Brother Wayne and I ran the morning and afternoon gauntlet through
the back alleys of Jeffersonville, Indiana dodging potential beatings to school
and back. The 50’s ducktails were out in force much less complicated than the
drug monkeys of present day urban wasteland.
You’d be hard pressed to find a clarinet player embraced by
meat men and their roving bands of whip ass.
Fortunately, last day of high school ended forced
confinement with thuggish boys.
I truly wouldn’t be comfortable in that setting these days.
I remember being in Montreal a few years back at a Roots
concert and there were two dudes near front stage muscling into my photo space.
Normally, I would just hold ground and ignore but there was a vibe about them
that said they owned all the real estate within scanning and walking distance.
I studied and watched their body language and kept a fair
distance and so did most in the building. It was if all hell could break loose
near front stage or on the way out. Thug radar!
After reading the Toronto Star’s crack reporter Rosie Dimano’s
rant about the Fords this morning I wondered why grown privileged men would
continue to shelter themselves with such language challenged short fuse
hombres. Are they living a reality show - Thug Idol?
You can smell violence the moment it enters the room. It’s
like someones wearing a strand of death garlic.
I sensed a few months ago coming back from the Toronto Zoo
and busing through Scarborough when some young punks invaded the bus. Not a fun
bunch – these were real deal damage lads.
There is an odor a musician can detect. We’ve played the
mean clubs – hung with Hells Angels – had happy thug hugs from beer swilling
losers. You don’t forget.
So, as I’m writing this I wonder why a sitting mayor of a
major city keeps friends like this so close. It would truly creep me out and
make my pack of fifty year old Rico reeds quiver. Oh clarinet, oh clarinet –
thy weapon of choice..
No comments:
Post a Comment