The Turn of Several Screws

“Got a problem, Marcel?” I say, although truth to tell, I wouldn’t know what to do to fix a forty year-old chopper.

“Naw, just tightening the cap on the carb. Only takes a couple turns of the screw here. Just call me Peter Quint.”

Listening to Walt Whitman

Seeing the big, slow-moving bearded figure of Whitman walking quietly down the long rows of cots to say hello, perhaps have a chat or change a bandage, must have been like an apparition of heaven-sent kindness.

Offline and off the grid

“You know, John, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been in a room or a public place and noticed that more than half of the people there are not there.”

“Not sure what you mean, Marcel,” I say. “How can you ‘be there’ and yet not be there.”

North Coast Idyl

We go through the deep, soggy woods, scouting for fungi. Thinking of John Cage, I realize I am a poor forager. My eyes are not sharp. Or rather, my concentration wanders (nothing wrong with my eyes). Nonetheless I spy the season’s first sprouting of black chanterelles.

Christmas Eve with Nuria Schoenberg

“So Marcel,” I say, “you got a new pin-up crush, I see. Who’s that, the young Ingrid Bergman?”

“Naw, John. Don’t you recognize her? It’s Nuria Schoenberg.”

The Thumbprints of "El Niño"

Marcel has recently gone online, cobbling together a computer from scavenged parts he pulls out of recycle bins and signing up for the Mendocino Community Network. His service is dial-up and really slow, but he tells me he likes it because he is now Facebook friends with Sarah Palin. He also reads reviews of my concerts in far away places like New York and Los Angeles, a fact that makes me mildly uncomfortable.

The Amazing Ms. J

To this day Leila still ramps up her concentration in the moments before going onstage with an outburst of noises: “brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, OK, Johnnie, let’s go doooooooooooo it!!!!!”

Conductor's pants stolen moments before concert

Just moments before he was to go onstage to conduct his final concert with the Los Angeles Philharmonic, composer-conductor John Adams became the victim of a brazen act of intellectual property theft.

Marcel Proost to review Hallelujah Junction

My neighbor Marcel Proost just received his review copy of the new paperback edition of “Hallelujah Junction.” He tells me that, much as he likes me, he is going be very rough on me when he reviews it for the Independent Coast Observer.

Marcel Proost: Last Drunk Standing

Marcel drives an old Toyota truck, but this morning he’s on his Harley, a chopper he likes to ride with his motorcycle club, The Twelve Horsemen of the Apocalypse, on weekends.

Anyway, Marcel tells me he has big news: he has been named “Last man standing” by his biker club.

Frank Zappa's Yellow Shark: Si j'arrive à distinguer la merde du cirage

OK, all you Zappa heads out there in the audience. I can recognize you a mile away because of the all the midriff bulge, the surfeit of facial hair and that “show me” scowl on your faces. I just hope you’ve not already been served for illegally making your own unlicensed “Burnt Weeny Sandwich” tee shirts.

Simon Rattle and the non-androgynous Tristan

This is the way I like to have my musical experiences these days, in unplanned, spontaneous encounters—the raw rather than the cooked. I knew that the next night, at Davies Hall with the Berlin Philharmonic, would certainly be an event, but here in this rehearsal hall, watching him work with a student orchestra of uninitiated kids there was actually more of a potential for witnessing real revelations.