Sniff Me Out Like I Was Tanqueray

So I never heard of Amy Winehouse until some news headline flashed by, and here she is winning Grammys ‘n shit. Popped her name into pandora to give a listen. Sounds fine, whatever. She’s got a pseudo-R&B thing going on, and maybe I don’t listen to enough pop radio to keep my pseudo-R&B ears tuned in to the subtleties. I like Alicia Keyes, maybe they’re a similar genre, what do I know. The great thing about the article I read was it said Herbie Hancock won something too. Yay jazz!

The school went to a local jazz fest recently and it reminded me of my storied youth, though I admit the best part was seeing a band from another school with a kid in it we’ve known since baby days, and his parents. There are some fine young musicians out there. I always tell ‘em, don’t give it up. I can still hear an old neighbor of mine, telling me when I was seventeen or so, don’t give it up! Well, I did. But the genetics ring true and both my boys are performing, one way or another, and the day isn’t over for me yet either. Seriously thinking of getting a replacement horn and cranking it up again. What’s an hour a day when all I’m committed to otherwise is a serious new job, working out daily, real writing (don’t laugh), revitalizing my ancient Jeep in time for summer trips and getting some of the landscaping done we’ve been putting off all decade. What’s another hour a day, right?

The next obvious question has this answer: It helps somehow, I don’t know why, it just does. I suppose if I really needed to stop blogging I would, but then I may as well stop checking the online news, or reading other people’s stuff, or I don’t know, and would that really serve a purpose? Noop.

So what about the singing, you ask. You don’t? Anyway, we had a great quartet, we did, but it is defunct, as one guy retired and another one quit the firm and took his wife and four kids and moved away to Montana. And then last week I ran into him in the stairwell. Seems he couldn’t sell his house. No surprise. Then he couldn’t get an engineering job in Montana. It’s like you have to know people or something. Well, um, yes, or rather I should say: DUH. So he came back and the good news is the company hired him back but the bad news is he now works for the other guy who was in the quartet, and he’s getting to know him a whole lot better than he ever really wanted to and doesn’t think he could take singing with him on top of working with him. So no reunion. I said I understood totally, and it was true. I know exactly what he’s talking about. And that’s where I leave it.

So, speakin’ of jazz, doesn’t Family Guy have the best music? And The Incredibles. I may have to go get the soundtrack. Every house needs some faux sixties secret agent music, and I don’t mean just tracks from Austin Powers (though we have that too). Yup. What was that music Bob Wilkins played on Creature Features again? I don’t care if it was cheesy late-night seventies television, it was absolutely brilliantly inappropriate to accompany second-rate horror movies.

I’m beating myself up here. Why do I think blog posts should be short and have a point? Something’s nagging me about it. I’d better post this before that nagging voice compels me to do something rash. (And I don't mean put in even more links.)