The Coming of the Toads

A Notebook – Since 2007

Author: Joe Linker

  • Out of Time

    What will we do with Live at 5 in the new year? The shows began at the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic and at their peak featured a different host player going live most nights of the week, sharing guitar, songs, stories, and readings (live via the Instagram video venue) to an audience of similarly homebound family and friends of family. The shows ran evenings for about an hour starting at 5. The hosts included, on a rotating schedule, myself, my brothers, a nephew, and over time a few guest hosts and visitors – more family and friends. Shows were home-staged from Portland, Salem, Healdsburg, Ione, Drytown, Los Angeles, and Philadelphia. The format was loose and forgiving. Audience clicked on, paused, maybe stayed for the whole show, as people do passing buskers on a sidewalk, and through the Instagram feed anyone tuned in could place comments for the performer and the rest of the audience to read, and many an audience-controlled conversation took off. (Unfortunately, Instagram does not save those conversations – the comments disappear even if the host saves the video to their Instagram feed.) The Live at 5 shows diminished through 2022, timing out as the voluntary pandemic isolations began to lift.

    I played guitar in a neighborhood jazz band for the last couple of years. It was fun, I met some new folks, and learned more about music and the guitar – particularly about playing “in the pocket,” a term that means playing in time, in sync with the other musicians, a skill I’ve never satisfactorily mastered. You might think jazz would be more forgiving, but no. I left the band to concentrate on gypsy jazz guitar, renewing my subscription to Robin Nolan’s “Gypsy Jazz Club,” which includes players from all around the world. One of the features of the club is a “Sunday Club Zoom Hangout” – 8 in the morning my time, but I manage to wake up in time most Sundays, for a Gypsy djass reveille. For the most part, the Hangout hour is devoted to live, short performances by club members.

    “Step in time, step in time
    Step in time, step in time
    Never need a reason, never need a rhyme
    Step in time, we step in time”

    from the song “Step in Time,” lyrics by The Sherman Brothers, in “Mary Poppins,” 1964.

    Time waits for nothing, to begin, “to boldy go where no man [which is to say, everyone] has gone before,” pen in hand, splitting infinitives out of time, rubato, robber of time:

    “For three years, out of key with his time,
    He strove to resuscitate the dead art
    Of poetry; to maintain ‘the sublime’
    In the old sense. Wrong from the start—”

    from “Hugh Selwyn Mauberley” [Part I], Ezra Pound, 1920.

    Anyway, the question I’m entertaining now is whether or not to try to resuscitate an ongoing Live at 5 show. The need for homebound, not to mention amateur, entertainment may have passed for the time being. Still, there developed a core group of loyal listeners, not enough to fill Shea Stadium, or the Ash Grove, for that matter, of course, but would even those few return for a new season? It’s dinner hour, kids are back in school, the work-at-home movement is weakening, and pizza parlors, pubs, and wine bars have reopened, many featuring live entertainment. And the movies are back up and running. But some of us have emerged from the pandemic isolation years eschewing the old forms. We don’t go out anymore. We are aging. We are stepping out of time. We could fill a living room.

    Most of the Live at 5 shows were improvisational, maybe the host wrote down a few notes before going live with some intro comments, checking in with the audience, a few songs, some outro comments. Audience requests were popular. The videos remain on their host’s Instagram, where saved, complete with mistakes and random rambles, unedited. I don’t want to overstate, but I think the shows in the various locales were looked forward to and enjoyed. Where they were not joined live, Instagram followers caught up later.

    My brother Charles, at the height of the show’s exceptional ratings, had some shirts made:

    By the way, none of this post is to espouse Instagram as a preferred tool. But that’s a topic for another post altogether.

    I’m now picturing a Live at 5 Never Ending Tour, maybe with a reading list for the audience to keep in tune:

    John Cage’s “Silence”
    Bob Dylan: “The Philosophy of Modern Song”
    Dunstan Prial: “The Producer – John Hammond and the Soul of American Music”
    Michael Dregni: “Django – The Life and Music of a Gypsy Legend”
    Greil Marcus: “Mystery Train”
    “The Real Frank Zappa Book”: Frank Zappa with Peter Occhiogrosso
    Alex Ross: “The Rest is Noise”
    Robin D. G. Kelley: “Thelonious Monk – The Life and Times of An American Original”

    But you see how easy it is to get carried away.

    Closing this post with a quote from John Cage, “written in response to a request for a manifesto on music, 1952”:

    instantaneous       and unpredictable

    nothing is accomplished by writing a piece of music
       "  "    "    " hearing "  "  "  "
       "  "    "    " playing "  "  "  "

    our ears are now in excellent condition
    xii/Silence, John Cage, Wesleyan University Press, 1961 (paperback 1973), reformatted somewhat here to fit block.

    Note: This is a Happy Birthday! post for Matt Mullenweg.

  • A Cloudy Day

    She lives on the floor
    of the spheres
    about her ears
    rivers of clouds swirl.
    Her celestial gown
    flows and steams
    swiftly in variable
    winds shifting east
    to west west to east
    a sweeping trail
    of light and wet dust.

    Deeper still the mud
    rock ocean floor
    the water almost
    solid so pressed.
    Mote stuffs suspend
    where nothing not
    comparable is created
    has no fixed shape
    and nothing rises
    slowly to the surface
    of its own floor.

  • The Worrywart

    The worrywart worries not
    buried in his book waiting
    for the plot to go wrong

    Like the groundhog whistler
    he hides himself away, his
    lamp casts a long shadow

    He avoids the light of day
    wishes all in his path
    would just go away

    To hear his chatter bores,
    his worry puss and golden
    guts galore, but what worries

    me is his stagecraft, an act
    he doesn’t actually know
    anything about shadows,

    and when the penultimate
    page turns blank he’ll worry:
    printer’s error or by design?

  • Another Year from Monday

    Sometimes it seems a step backward is the way to go, but I’m not sure painting over yesterday’s canvas is movement forward or reverse. But why think in these lineal terms to begin with? In spite of tidal waves of news pouring in from every mode, it seems keeping informed about what’s going on is ongoingly increasingly difficult. At the same time, as John Cage said in his essay on Jasper Johns, “Why does the information that someone has done something affect the judgment of another? Why cannot someone who is looking at something do his own work of looking?”

    Today, later this evening, to be more precise, is the solstice. If all goes as planned, the days will begin to grow longer again. There’s no keeping still, even if forward and backward amount to the same thing. In fact, I read just last night, the sun has already been going down later in the day in these environs, but the sun has still been coming up a bit later each day, and will continue to do so for some time yet, despite the solstice. So the moment, the epiphanic slice, the exact time of the solstice, when you feel the bump at the top of the amusement ride just before the reverse tilt comes true, you probably won’t feel.

    Nevertheless, we celebrate the solstice, for reasons old and new, and take the opportunity to consider what new lectures and writings, poems and songs, essays and cartoons we might make up between now and the coming spring equinox, which is planned for Tuesday, March 19th (Saint Joseph’s Day, if you’re keeping track of that too). New ways of measuring time are always being considered. But if you adopt a new calendar, you’ll have to then come up with a proleptic view. So we might anticipate objections before they’re even brought up. Remarks.

    The proportion of ideas might be considered important. If an idea is too big, or too small. To warrant further development. I thought I might try some reconnections, might even write a few letters, though my initial attempts at this, very much no doubt excited by the solstice, have met with instant failures to communicate. The art of the steel sculpture. Then again, I’ve never been much of a letter writer, not like the folks in the old days who might spend half the day reading mail and the other half answering mail. Pastime. Mail which had taken days or even weeks to arrive during which time rendered moot much of its news, feelings, ideas.

    Speaking of letter mail, the kind written on paper and requiring a postage stamp, we get very little here these days. Even junk mail seems to have diminished. We’ve received two Christmas cards, both kept on prominent display. Of course, one must send mail to receive mail; not always, but usually. As for blog exchange, comments are problematic. They aren’t really letters in reply, and often say more about the commenter than what’s being commented on. The art of the quip, the comeback, the rejoinder, retort, riposte. But that’s the cynic in me coming out. Get back! Get back! The blog, “The Coming of the Toads,” turns 16 this month. I’m not even sure what a blog is anymore.

    The most effective blogs (or whatever they might be called) seem those dedicated to a single purpose: photography (and photos about something specific – e.g. birds, architecture, surfing), politics, poetry, how to, music, art, opinion, travel. But the personal essay seems the most resilient form of writing (personal essay as illustrated, for example, in Philip Lopate’s anthology “The Art of the Personal Essay.”) I’m not sure where the idea of a pic necessary to accompany every piece of blog post writing ever came from. The Header, I guess. In case you’ve not noticed, The Toads has for some time now sported a minimalist attitude illustrated by a mostly blank white page dotted with black text – might be one way to describe the setup. This allows for the least distraction for both reader and writer. Indeed, blog posts past, I spent more time coming up with an appropriate pic than I did on the writing. Back when the blog began, most readers read on a computer screen. The display of any post is now changed by format depending on what kind of device the reader’s using: phone, tablet, computer – so what you see is not always what the reader gets or what the writer might have intended (a problem which of course is not new to any kind of writing).

    Anyway, I’d like to take this opportunity to restate a few of the underlying interests of the writing here. It’s original, without recourse, it must now apparently be officially stated, to any borrowing from an Artificial Intelligence (AI). That includes all the essays and pics, cartoons and poems, songs, unless of course specifically quoted and cited yada yada yada. That’s not to say influences won’t be discerned: John Cage, Marshall McLuhan, Buckminster Fuller, James Joyce, Samuel Beckett, the Beats, Guitar and Music in all its forms but increasingly Gypsy Jazz guitar – to name a few.

    But back to the solstice! Happy Solstice to all of you writers and readers. Please feel free to leave a comment if you still have time.

  • Slide Show

    All is lost
    whispers this ghost
    as the moon passes
    over the firs
    a galvanized pipe
    shaving from a
    threading machine

    This ghost found
    to haunt our
    gaudy present

    Via benefits
    toys for boys
    buoys for weary
    ones still at sea

    The moon moves on
    slow goes the night
    click, click, light
    from an old slide show

  • Word Sale

    Take these words away
    from me, realign the lines
    to suit Chef de cuisine’s
    new-fangled recipes.

    These stale words fail
    today’s goals, empty
    out my backpack
    hold a yard sale.

    In this box place
    in summer oak shade
    penny each
    monosyllabics.

    All the abstract words
    dump in the free box
    put it on the curb
    to be recycled.

    In another box place
    each to its own card
    all the poems, with the
    proceeds we’ll eat pizza.

    The problem it seems lost
    downstream strewn words
    sans plugs or hubs portless
    boats in this electro storm.

  • Beginnan the Beguiled

    Who sticks the neck out
    hears the critic’s silver
    slice blade cuts form
    from crooked content
    opens up the seer
    odor of incense near

    Mea culpa mea culpa mea
    little bit of culpa anyway
    to be taken seriously
    but the soul smiles
    and laughing Jesus
    miracles tease us

    Faith’s apprehension
    bad ease dour doldrums
    then crisp ring the bells
    it’s Christmas morn
    passes the dull storm
    from this spirit born

  • On the Chicken and the Egg

    An old friend I’d not heard from for some time recently wrote to say she was sitting on something big. Apparently, Amazon would provide the answer. She had placed an order for a chicken and an egg.

    She was conducting an experiment, and, handled correctly, she wrote, she would not be surprised at an eventual Nobel nomination.

    It took a bit for me to figure out where she might go with her hypothesis formulation, for there didn’t seem to be a prediction one way or the other. Subsequent emails clarified, but, alas, the experiment ran awry, as must often be the case, the non-scientist can only speculate, happens all the time.

    The experiment seemed cartoonishly simple: place the order, wait and see, and record the results. Meantime, I wrote back to tell her she might have easily bought a dozen chickens and fifty eggs on her next trip to Costco. No, no, no, she said, I didn’t get it.

    In any case, the first signs of the experiment going amiss came with the delivery alerts, an email for each stage of the order, shipping, and delivery: a thread of emails for the chicken, another thread for the egg. There was tracking to be done. A few days passed. Still no chicken, nor egg.

    End of the line emails suggested a fox had got the chicken, a crow the egg. It came as no surprise that the email delivery updates, the so-called alerts, included little detail. Ignoring this, she argued for spontaneous singularity – the chicken might have come with the egg, appearing, as Amazon deliveries often apparently do, from out of nowhere. Or maybe the chicken and egg weren’t really, in actuality, separate entities, so the question of which came first was null out of the gate. Same box. Or maybe you stick the egg into a chicken like you would a battery into a toy. Would the egg come enveloped in bubble wrap?

    I might mention that one of my own observations is that often people suffer from a surplus of thought. This leads to an imbalance between the mind and body and may make simple and clear communication with others difficult. Exercise is the solution. I mentioned to my friend that Plutarch and Aristotle before him – they both a long time ago satisfied the question of the chicken or the egg. But it’s not as simple as what came first, the very concept of first being itself subject to argument. But Aristotle said, “In our discussion of substance everything which is generated is generated from something and by something; and by something formally identical with itself.” Yes, that’s fine, returned my chicken and egg Nobel-bound interlocutor, but what substance a posteriori is he talking about?

    A what?

  • Epiphany

    In the straw burrow farm mice.
    Get a little closer and you’ll see
    nits in baby Jesus’s hair, lice,
    and a house snake in the olive tree.

    There’s beer on the breath of the three
    sage men sitting under the olive tree,
    playing games of cribbage,
    ushering in a new age.

    The pieces are swaddled in wool.
    Mary’s breast-feeding the baby Jesus.
    Joseph takes out his tools
    to build a bed before the night freezes.

    Mary wipes Joseph’s brow.
    The wise men question how,
    talk to Joseph about what he did,
    and what in the end might be in the crib.

    (“Epiphany” appeared in Rocinante, Spring 2009, Vol. 8
    I’ve made a few minor changes here.)

  • Sleigh Ride

  • Guitar Tabs for “Sitting Out” and “Sweet Hay”

    Here are guitar tabs for two pieces I created and played this summer on Instagram live reels. The tabs are for illustration purposes and to save the ideas or themes of the pieces in a text format – in play, much improvisation is employed using the themes as form.

    Guitar Tab for "Sweet Hay"

[Intro]
 
e|-------------|
B|---3---4---5-|
G|---3---4---5-|
D|-2---3---4---|
A|-------------|
E|-------------|
 
[A]
           CM7            D9  D9-  D7                 G7                CM7
e|-----------------|-----------------|------------------------|-----------------|
B|---------5-5---5-|-------5---4---3-|----------------3-3---3-|---------5-5---5-|
G|---------4-4---4-|-------5---5---5-|----------------4-4---4-|---------4-4---4-|
D|---------5-5---5-|-------4---4---4-|----------------3-3---3-|---------5-5---5-|
A|---0-2-3-----3---|-3-4-5---5---5---|-5-4-3-0-h2-0-----------|---0-2-3-----3---|
E|-3---------------|-----------------|--------------3-----3---|-3---------------|
 
[A]
           CM7            D9  D9-  D7                 G7                CM7
e|-----------------|-----------------|------------------------|-----------------|
B|---------5-5---5-|-------5---4---3-|----------------3-3---3-|---------5-5---5-|
G|---------4-4---4-|-------5---5---5-|----------------4-4---4-|---------4-4---4-|
D|---------5-5---5-|-------4---4---4-|----------------3-3---3-|---------5-5---5-|
A|---0-2-3-----3---|-3-4-5---5---5---|-5-4-3-0-h2-0-----------|---0-2-3-----3---|
E|-3---------------|-----------------|--------------3-----3---|-3---------------|
 
[B]
            Am7                Dm7               G7                CM7
e|-------------7-5-----------|---7-5-----------|---5-3-----------|-------5-7----|
B|-----------5-----8-5-------|-6-----6-5-------|-3-----5-3-------|-5-6-8------5-|
G|-----------5---------7-5---|-5---------7-5---|-4---------5-4---|-4----------4-|
D|-----------5-------------7-|-7-------------7-|-3-------------5-|-5----------5-|
A|-3-4-5---7-----------------|-5---------------|-5---------------|-3----------3-|
E|-------5-------------------|-----------------|-----------------|--------------|
 
[A]
           CM7            D9  D9-  D7                 G7                CM7
e|-----------------|-----------------|------------------------|-----------------|
B|---------5-5---5-|-------5---4---3-|----------------3-3---3-|---------5-5---5-|
G|---------4-4---4-|-------5---5---5-|----------------4-4---4-|---------4-4---4-|
D|---------5-5---5-|-------4---4---4-|----------------3-3---3-|---------5-5---5-|
A|---0-2-3-----3---|-3-4-5---5---5---|-5-4-3-0-h2-0-----------|---0-2-3-----3---|
E|-3---------------|-----------------|--------------3-----3---|-3---------------|
 
[Outro]
                 CM7
e|-------------|---------|
B|---5---4---3-|-------5-|
G|---5---4---3-|-----4---|
D|-4---3---2---|---5-----|
A|-------------|-3-------|
E|-------------|---------|
 
 
h = Hammer-on


    Guitar Tab for "Sitting Out"

[A]
 
e|----------|----------|----------|--------|--5-7-8/10|10-10-4---|4-5-4-----|4-5-4-----|4-5-4-----------|
B|5-6-5-----|5-6-5-8---|5-6-5-----|5-6-5-6-|8---------|----------|------6---|------6---|------6---------|
G|----------|----------|----------|--------|----------|----------|----------|----------|--------7/9-9---|
D|------7---|----------|------7---|--------|----------|----------|----------|----------|--------------7-|
A|----------|----------|----------|--------|----------|----------|----------|----------|----------------|
E|----------|----------|----------|--------|----------|----------|----------|----------|----------------|
 
[B]
 
e|--------|4-------|----------|--8-7-4-|5-------------|
B|------6-|--6-----|--------6-|8-------|--6-5---------|
G|--4-7---|----7---|----5-7---|--------|------7-9-----|
D|6-------|------6-|7---------|--------|----------7---|
A|--------|--------|----------|--------|--------------|
E|--------|--------|----------|--------|--------------|
 
[C]
 
e|---------|---------|--------|----------|-------|--------------|--------------|----------|--------|
B|---1-----|---1-----|---1----|3---------|---3---|----------3---|----------3---|--------3-|---1----|
G|--2-2----|--2-2----|--2-2---|2---------|--1----|---------1----|---------1----|--------2-|--2-2---|
D|-2---2---|-2---2---|-2---2--|3---------|-3-----|--------3-----|--------3-----|--------3-|-2---2--|
A|0--------|0--------|0-----2-|----------|2------|-------2------|-------2------|-------2--|0-----0-|
E|------0--|------0--|--------|---0-0-0-0|-------|0-0-0-0-------|0-0-0-0-------|0-0-0-0---|--------|
 
[D]
 
e|---------------|---------------|--------------|-----------7-8-|4-5---------|---5--7--8--5-|
B|1-1-3/5-3------|1-1-3/5-3------|1-1-3/5-3-----|-----6-8-9-----|----6-5-----|---5-----5--5-|
G|---------5/7---|---------5/7---|---------5/7--|5-7-8----------|--------7-9-|---5-----5--5-|
D|------------7--|------------7--|------------7-|---------------|------------|7--------7--5-|
A|---------------|---------------|--------------|---------------|------------|--------------|
E|---------------|---------------|--------------|---------------|------------|--------------|
 

 
/ = Slide up