"My
Current Sea"
Paul Griffin
Paul Griffin
Fever; The Folks Who Live On The Hill; Surrey With The Fringe; The More I See You; So In Love; Time After Time; Helplessly, Hopelessly;
My Secret Love; A Foggy Day; Old Man River; Send In The Clowns; The Years Of My Youth; Softly As I Leave You (1978)
I’ve Been A Puppet, A Pirate, A Poet, A Pauper, A Pawn, And A King;
| Music
has always been paramount in my life. There were times when it
was so
all consuming that I could hardly concentrate on anything else. Walk
now, chew gum later! I marched to the beat of a
different drummer. I was a dreamer, (some would say that I still am)
but my existence continues to resonate to the mystical powers of music. As Homo Sapiens, we are continually
amazed when confronted with evidence that we are not the sole purveyors
of an intelligence. Gardner, in his book, A State Of Mind, suggests
that there are seven different disciplines of measurable intelligence and that
one examination for intelligence quotient is inadequate. (I never quite resolved my own
issues of whether I suffered from a seemingly unmitigated IQ, or an
apparently unmedicated A.D.D.) In his
book, Adams Ancestors, the archaeologist, L.S.B. Leakey defined Homo Sapiens
as tool users. This definition served us well until we explored nature
and found otters, birds, chimpanzees and even some
politicians using
tools to
accomplish one task or another. Many creatures have also confounded
researchers by demonstrating a capacity for logical deduction. (Homo
"Erectus" Clintonous (Bill Clinton) rarely falls into this category but
fools observers
by walking upright, when he's not downright. Or left!) However, I take great comfort in
the knowledge that those molecules
that have coalesced to become Doc Severensen, Chet Baker, Marvin Stamm,
Randy Brecker, Malcolm McNab, and Allen Vizzutti (all brilliant trumpet
players) will forever resonate in the ether that surrounds us. style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"> I have yet to “resonate” to
the musical prowess of Flipper.
(He might be the Mario Lanza of his Dolphin friends in sonar world, but
I'm not getting it.)
Music has many definitions, and
most of us can equate with one or another of these. It is most
fundamentally structured noise in the 20hz-20khz range. At this raw
stage, it is basically "rap-music!" Anybody see an oxymoron here? Once
enhanced
with
elements of harmony, melody,
rhythm, and timbre, it becomes something better understood by a
higher
order of sapien. The longer I
survive, the more I come to realize
that I need to survive a great deal longer so that I may better
orchestrate and integrate these fundamentals into my life... and
resonate.
As I write this, with the music
from Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade, (composed by John Williams)
tweaking my existence, I realize that the music stands alone, conjuring
images and moods not aroused by the film. Only the sense of smell can
approach music for its ability to carry us to another plane. (hmmm) While the
damp moss of a forest floor reminds us of our youth, when we intimately
explored the ground upon which we tread, and our grand quest for
a 'eureka" experience was barely contained while explosive
decompression threatened to overwhelm our existence in one grand mal
seizure..., Whew! So too
does the music of our youth present
us with apparitions, faces and feelings; memories of who we were
and realizations of what we have become.
Music has been the primary
discipline in my life; the catalyst behind whatever it is that I have become.
I’ve been a melodious
pirate as I energetically negotiated my trumpet
through an exciting, but expositive arrangement of “Can’t Buy Me Love”
with Ella Fitzgerald on the Ed Sullivan Show. (A "live microphone"
into the living rooms of over a hundred million households was both
exhilarating and intimidating to a twenty year old.) I’ve been a rhythmic
puppet, when
I steeled myself to the
jeering of a knowing and offended
audience at The London Palladium, when the valve on my trumpet
experienced its own grand mal seizure
during a now infamous opening trumpet cadenza for The Stylistics
on “I Can’t Give You Anything.” (And I sure couldn’t!) I’ve been a harmonic poet
as I waxed eloquently when a playful gust of wind carried my music aloft
during a
concert on The Esplanade, in Boston. I covered brilliantly with a few
“ad libs” from page two of the Hot Licks For Dummies book. What
a
shame we were performing Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto # 2. The look on the
myasstro's face was priceless!
I’ve been a humbled pauper when I
arrived in the United Kingdom as a “child of the universe” (straight from Woodstock) without a
plan and five hundred dollars to my name. But, I had a trumpet! And I had my love to keep me warm!
And
the timbre
of my tenacity prevailed as I penetrated the depths of parliamentary
etiquette in order to avoid the humiliation of deportation. A mere ocean hadn't posed an
obstacle, keeping me from the woman I intended to marry, and so I
wasn't about to let a few international treaties get in my way. I
approached a
member of the British Parliament who had
influence, and whose name was
Dennis Dover. He answered to the name “Den.” “DEN!” Unfortunately, I heard, “Ben!”
“BEN!”…and I addressed my letter to him c/o Parliament: “Mr. Ben Dover, MP.
House of Parliament, Westminster, London.” And so… three huge gentlemen from Scotland
Yard arrived with little ceremony, and an overwhelming abundance of
intimidation to “escort me” to the airport. There followed much posturing, and
groveling and they agreed to allow me to remain
in the country through the weekend provided that by Monday morning I held a certificate of marriage to a
loyal British subject in my most unworthy hands. Irene and
I were married the very next day. The magistrate who married us was a
Benny Goodman fan, and so my father's notoriety from that infamous
trumpet section carried the day for us.
Thirty eight years hence, I’ve been a reluctant pawn in the chess-like maneuvers of some extremely enigmatic socio-economic and judicial dynamics (whew, again!) when I sought to cash in on my currency, only to find myself in My Current Sea. And so…I’ve Been A Puppet, A
Pirate, A Poet, A
Pauper, A Pawn
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GRIFFIN HOUSE PRODUCTIONS