk company; spending his days behind a desk assigning delivery routes/drivers and accommodating store owners although, as he often said - perhaps revealing more than I ever realized - he much preferred the freedom he once enjoyed as a scrapper road salesman, visiting potential customers and landing accounts back in his earlier days within the food service industry.

A smart, charming guy who knew what to say and when to say it (vestiges of his salesman days, no doubt) but one who also did not suffer fools gladly. Cross him and you'd soon know it; possessing equal and imposing amounts physical strength and Sicilian/Brooklyn temper, LB was a force to be reckoned with. Finding myself on the wrong end of that wrath from time to time growing up I can most definitely attest to that notion.

That said, my father also had a softer side - he was generous, loving, had a good sense of humor and was a pretty devoted family man. When not working long hours he could generally be found at home with my mom and I as opposed to the bars and bowling alleys many of my friend's dads seemed to permanently inhabit at the time. Surprisingly too for a 'man's-man' born in the 1930's, my dad loved to cook, taught himself how to play harmonica and ukulele as a boy and even merged his love of music and craftsmanship as a kid by hand-making a respectable ukulele out of wood from scratch. An instrument that no doubt later provided my father with a welcome diversion from the harsh realities of the role he willingly assumed in his 20's as 'man of the house' when his father became ill and passed away. Working various jobs, my father helped make ends meet and looked after his mother and younger sister.

Isn't it funny (and odd) how little we truly know about our parents? Although he never said, sometimes I sensed my dad might have given up a good deal of what he may have wanted for himself in terms of a career, aspirations, etc to do what he felt was the right thing to do; whether that was helping his mom and sister or later providing for his wife and child via a desk-job yielding better pay if not necessarily personal satisfaction. I'm not sure but I believe he carried that sadness or disappointment (but never regret) with him throughout the years, torn as many of us are between our dreams and our responsibilities, with both being of equal importance to us.

In the last days of his life I was lucky enough to hang with my dad out at the summer house and oddly have, what I felt to be, some of the most interesting/honest conversations we ever had together. He seemed to be in pretty good spirits, reminiscing with me about his past while looking ahead to the future, retirement and a building project he soon planned to undertake wherein he would expand the country cottage to a more roomier retirement home for he and my mom.

Sadly this was never to be.

When I recorded my debut album in 1998 I included a simple song I wrote for my dad culled in part from some favorite chord changes he used to play for me on his uke when I was a kid. Fifteen Father's Days from his passing I thought I'd once again revisit/offer this song and its lyrics in tribute to my dad.

I suppose I'll never get used to talking about him in the past tense...


PAST TENSE (click to listen)

I'd like to thank you today
For all the love you sent my way
Yet I'd give it up, it’s true
For one more chance to speak with you

Just as if you were here, plus a year...

‘Cause I will never get used to
Talking about you in the past tense...

Oh, now that you’re gone
I hope you've moved on
To a better place,
just a smile on your face

No more worries, no more cares, just time to spare...

Time I will need to get used to
Talking about you
Time I will need to get used to
Talking about you

In the past tense
Talking about you...

In the past tense

Late In The Evening

Hmm...

So what's your take on "Late Night with Jimmy Fallon"?

For me, Fallon's foray into late night talk is more interesting a story than the current Conan/Letterman ratings war. I suppose I watched the new "Late Night" at its beginnings partly out of curiosity and mainly because as a musician/creative person I always enjoy witnessing the genesis of pretty much anything, warts and all. Predictably, the show was pretty rough at the start and still is three months in, but for my money, that roughness, that 'we're-just-working-this-thing-out' vibe, that's the charm. As such, I have to admit I'm enjoying the current incarnation of this continuing NBC franchise (shout out to The Roots too; interesting house-band choice and very cool).

Sure it could be said that Fallon comes across as affable almost to a fault - the fumbling underdog, the super nice "dude" who's eager to please and make everyone happy but, yet again, that's the charm of it. Maybe it's part of the act and I'm naive, but I'm starting to believe Fallon genuinely is the person, like him or not, you see on camera - A nice guy who's been handed a job we think he can do but one that's just slightly above his skill set right now. He will, of course, grow into the assignment and really that's part of the fun; we all get to see that happen real-time. In my opinion, Conan's "Tonight Show" debut was fairly uninteresting for all the opposite reasons; sure he too faces a new version of a show with a daunting, hallowed legacy but truth be told, Conan's already a seasoned pro, (& as astutely noted in a recent Blog by Bob Lefsetz) just as emotionally guarded as his counterpart, Dave. With nary a glimpse of true internal trepidation in sight regarding his "new" gig, O'Brien's big night fell a little flat.

Fallon may not be able to outshine his two slick, seasoned mentors but at present time, in all his freshman roughness, Jimmy seems a whole lot better than both at just being real.

A Writer's Life

Truth be told, I'm a total junkie for works that reveal glimpses into the creative process whether it be books, documentaries, etc. I'm currently reading "A Writer's Life" by Gay Talese (left). Primarily best known as author/journalist and one of the founding fathers of the "new journalism" school of reporting, Talese helped mold a style during the mid-sixties wherein the writer's almost fiction-esque, imaginative, descriptive slant became an integral part of the reporting without ever compromising the integrity of the facts.

Part autobiography, part window into the process of his craft, "A Writer's Life" finds Talese talking candidly about his hits and, interestingly much more so, about his misses - the stories that got away; the pieces that, sometimes despite Talese's strong efforts/interests, could never quite make it to print. A fascinating and refreshing approach amid the current 'American Idol' zeitgeist which seems so steadfastly focused on "winners" and one's successes.

On a totally biased note, the thing I love most about Gay Talese (aside from his obvious writer's prowess) is that he personally embodies - at least for me - the literary sensibilities that have made him famous; the quintessential, impeccably dressed, thorough, typewriter at 8, martinis at 6, dinner at Elaine's, old-school New York, creative dandy. High on style but with all the substance to match. At 77, a precious and rarefied animal in this ephemeral age of skinny jeans and Twitter fiends.

If you'd like to read the opening chapter of "A Writer's Life" it can be found here courtesy of Random House. If you're also so inclined, check out the seminal article Talese penned for Esquire Magazine, circa 1966, on Frank Sinatra; considered by many to be one of the first "new journalism" pieces committed to print. Enjoy but be forewarned, if you're looking for 140 character, ADD fare you won't find it here. Thankfully the man beneath the Panama hat is a master of the artfully constructed run-on sentence.

Thank Yous

After being sequestered in a recording studio working on a new album for a fair amount of time you begin to slowly forget the buzz you get from playing music for a living/breathing audience. I was reminded of said buzz this week when my band and I hit the stage at Living Room Wednesday night in NYC.

To be honest it's always a little nerve-wracking mounting a live show with a fairly large band, whether you're doing it for the first time or the thousandth; lots of stuff to work out and numerous things that can go awry. Deciding to premier all the songs from my new record, "Queens English", before the album's release, to a room of folks totally unfamiliar with the material probably only served to add to the anxiety but at the same time it also seemed like a fun thing to do. Hey, let's add a horn section too!

Finally gig night arrives and as the band launches into the opening notes of "QE's" lead-off instrumental, "Who Are Yous?", all pre-show trepidations slowly begin to melt away. Like the safety bar coming down on the roller coaster seat - we're off...might as well enjoy the ride.

And enjoy the ride we did; like any good spin on the Cyclone there were some frightening turns (Jay's amp momentarily possessed by demons), pockets of serene clarity (the generous quite that filled the room during the ballad, "Blue Suit") and a few surprise twists (audience member Delbert McClinton, aka Steven's awesomely funny, straight-faced, cowbell freak out on "Inside"). Inevitably, like every great ride the minute it's over, filled with relief and excitement, you want to jump right back on and do it all over again.

And do it again we shall but first before we do, a huge thank you must go out to my wonderful band; awesome musicians and more importantly great friends - Cheri Leone, Matty Karas, Ed Klinger, John Lee, Jay Sherman-Godfrey, Bob Byrne, Rob Jost and Jesse Neuman. Followed, of course, by a tremendous and no less sincere thank you to all the excellent folks who came out, packed the room, sent love to the stage and generously went along for the ride without really knowing where we were headed. As they say in show biz (tipping hat & adopting cheesy Jimmy Durante voice), "There'd be no us without yous".

'Till next time.

Yours in Rock,
-mb

ps - Some photos of the evening, like the one above, can be found on my site (see 'Gallery' page) courtesy of Jason Hare.

Rock Show (cont.)

As promised, I'm back to invite (pester) everyone to the gig this coming Wednesday 5/13, 7pm at The Living Room in NYC. If you're in the area please come on down, join us and free your mind of swine flues and economic blues.

I'll be premiering songs from my recently completed album, "Queens English", playing the record in its entirety plus some older tunes from albums past. If you'd like to sample some of the music from "QE" ahead of time (so you can memorize the lyrics and sing along of course), please visit my site where 5 tunes are currently streaming.

Generously lending their talents and joining me on stage Wed evening will be Cheri Leone (vocals/perc), Matty Karas (guitar/vocals), Jay Sherman-Godfrey (guitar/vocals), John Lee (bass), Bob Byrne (piano/keys), Ed Klinger (drums) and the 'Who Are Yous Horns' feat. Rob Jost (french horn) & Jesse Neuman (trumpet).

And oh yeah, I almost forgot, it's BYOC (bring your own cowbell).

Hope to see you (details below)!

XO,
-mb

Wednesday May 13, 2009 - 7pm
Cost: FREE
The Living Room
154 Ludlow St
New York, NY 10002
(212) 533-7235
www.livingroomny.com

The Rite of Softee

"There's no shiny towers here,
we built them in the city town
Just some kids and they're
runnin' round, chasing Softee down"

How could I possibly write an albums worth of material centering around life in the outer-boroughs of New York City without mentioning Mr. Softee? As such, I felt compelled to work it (him?) into the lyric of a tune called "Middle Town" (above) from my new record, "Queens English".

For those not from these here parts, Mr. Softee is a somewhat low-key, iconic fixture of NY street life in the summertime. Basically a fleet of bare-bones, soft-serve ice cream parlors on wheels, Softee brings both smiles to kids and looks of "crap, there goes dinner" to pre-meal time parents alike. With his sickly sweet concoctions and annoying yet beautiful music box jingle (usually played on some terribly distorted truck-mounted sound system), Mr. Softee is the taste and sound of the baked apple incarnate.

As my son and I hit the park today, heard that familiar jangly tune and smelled that familiar smell (idling truck fumes), we knew spring had definitely made its way back to NYC...on a waffle cone and four sticky tires.

"That jukebox in the corner blasting out my favorite song
The nights are getting warmer, it won't be long
Won't be long 'till summer comes
now that the boys are here again"*

*From "The Boys Are Back in Town" - Thin Lizzy

Tar Wars

Taste...the final frontier.

So what do you do when a UFO lands in your backyard? I'm pretty sure that chubby dude with the sled fetish bombed on Paul Masson would know but he's dead, right? Now what? These and other poignant questions were suddenly posed as this sparkling silver beauty appeared behind my home last week (left).

After a small leak in my ceiling prompted a visit from a local roofer, it got me thinking, hey, I should have this guy put a new roof on my garage while he's at it (exciting, right?). I've never attended to these old, car-park rafters since I've owned the property and probably should. Wouldn't want any of that utterly useless crap I'm storing in there for no apparent reason to get water damaged. I tell the roofer it's his lucky day and we're off to the races.

When the roofers finish, shockingly I'm left with something pretty garish that resembles the Jupiter 2. Apparently, as my roofer explains it, these days tar is passe' and rubber roofs are all the rage. Once these flubber-esque sheets are rolled out and heated to stick to your roof (technical, I know, stay with me people) they must then be coated with a Warhol-like silver paint to reflect the sun and prevent said flubber from drying out, cracking and letting the water in. Makes sense. Of course. Awesome.

So, after a few days of living with this garage-sized suntan reflector beaming retina-burning rays through my kitchen window, my wife and I are pretty freaked. I'm back on the phone with the roofer -

Me: Can we cover the roof with something, maybe black?
Roofer: Nope. Not recommended, absorbs the heat, not good for the roof.
Me: Yeah, I know but the silver's pretty tough on the eyes; besides I burn easily.
Roofer: No, that's how it's done.
Me: I got to be honest, my wife really hates the way it looks.
Roofer: She'll get used to it, give it some time.

What? She'll get used to it?! Wow, I'm getting pissed, offended and obviously nowhere. I hang up. After some Yellow Pages finger-walking and numerous calls, I finally find a dude willing to take my money and coat the spacecraft black. Seems no one wants the job. Like the others I've spoken to, Roofer #2, claims the stealth coating's not so great for the roof but it'll be "okay".

In the end order is restored to the known universe and despite all my troubles I suppose it's comforting to learn a deep moral code apparently exists amongst roofers today; it seems not many are willing to eschew the force and cross over to the dark side.




Editors Note - Roofer #2 has yet to return for his check. Laziness? Cosmic existential dilemma? You decide.