Well, dear readers, I am sitting here like so much fish, listening to the weird and oddly appealing Paul Horn jazz treatment on themes from Cleopatra by Alex North. Mr. Horn himself plays the flute and sax, although on the albums I have it’s all flute. After several albums, Mr. Horn got into transcendental meditation and World music and that is not my thing, not my thing at all. He was a sideman with many great jazz folks, including Cal Tjader, Duke Ellington, Chico Hamilton, Shelly Manne, Shorty Rogers, Pete Rugolo, Lalo Schifrin, George Shearing – you know, those guys. He also played on the Beach Boys classic, Pet Sounds. Pre-1967 was the era I like – beginning in 1967 is when he went to the other kind of music that is not my thing, not my thing at all and I don’t care who knows it. A superb musician, though. Prior to listening, I watched two more episodes of the docu-series, Trial by Media. The first two episodes were done well and didn’t suffer from what most of these suffer from, their insufferable style. Sadly, beginning with episode three we’re firmly back in that style – endless shots of buildings, palm trees, streets, curbs, signs – and in really irritating style they have people talking over them and they rarely go the people talking, which is ridiculous. We want to see the speaker not some fool’s idea of an arty shot. Episode three was egregious in other ways, using lots of “Dutch” angles (tilted, weirdly framed), out-of-focus shots, and in episodes four we get slow motion. Also, the ties to trial by media are tenuous until episode four, which is about the rape trial of a young woman in New Bedford, Massachusetts (the Jodie Foster movie The Accused is loosely based on this case) and here the title finally has meaning – it was the first rape trial ever televised. The rapists were all found guilty, but the victim was the one who was put on trial and it was truly disgusting, but not as disgusting as the Portuguese people of the community, who blamed the victim rather than her Portuguese rapists. She finally moved away and died in a car accident in Florida, driving while drunk. She was twenty-five, only three years after the rape. Her rapists barely served six years in jail before being released. The coverage of that trial showed a defense team so horrifying, badgering the victim, yelling at her, berating her as if SHE were the problem, that many rape victims who were thinking about coming forward, didn’t. They didn’t show her during the trial, but the Judge in the case didn’t realize her name would be read into the record and broadcast on live TV – and, of course, certain members of the press printed not only it, but her address. So, this episode really had some teeth, annoying as its “style” was. Two more to go.
Yesterday was perfectly okay. I was up at ten after three hours of sleep. But the helper never showed up, so she’ll be here today. At twelve-thirty, I moseyed on over to Marshall Harvey’s home editing suite and took a peek at episode two of Sami. He did a great job of it – really funny, and in one sequence, laugh-out-loud funny, and the whole thing played really well, I thought. After watching straight through, we went back to the top and did a little finessing – shaving a bit off a couple of shots, swapping out a shot, that kind of thing, but basically, I was really happy. As we go through these, we occasionally find we need a specific kind of music cue, so we get a timing for it and then Richard Allen and I figure out what it will be. Episode two runs about twelve minutes and it’s amazing just how much stuff we packed into those twelve minutes.
Then I went to the mail place and picked up a couple of packages and the lesser of the two important envelopes. I really need the more important one to arrive today or there will be hell toupee. After that, I came right home, ordered a cheeseburger and fries from Five Guys. It came pretty quickly, and I ate it – it was very messy but everything there is very fresh. The fries were okay. Then at five we had Danika Masi doing her make-up rehearsal, and she was followed by Sophie Petersen, who’s feeling better. And then, I began my viewing after a long telephonic conversation. Now playing: A Paul Horn album from 1966 on RCA entitled Here’s that Rainy Day, with Horn and quintet playing some great songs along with voices (think Henry Mancini-style voices) – a wonderful recording.
And now, I have breaking bombshell news – this is the final day of November and then we welcome the final month of 2022, a little month I like to call December. And it is my fervent hope and prayer that December will be a month filled with health, wealth, happiness, creativity, and all things bright and beautiful.
Today, I’ll be up by eleven, the helper will come, I’ll hopefully pick up some packages and the important envelope, then I’ll relax until our four o’clock stumble-through. After that’s done, I’ll give whatever notes I may have and we’ll run any problem things. Then I’ll eat something and then watch, listen, and relax.
Tomorrow, I’ll relax all day, get ready, and them mosey on over to Vitello’s for sound check and then we do our final show at Vitello’s. After, I’m sure some of us will have a quick bite downstairs. I will, of course, have a full report for you. Then I have to deal with some merde and pray for little and large miracles so I can perhaps have a pleasant birthday the following Thursday, and it’s a biggie.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, be up by eleven, have a helper visit, hopefully pick up packages and an important envelope, have a stumble-through, eat, and then watch, listen, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s Ask BK Day, the day in which you get to ask me or any dear reader any old question you like and we get to give any old answer we like. So, let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, as November takes a hike.