Just a note that my newest novel, “Brian Jones’ Diary,” will be available in September as an ebook. I am re-editing it now and hope to have it illustrated.
During the following months I hope to have all my novels available as ebooks including the 10th Anniversary re-write of “Ice Break.”
In 1965, electric guitars were connected to their respective amplifiers with electric coaxial cables. This featured a single copper wire covered in a plastic sheathing which was then wrapped with a braided wire. Covering this a plastic covering that may or may not be shielded against electronic interference. At each end were phono jacks, connectors similar to the ones that old-time telephone operators used to plug in their consoles to take calls. And this is still the case.
However, not all cords were created equally. For example, the cord that came with my Kent bass was a single unit where the connectors and the wire were clad in vinyl. The wire was folded to fit in the bag and it never quite straightened out when in use. It sort of zip-zagged back to the amp.
The next was the cord with connector that attached by little screws. These were better because, if the cord stopped working – or worked intermittently – then you could unscrew it and solder the connection. In those days the Japanese were about as good at making cords as they were my Kent bass and so this happened often. One little jerk on the cord and the buzzing started.
The “cool cord” was the “curly-cue” which was like a telephone cord. This made things easier for the basic choreography the good bands used, especially on a cramped stage. The cords expanded and contracted like a telephone cord. And like a telephone cord they also got tangled and suffered from connector fatigue in the same way the ordinary cords did. This was easy to tell because of the crackling noise made from short-circuits.
Mike cords also suffered maladies. This usually happened when the stand fell over and stretched the cord. We used (again Japanese) a weird variety of ones which had batteries to power them. The feedback could be unbearable because the mikes were plugged into the amplifiers which were behind us. PA systems were a dream away. The king of the microphones was the Fender, because it came in a hard-shell case. These were $50 a pop. There were others ( Sennheisers, Shure, etc.) but we never heard about them because B.C. Electric or Bill’s T.V. and Radio never stocked them. Just Japanese stuff like Armaco.
Another guitar cord was the braided string one that my grandfather had on his Gibson L-5. It is hard to believe people actually stood all night with a thin rope burning into the shoulders.
I was on site once which featured quotations of famous people. On another page were epitaphs and I was so interested in peoples’ etches on their gravestones that I stayed and read on for almost an hour. The funniest one was “I told you I was sick.” However, there were no quotations like this: “I wish I would have had more time for work.”
They say if you live to be 90 years old, almost 30 of those will be spent sleeping and of the 60 years left, 30-40 years will have been devoted to work. And that doesn’t take into account the extra years worrying about the job.In this society of ours we are defined by our occupation. It was that way in the Middle Ages when you might have been known as Robert the blacksmith or Aaron the cooper. Then your work became your name: Robert Smith; Aaron Cooper.
It is a personal habit of mine not to ask what a person does for a living. This is for two reasons: One, it is none of my business unless the person wants to tell me; and, two, it puts a preconceived notion in my mind about the person before I’ve had a chance to speak with the person on another level. Maybe before I found out he was a butcher I wanted to hear his views on the upcoming hockey season without picturing him in a bloody apron while he was speaking.
Sisyphus was a man punished by the gods and sentenced to pushing a huge rock up the side of a mountain. Now, to add insult to his woes, just as he reached the summit the rock would come free of his grasp and roll back down to the bottom. Then he had to begin again. However, as Gregg Levoy notes in his book, “Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life,” Sisyphus gets to rest while he trudges back down the mountain. So, even a man condemned by the gods doesn’t have to work all the time.
There is a lesson for me in this myth: I should make a regular habit of letting go of the grindstone; and that while walking back down the hill I should marvel at the scenery and sample the breeze. For a brief interval my mind should be free and not thinking about how I am going to roll the boulder up the hill next time.
Stumble it!