fromthemouthofmoi

As I mentioned in my previous post,  Classical: Music To My Ears Part One , there is elitism associated with classical music. In Country & Western (C&W) music something else is at play: classism. As with classical music I have heard, equally, people dismiss the Country & Western genre outright and I suspect this is due to a notion that involves race, place - the southern United States, and perceptions of intellect. While those that do listen to classical music may have an arrogance embedded in their reasons for listening, in some ways those that don't listen to Country & Western have their own type of elitism. Like Jazz, Country & Western music is a unique American creation and it might be interesting to note that one is dominated by Afro-Americans and the other, by White Americans with both emanating from the Southern regions of the United States where slavery had a stronghold at one time. I suspect this separation of race and music was a necessary consequen...

Dear Dad, I find myself thinking about you more and more the further removed I am from your death. You are in my thoughts in particular ways most of which, right now, seem to be from the perspective of others. I get a lot of people dropping me lines asking me if I am your daughter. They stop to tell me they performed with Mississippi Delta or knew you in some way. Many tell me that they are mad in love with your recordings. Your work has been catalogued in Germany and is actively rejoiced in Japan. YouTube has you sprouting up all over with young people sharing your music. I wish that part of you had been more recognized in your life but I'm glad to be telling you now that your legacy lives on. I wish I had known you better. I wish things had been different, but you should know that I understand. What may have been limited towards me was a fulfillment for you. I miss our many phone conversations. I liked that they were always late at night and when you were on a phone call  j...

There was a moment in time when I witnessed my father vulnerable. He had rented a car and parked it outside my apartment in Brooklyn. He was not feeling well and had asked to stay with me and my then boyfriend, Eric. He slept for days on end and I really don't have any recollection of talking to him while he was with us. This is important to this narrative because I have always lamented the fact that I seem to have spent relatively little time with my father. I have snapshot memories of being with him - here and there, here and there. I am a teenager and he drives me into San Francisco, hands me money while he waits in the car, and I go in and buy some shoes. There are the times we drove the few blocks necessary to get to Baskin Robbins for ice cream over on University Avenue a few blocks up from his home in Palo Alto. There were lots of family reunions but I don't have any memories of being alone with my father, having a conversation or discussing anything. He did however ca...