Bakersfield Bukowski listens to music from the past - By N.L. Belardes
There’s a mind I met a few months back in the Bakersfield music scene over at an old Basque haunt on the East side. It’s not a dark mind, though it is brooding, contemplative, perhaps even a tad bitter. Bitter? Maybe not even bitter, but still angry, let down, a shadowy face ready to create in the big Bakersfield music scene and beyond; ready to overcome what he seemed to think of as "past imperfections". I was talking to him last night. We talked about strange professors and coyote sounds, a music-driven past and present; he shared music and thoughts and I shared an opinion filled with encouragement that talented artists can make it and do.
He took a look at my artwork hanging in the dining room: a strange mix of puppets. “I thought your art was going to be bigger… this is an artist’s house,” he said. He looked at three marionettes hanging from cupboard doors... Big Hand Devil had his attention. I picked it up and made it dance like some crazy fidgeting cartoon moment. He saw the paint and newspapers and partial skeleton on the floor. It’s just what an artist does. We create.
He brought some old tunes. I’m listening to them now. He brought a new tune as well. I gave it a spin as only a novelist does… I brooded, tapped my fingers and feet. The song was a happy tune with a toying melody reminiscent of the kind of music that I often listen to while working.
After he left I spun some of his older tunes. The music was rich, pop-filled, layered masterfully, and I was in awe of the richly woven sounds and lyrics. I brought the music to work, burned it to my hard drive and spun the CD four times. I’m only a novelist… but I can say I enjoyed such music from the Bakersfield past, even though I’m not allowed to say whose music I was listening to....
He took a look at my artwork hanging in the dining room: a strange mix of puppets. “I thought your art was going to be bigger… this is an artist’s house,” he said. He looked at three marionettes hanging from cupboard doors... Big Hand Devil had his attention. I picked it up and made it dance like some crazy fidgeting cartoon moment. He saw the paint and newspapers and partial skeleton on the floor. It’s just what an artist does. We create.
He brought some old tunes. I’m listening to them now. He brought a new tune as well. I gave it a spin as only a novelist does… I brooded, tapped my fingers and feet. The song was a happy tune with a toying melody reminiscent of the kind of music that I often listen to while working.
After he left I spun some of his older tunes. The music was rich, pop-filled, layered masterfully, and I was in awe of the richly woven sounds and lyrics. I brought the music to work, burned it to my hard drive and spun the CD four times. I’m only a novelist… but I can say I enjoyed such music from the Bakersfield past, even though I’m not allowed to say whose music I was listening to....
This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on
Tuesday, October 11, 2005.
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