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August 1, 2013

Tent City in Lakewood. The Movie Documentary ‘Destiny’s Bridge.’ A Movie Review and Personal Journey to Involvement. Premiere August 7th at Two River Theatre in Red Bank By Calvin Schwartz August 1st 2013

 

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Rosemary Conte singing at concert for Tent City on Easter Sunday 2012 in Lakewood
Rosemary Conte singing at concert for Tent City on Easter Sunday 2012 in Lakewood

 

Right off the top of my frontal lobe, I need to say that this amazing documentary by filmmaker Jack Ballo, ‘Destiny’s Bridge,’ where he spent a year of his life recording the lives of the homeless in Tent City, Lakewood, is having its world premiere at Two River Theatre in Red Bank, New Jersey on August 7th.

Journeys to sensitivity and understanding sometimes begin innocently with little fanfare and symphonies. On Easter Sunday 2012, I attended a concert of awareness for the people of Tent City in Lakewood passionately put together by Rosemary Conte. With my son, we filmed the event for NJ Discover. I had no concept of what Tent City was and the fact that around 100 humans were living in tents for years without electricity, heat or basic amenities because Ocean County has no shelters for the homeless. Tent City was 24 minutes from where I’ve lived for 24 years but that didn’t register in my frontal lobe. While listening to the music close to the staging area, a bus of Tent City residents arrived at the far end of the plaza for food and clothing donations. Minister Stephen Brigham brought the tent residents in his yellow school bus; that scene was still far away from me in several ways. I stayed with my son but saw people holding empty plates waiting on a food line. An image of President Herbert Hoover’s Great Depression flashed across my unsympathetic retina. Close to the musicians I remained.  It seemed the thing to do. When I got home that night, I forgot about the hungry homeless and talked to my family about the special Jersey musicians I heard for the first time.

 

 

Minister Stephen Brigham on that cold February day
Minister Stephen Brigham on that cold February day

 

Angelo putting wood into stove to warm tent
Angelo putting wood into stove to warm tent

 

 

 

Cut to January. Hurricane Sandy relief concerts were happening all over the Garden State. My past written words of support and admiration for Rosemary Conte and her wondrous musical and life contributions caught up to her; we became friends. She invited me to cover a Sandy benefit concert at McCloone’s in Asbury Park for NJ Discover. I interviewed her and then came an introduction to Sherry Rubel, concert organizer, photographer extraordinaire and Tent City activist.

 

 

 

 

with Tara-Jean Vitale from NJ Discover at Tent City in February
with Tara-Jean Vitale from NJ Discover at Tent City in February
with Michael as he wondrously plays the piano in front of his tent.
with Michael as he wondrously plays the piano in front of his tent.

 

Now it’s February. I’m at a place for coffee and conversation on a busy highway in East Brunswick, N.J with Sherry Rubel. Two weeks later on a very cold sunny day, Tara-Jean Vitale (NJ Discover producer) and I met Sherry across the street from the entrance to Tent City in Lakewood. We were packing TV cameras and microphones for our day in a new world. Patches of pure white snow from the night before looked like special effects. The dirt road was frozen; so was I emotionally. A thin veil of disbelief at my surroundings settled subtly around me. It was numbing; humans in the second richest state in America existing like this. Then I met Angelo, an endearing eloquent resident who invited me into his tent, briefly excusing himself, while I stood immobile and incredulous on how cold it was in the tent.  He went outside to chop wood for the wood burning stove which was not warming the tent well.  His bed was made perfectly. At that moment, in such brutal cold, where humans sleep and exist in the Lakewood winter, I thought about never being quite the same again. And I’m not. Something inside me aches (a soul?) from being overwhelmed. An hour later we interviewed Minister Stephen Brigham, a twelfth generation American. Illuminating and inspiring to us, he’s been devoting much of an adult lifetime to the cause of ‘Destiny’s Bridge;’ a journey to finding suitable and dignified housing in a self-sustainable community of homeless humans. I like using the term ‘humans.’

It’s not within the scope of this article to do self-intestinal excavation and journalizing my time at Tent City.  But a few months later, I was back there with filmmaker Jack Ballo and had a chance to meet residents and talk and listen. Uncovering his wealth of character and poignancy, I met Michael, a long time Tent City resident with his wife Marilyn. He was able to bring a piano from his home before it was lost and kept it under a tarp like on a baseball field in a rainstorm. He played Beethoven and Procul Harum, ‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’ for me. Enamored and drawn to his depth and warmth, I drifted far away standing close to Michael; I was still numb from months earlier at Tent City. It was cloudy and mild this day; easier for Michael and all the residents to sleep at night. But it is all hard; a very hard rain. I need to yell; maybe it will help me understand how and why in 2013 here in New Jersey this exists. Everything I saw that day after listening to Michael play the piano was visually a whiter shade of pale; hard to explain; perhaps a perfect segue to review the documentary, ‘Destiny’s Bridge.’

 

Minister Stephen Brigham.
Minister Stephen Brigham.

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REVIEW:  DESTINY’S BRIDGE

I’m not a Siskel or Ebert. On the other hand, I have evolved over my tech noir years of ‘Casablanca,’ ‘From Here to Eternity,’ ‘On the Waterfront;’ where perhaps I’m now a contender to talk about movies. Part of the evolution side effect is a bit of snobbish attitude to viewing movies; can’t waste time watching ineptitude in film making and storytelling. Movie making is an art form and a great gift. The works of quintessential movie makers fascinate me. I’ll notice eye-brows moving and the wispy windy sounds of a tree next to a window as two characters are staring at the moon. I take it all in; pure cinematic absorption. I need to learn, emote and feel. Looking back, motion pictures have helped congeal my views of the world and changed my life. Watching ‘Casablanca’ for the 44th time some years ago formed the basis of my first novel.

So when I previewed the movie ‘Destiny’s Bridge’ a few weeks ago, I found myself instantly riveted into the world of Tent City. My emotional ties developed quickly with the residents; sensitive caring humans looking for dignity and respect in a cold world. Jack Ballo seamlessly weaves their stories and interconnectivity of existence; how they depend on one another. I can say it was beautiful film making; vivid photography heightened the stark reality. You will learn about the harsh human condition of homelessness from this documentary.

Yes, it is an exquisite film which means sensitive, emotional, real and poignant.  Back to my being a snob about movies; I’ve since watched it again. You may need to do the same; the film delivers a powerful message about homelessness and Minister Stephen Brigham’s vision for a future. Then Jack Ballo’s treatise on the lives of some of the people; you grow fond and bond with them, maybe wanting to reach out and help. You care about their lives. The film is beautiful because it makes you feel something inside. It evokes. I love when I’m evoked to emote by a film.

It was a painstaking meticulous project for Ballo; a year of his life for the desire to make a difference. I look at myself right now at this point in time somewhere in a universe. ‘Destiny’s Bridge’ has innervated and moved me; therefore a brilliant work. There’s sadness in the final scene looking down from high above; in some ways leaving that homeless world below but also heralding an awareness that much needs to be done.  All my above criteria for good movie making have been met; I call it a contender. Here’s thanking and looking at you Jack Ballo.

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Important Links:  http://www.destinysbridge.com/

http://www.ultravisionfilms.com

https://www.facebook.com/DestinysBridge

 

 

INFORMATION ON MOVIE PREMIERE:

ORDER TICKETS HERE ON LINE!! REALLY ALMOST SOLD OUT!!

http://www.brownpapertickets.com/event/412674?date=859361

 

Advance online tickets for the film premiere of Destiny’s Bridge are nearly sold out!!

Best you order yours before the end of today. ($12 at the door) Wed. Aug. 7, 7p.m., Two River Theater, Red Bank. So much art & culture for such a low price!!

6:30 – lobby exhibit of photography by Sherry Rubel

7:00 – showing of this beautiful and important documentary “Destiny’s Bridge”

8:20 – Q & A; Introduction to the audience to filmmaker Jack Ballo, Univision Films; Minister Steve Brigham, and residents of Tent City featured in the film. Emcee is Dr. Michael Paul Thomas, Monmouth University.

8:45 – Reception, wine & cheese, piano music by Michael, a Tent City resident.

Photos for all on the Red Carpet.

 

 

 

July 2, 2013

A Blog on Linda Chorney, Grammy Nominee and Author and Friend July 2nd 2013

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: , , , — earthood @ 11:38 am

A Blog on Linda Chorney, Grammy Nominee and Author and Friend   July 2nd 2013

 

me

me

 

reading Linda Chorney book

reading Linda Chorney book

 

 

As my world turns and I’m being taken down all kinds of asphalt city roads and country trails along side babbling brooks, it becomes increasingly more difficult to squirrel myself away and tend to this blog which for three years has fueled my imagination and excitement in creating a different kind of voice. A few hundred thousand people a year have visited this blog. I’ll keep trucking here, not as frequently as I’d like. But here I am, a few days before one of my favorite all American holidays, the Fourth of July; I remember past Fourths and  joyous American pursuits of barbecues, fireworks, kindred spirits and our awareness of history; our love of freedom and independence.  Last July, I visited a pre-Revolutionary War cemetery here in Monmouth County. Most of the grave markers were dated before July, 1776. I won’t go into detail at this time  (unless several of you reach out to me) how we recorded a voice from a grave (EVP) or how it rained on us without a cloud in the sky but what moved me the most was my observation that most people interred there never knew America was born. I was saddened; still am.  But back to the Fourth of July and Independence.

I met Linda Chorney nearly two years at Olde Freehold Day when she sang a few songs; our friendship was born. And all through these two dozen months of friendship, I did notice one particular shining quality (among her many) which stood out; a fierce rugged spirited independence; refreshing and admirable. Always sticking to her guns and beliefs. So it is fitting and proper now that  I share some thoughts about independent Linda and a recently published book documenting her emotional journey to the Grammy awards as a nominee.  The book is titled, “Who the F–k is Linda Chorney.” Enjoy the read. Pick up a copy. It’s like a credit card commercial, priceless.

 

 

Linda Chorney singing at a film shoot

Linda Chorney singing at a film shoot

 

with Linda Chorney in front of a magnetized refrigerator

with Linda Chorney in front of a magnetized refrigerator

One more thought. I’ve started a gig  for a new magazine, ‘New Jersey, A Shore Thing.’  Please check out the on line link and my article about singer Christine Martucci.

http://tablet.olivesoftware.com/Olive/Tablet/ShoreThing/

 

Just so you know, I just pinched my left arm. I do that often enough when I go through periods of disbelief.  “Hey Mah, look where I am? Writing about Linda  Chorney, a Grammy nominee, singer extraordinaire, and refreshingly honest writer.”  Actually, these past two years, since I met Linda and Scott, it has been a series of arm pinching (I sometimes switch arms just in case.) After all, I’d think much of the time, how can little tall old me really be involved in her lofty music world?

Cut to July, 2011. I love looking back on origins and how people drift into one another’s lives and make differences. Scott found me on Facebook; we became friends; I was a successful blogger. Linda was about to begin a blog. Then Linda was doing a gig at Old Freehold Day (August 2011) so I was invited.  That would be my very first event as a music journalist. It was my first week on the job for a local monthly paper. Life is indeed strange and haunting. After Linda sang, I heard Nick Clemons; first time seeing him too and look how far we’ve come in two years to be close friends also.

 

Linda Chorney singing National Anthem at Fenway Park (vc Yankees)_

Linda Chorney singing National Anthem at Fenway Park (vs Yankees)

 

The Book

The Book

 

My first impressions of Linda were “wow.”  Her personality, stage presence, professionalism, lyrics and wondrous voice radiated. I use these words by careful design; a reason for everything. Afterwards, Scott asked if I’d like to meet her.  “But of course.” We shook hands and I bought her CD, ‘Emotional Jukebox.’   As I was walking away, she yelled, ‘How about a cup of tea one day.’ Another pinch. I knew about being those 250,000 miles away from the moon and now music and this great singer invited me for tea.

A few days later on the balcony at her condo in Sea Bright overlooking the Shrewsbury River, we had our green tea and talked about the world. As her words got caught up in my auditory canal and were processed, I realized what energy, individuality and brashness I had encountered. She said it like it was and how refreshing. I felt like Mikey, that cereal kid on a box. “He likes Linda.” So a rare, precious and beautiful enduring friendship was born.

And with friendship there is loyalty which at this stage of my life, I’ve come to understand is a gift. Linda, Scott and I went on to do an interview for a Monmouth paper. At that time, green tea became boutique bagels from Western Monmouth County, cream cheese with vegetables and water. I was privileged to see the early process in the quest for the Grammy. Another pinch. My new friend was in pursuit of a Grammy; beyond my comprehension. I was learning so much about this new music world I was tiptoeing into. Having listened to’ Emotional Jukebox’ enough times already, I knew it was the perfect fit; she’s that good and has been  doing her music for 30 years all over the world; indeed the paying dues stuff.

More loyalty. A short time later I got Linda to do a special video for Hooplaha because she had just been nominated for a Grammy as an Indie and 51 year old singer. Hooplaha looks for feel good stories. Linda was the poster girl for feel good. The video made it to Hooplaha’s site. Later we did a holiday dinner together with Linda, Scott, grandpa and Rufus and family; her warmth, gentility, depth and humanity emanate just as her sensitivity. By the way, these observations were made by assembled family also. Linda is special.

Speaking of sensitivity, a perfect segue. The Grammy nominations are out and the fire storm of positivity and negativity hit the music world. Linda endures and thrives but not an easy journey. And it is the trials and tribulations and media which shadow box with Linda’s sensitivity and sense of fair play. The journey and her endurance, reaction and experience through the whole process is documented meticulously in the birth of her book; a gift to all of us who care about the complexities and exigencies of the music world.

I’m certainly not the New York Times or Kirkus Reviews but here I am about to say a few words about ‘Who the F—k is Linda Chorney.’  Riveting is a good word to begin with. Anyone with molecular attachments to our American music world is going to be riveted; therefore that means a must read.  Music companies, industry insiders and some journalists are not necessarily nice. I never knew the extent until Linda excited my optic nerve with her home grown writing style.  Often when reading, I stopped, closed my eyes and Linda was in the room with me carefully narrating in diary form her anguish and adventures taking her to the Grammy award ceremony. “She’s so funny, “I thought about her imaginative often silly usage of names of some of the adversaries; a gentle word. I’ll leave Linda for the colorful alternatives. I think I shall never see anything quite like a tree or look at the business side of the music world the same ever again.  Shame on them.

Linda lit my fire and brought me to think that it seems like old times; it’s the 1950’s and the word payola made headlines as the traditional music establishment was reacting against newcomers. Linda is an Indie and damn proud; same as a newcomer. Deja-vu just lassoed me.  Good gosh, nothing has changed. Linda has exposed this not nice industry and media friends of it. Bravo to a courageous and talented musician. And I loved her dirty words utilization and commentary; purist Chorney colorful.  She was talking to me. She reminded me of John Dean (a hero) with her powers of perfect recollection. And  I love pictures and she used them; another evoker of my smiling all throughout the read.

I love hip shooting. I just shot from there. Linda’s ‘Who  the F—k is Linda Chorney,’ is a must read with or without music proclivities. She’s tough and honest and warm and funny; the essence of memorable literature and her book is even a great beach read, under an umbrella or boardwalk. I loved it.

 

I LOVE LOVE synchronicity and the magic of the universe. So I decide to write my blog about Linda Chorney this very day. Streams of consciousness. And now moments ago, as they shut down Coney Island for fear the Astro-Tower is swaying in the gentle Atlantic Ocean breeze, I realize once again the planets have aligned. I just found out by sheer coincidence that Linda’s book has just been released on Amazon Kindle for the 4th of July!  So here’s a link.

And to Amazon –

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00DQBTVLE

If you don’t have a kindle, here is the link to purchase the book.

http://lindachorney.com/store.php

And if you want to save postage, and you are actually in Asbury Park, you can purchase the book at Carla Gizzi, a funky boutique in Asbury Park Convention Hall.

And I really love this; me being the movie guy and always aspiring to be an extra in a movie; hint, hint. Linda Chorney is in pursuit of making the book into a  movie at this very moment in Hollywood.

And to end this Linda Chorney blog segment  patriotically, check out why Linda was deservedly nominated for that Grammy with her new song and video,“ Martin”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yb8K4xcWTJU&feature=player_detailpage     about the beautiful little 8 year old boy taken from us at the Boston Marathon.

 

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It’s still a few days away from the Fourth. I finished my blog about Linda Chorney. I’m sitting here staring into space, looking at a picture of my mother, hanging on the wall behind my computer screen. I’m drifting all over the place; back to Newark, NJ, to places haunted and spiritual, to parks with trees and gigantic sand boxes, to apartment buildings with protruding air conditioners, to memories of trucks hawking Dugan cupcakes, to a Jane Parker industrial bakery, to an old girlfriend in 1967 who told me she was having an affair with a married dentist, to a friend Jonas who just passed away. Sometimes I wonder why I drift all over the place. Sometimes I wonder if it’s not a lesser condition of superior autobiographical memory. Is it a gift or memorex?  I’ve got miles to go and many articles to write.  Wishing all a Happy Healthy Holiday.  Peace Out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 11, 2013

April 12th Miscellaneous: What Happens When I Look at a Picture. Not Quite 1000 Words. and Asbury Park on my Mind. April 12, 2013

Sometimes I have no clue where the time goes. I have been blogging here for 3 years and loved every evolution. When I started his blog, I was ‘home’ for the holidays and for 365 days a year so there was time to reflect and update the blog weekly. Then after two years, I became a journalist in (Asbury Park) Monmouth County, New Jersey and a few months after that started with NJ Discover TV and suddenly last autumn, I’ve got a whole new life. From whence I’ve become a music, art and para-normal journalist. I also still thrive on environmental reporting. But I can’t get to this blog as often as I’d like. You get pulled in new directions. This blog is my home. So is NJ Discover and Facebook. I do write very creative things daily on my Facebook wall (Cal Schwartz) and more so on my Calvin Schwartz-Cerebral Writer (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Calvin-Schwartz-Cerebral-Writer/258272024192114

wall. So if you’re reading this, come join me on Facebook, friend me and we’ll stay in touch. Yes I’ll always blog here.  I’ve also been asked to write a biography of  one of the most important figures in the global music world and I’m deeply honored and thrilled. That takes time away too. So in the interest of quirky fascinating blogs, I’ve chosen to bring some pictures and accompanying words from Calvin Schwartz-Cerebral Writer for this blog installment. They’re all short stories so to speak and most pictures I took exploring the world. Be well.
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with writer, actor, director Joe Basile of movie ‘West End’ (http://www.westendthemovie.com/home.html ) filmed on the Jersey Shore. for me a powerful character study which i loved. tonight film at Soho Intl Film Fest. it won in Garden State Film Fest where THIS pix taken last week Asbury Park paramount theatre. i orchestrated (in the orchestra section ) this pix. using special effect of sloping aisle so Joe looks so much taller. as i observed earlier Joe reminds me of a young (Rocky) Sylvester Stallone.(same multi-faceted) cal schwartz, writer, njdiscover.com
Please “LIKE” CALVIN SCHWARTZ-CEREBRAL WRITER.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Calvin-Schwartz-Cerebral-Writer/258272024192114?fref=ts

 

 

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i don’t sit still. watching a live radio WCTC broadcast last week. i snuck out. climbed stairs in the old paramount theater in Asbury Park. the 2nd floor. rather haunting. desolate. a few small lights in hallway. then to third floor. it was awful chilly on staircase. felt not alone. then i found this door to 3rd floor. but i stopped. the ambiance made me. i turned around. now i’ll always wonder what was behind the door. i just finished a banana. i need the potassium.

 

 

 

 

 


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lately. sitting in a remote spot. on a beach. or on the 2nd floor backstage of an old theatre which is probably haunted i think about things. the pursuit of clarity. i carry a camera to facilitate. never carried a camera before. suddenly last summer i started. PIX: sunday from the electricity of the JAM awards in Ocean Grove (444 feet from Asbury Park) near the very end of the 7 hour show, a band on stage and i drifted far away. long ago. and i was moved. and remote. and how i wished my father had remote control growing up.

 

 

 

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when i was in kindergarten i couldn’t sit still. i wandered around. never raised my hand. called out things in class and annoyed the teacher who wrote my parents a letter. eisenhower was just elected president. perhaps the letter writing today is substituted for chemicals. point being. i was sitting in the Paramount theatre in Asbury Park on friday part of Garden State Film Festival and while WCTC 1450 was doing live broadcast(with Bert Baron) i couldn’t sit still. i explored the deep recesses of the greasepaint and theatre. backstage and upstairs where the temperature seemed to drop 20 degrees. hey it gets hot tomorrow in jersey (80 degrees)

 

 

 

 

 

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sometimes i like to slip thru barricades and go where i’m not supposed to.captain kirk went to places beyond. i remember a 60’s song, imagination. there was this huge party on the beach blanket. people were playing bingo. PIX: roaming around on day before Garden State Film Festival at Asbury Park convention hall. indeed greetings and lights and ocean. Festival concludes today. “you should’ve been there”

 

 

 

 

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it’s 4:21 am. it’s either quite late or eerily early. most pictures i post here are from my own taking. i looked for a while and i couldn’t find that certain feeling of expression. but i have sources. i’m a journalist after all. so here’s a strange pix. a year or so ago in my blog at vichywater.net i used to tackle some consumerism issues. i strayed. but earlier today i heard a report about drug stores(chains mostly) and the prices they charge. i used to be a pharmacist in an earlier life on another planet. now i can say how some unsuspecting americans are raped by out of control prices. a month supply of a generic statin drug is $20 at a ware house pharmacy and $150 at a neighborhood national chain. is there a better word than rape. i think it’s time to watch wuthering heights again.. and to pretend i am heathcliffe.

 

 

 

 

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perhaps a cosmic magnetic phenomenon but i am always drawn to the jersey shore. even yesterday. a cold wind. but i found my way to Asbury Park and watched rebuilding and construction. i climbed over a barricade and took pixs. a worker approached and asked if i was with the city of Asbury Park. he told me i need a hard hat to be on the construction site. i said (quoting the terminator) “i’ll be back” knowing i didn’t have a hard hat in the trunk. but i had telescopic lenses. and the jersey strong shore will be open for memorial day.

 

 

 

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i don’t know. there is a certain beauty to urban art. decay. abandonment. disrepair. so i stared at this scene in long branch nj. actually on the set of a movie, ‘The Soulless’ appropriately dealing with zombies and other matters. far from an amusement park with ice cream, cotton candy, dreams and rides back to the future. i enjoy the solitude of urban settings and wonder when and who and why. some times i wonder about picking up a blowing in the wind piece of paper. holding it. and then writing about it. imagination. “the origin of dirt’. hey its tuesday. yogurt with pineapple. somewhere up north maybe its pasta.

 

 

 

 

 

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i ponder the phenomenon of urban living. spatial requirements. concrete roads as opposed to clay to ride bikes on. often i’ve tried to gather the gumption to find a cabin like henry (d. thoreau) did. i travel often the introspective highway to see if i could support myself in a cabin (sustainability is a hot buzz word). then the truth slaps me hard. i snap out of it. and realize i need suburban living. and get this. i’ve come to accept i am addicted to the smell of new jersey car exhaust in the morning. sitting around walden pond even though its commercialized now can not afford me the car exhaust i need.

 

 

 

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fri night. a view of backstage at a backstage event at the strand theatre in lakewood nj (built in 1922) the band, ‘slim chance and the gamblers’ dazzled. funny, curious. i was in lakewood exactly one week before when Tent City residents went to court to fight for human dignity and their tents. later around midnight i walked around the deserted streets of lakewood. papers blew in the wind. reminded me of sagebrush. tumbleweed. i was in the western town dodge city. billy the kid told me to ride out of town. and not to stop. then i realized i was all alone. “shane, come back”

 

 

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i hung out at the MET museum in NYC. quite frankly i love museums in nyc. a long time ago i used to go and study etchings with a notebook. better than a singles bar. now it is pure absorption. i was fascinated with sculptures in the atrium adjacent to a cafeteria. and i smiled at the oblivious scene all around. in their own worlds of egg salad wraps and decaf coffee. it also reminded of a scene from hitchcock’s ‘north by northwest’. when the gun goes off. except a little boy puts his hand over ears before shot. happy thursday.

 

 

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omigosh its 1:11 am friday. i write best with the sounds of silence all around. its been a long time since everyone on the street where i lived went bowling. well, once a month anyway. then after to a local diner for french fries and gravy. there were no tuna wraps back then. no wraps at all. now its rap. my parents balked when bill haley and the comets started. they were hooked on benny goodman, duke ellington and glenn miller. for a long time i wondered about getting the perspective from where the bowling pins hung out. what they see and feel. so i ventured. so i saw. not sure i felt yet. maybe friday at 1 pm on the steps of the ocean county court house. thanks to Asbury Lanes in Asbury Park New Jersey

 

 

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someone recently asked why idea of cerebral writer. a long story. lot of roads. inspirations. observations. spiritual interventions. and of course an on going process. i was thrilled hanging with auguste rodin and other cerebral statues in an urban museum. later when the museum lights were off, i walked into the world of Egyptian antiquity. they make movies about these experiences. pix: me and Balzac athlete. i would’ve taken him one on one in a nearby playground but i wasn’t dressed for it.

 

 

 

 

me

me

                                                                                                                                                                         Please “LIKE” CALVIN SCHWARTZ-CEREBRAL WRITER.                                                                                                                              https://www.facebook.com/pages/Calvin-Schwartz-Cerebral-Writer/258272024192114?fref=ts

February 23, 2013

An Evolution to Awareness: Tent City, Lakewood, N.J. Destiny’s Bridge. Homelessness. And a Train to See Kobe Bryant. ‘Grapes of Wrath’ February 23, 2013

Filed under: November 2009 — Tags: , , , , — earthood @ 3:46 pm
me

me

 

road into tent city

road into tent city

 

 

 

Tent City, hmm.   Just thinking; I lived a big piece of my life in middle class bliss called suburban Monmouth County, New Jersey which is 40 minutes from Manhattan and an hour from Philadelphia. There are pockets (towns) in the county that have horse farms.  Mint juleps on cane benches on white wooden porches with Mercedes lined up in front of a three-car garage are common place; my way of describing subtle opulence. But I’m refreshingly middle class and damn proud. In July 2011, I even extended the energies of pride into becoming a journalist for a local county paper and a few months later, immersed into the television/internet reporting world of NJ Discover. Two years prior to that, my first novel, ‘Vichy Water’ was published. I became a writer on the late side of life’s journey but that’s OK, I’ve spiritually stopped counting years.

 

 

 

 

welcome to tent city

welcome to tent city

 

 

 

 

During these recent years, if anyone would’ve mentioned Tent City(Lakewood) and homeless people living in tents (80 of them) 27 minutes away from my electric two-car garage door and driveway, I would’ve gone on doing whatever I was doing, not paying attention because it was still too far away conceptually to grasp. Then last Easter Sunday, I was asked to cover (as a reporter for NJ Discover) a concert organized by Rosemary Conte to raise funds and awareness for the people of Tent City in Lakewood; it was still beyond my attention span and relevancy quotient; it just sounded like a cool thing to do. Rosemary Conte decided to have the concert for Tent City after being inspired by the photographic work of Sherry Rubel (friend of son, Steve Conte who lent Sherry use of his original song, “Busload of Hope” for fundraising).  Sherry was gearing towards an exhibit of her black and white images of Tent City.

 

 

Angelo chopping wood to heat his home(tent)

Angelo chopping wood to heat his home(tent)

 

 

 

 

Remembering how British sailors were impressed (against their will) into service in the 1600’s, I did the same exercise with my son who became cameraman for a day at the downtown Lakewood concert. The holiday cut into the attendance but the music was good. Then it was announced that Minister Steven Brigham (founder and spiritual leader) was bringing a bus filled with Tent City residents for a food and clothing buffet. When they arrived, I saw them from a distance, waiting in line for donated prepared food. That’s as close as I got to Tent City and its human residents; no faces to Tent City for me to attach to my optic nerve and compassion processing centers. Weeks later I wrote my article with some pictures I took; I focused more on the music. Life is funny. I met a few musicians from that concert and Rosemary Conte who have evolved into friends of mine. I never gave it thought that our thread of commonalty began with the Concert for Tent City.

 

a walk down a bumpy road

a walk down a bumpy road

 

 

My memories about homeless come from walking the streets of New York City and seeing people living in a cardboard box or sleeping on steps of a church after midnight. Yes, sometimes I dropped a few dollars for them. I remember Mayor Giuliani rounding-up homeless and busing them away; perhaps he thought it was a curative of the issue. One brutally cold night in New York, I walked by a homeless man sleeping in a big box. That image stayed with me a long time. It’s still there. But I thought about the notion that every human being begins life the same way by exiting the birth canal. So we all are bonded by that first journey. Then every one of us, including Tiny Tim, from ‘A Christmas Carol’ takes different pathways in life.

 

 

 

 

Minister Steven Brigham, a 12th generation

Minister Steven Brigham, a 12th generation American

 

 

Homelessness was a long way from my consciousness; a distant abstraction. Life has a curious way to get you involved; reminds me of an old television show, Candid Camera; “when you least expect it”, you get hit gently in the head with a mallet of reality; a headache about the human condition. My hand is waving wildly from the back of the classroom. I yell to the teacher, Miss Crabtree, “I am human. My mother told me.” Back in December, my friend Rosemary Conte was singing in a concert in Asbury Park to raise money for Hurricane Sandy relief. Because loyalty is a gift, I went to see her and met the concert organizer, photographer and fellow human, Sherry Rubel. Chemistry and gut feelings are also gifts. I sensed great compassion and commitment when I talked to Sherry in a hallway on the second floor of McCloone’s overlooking the Atlantic Ocean during a cold rain. Three weeks later on a cold sunny morning in East Brunswick, New Jersey, Sherry and I found a vacant table in a Starbucks and talked about the world and her dreams/hopes which centered on a place called Tent City in Lakewood where 80 people live in tents because. Curiously, just outside the window at her back was a grey-bearded old man sleeping on a chair with his bike next to him. Perhaps all his worldly possessions were on that bike. He was sleeping in 25 degree air temperature. Looking back, was it a portent of things to come? I did promise Sherry, because she was so passionate, that I’d come to Tent City and do a story for NJ Discover.

 

 

a sign for the residents of the city

a sign for the residents of the city

 

 

 

On the morning of February 4th Tara-Jean Vitale (NJ Discover producer) and I headed down Route 9 to Lakewood’s Tent City. I did my Google due diligence and read about the politics and exigencies of Tent City; about homeless humans living there. But you never grasp or know what to expect unless you drove an ambulance in World War I; my reference to Hemingway, ‘A Farewell to Arms’ and my having to live a story visually to really feel emotions as a writer/journalist. I was clueless about this foreign world I was entering and it was brutally cold outside. The night before, Sherry briefed me on the politics and current events on how the county of Ocean (which has no homeless shelters) and the city of Lakewood want Tent City closed and bulldozed. A brave lawyer defends Tent City; he wins stays of execution; a human judge decries that you cannot throw humans out into a nowhere land. Minister Steven Brigham has devoted his life to the dream of dignity for homeless. At some point this day, we’d get a chance to meet this amazing man; Sherry promised.

 

 

 

appointed pride in  a home

appointed pride in a home

 

 

Perpendicular to Tent City main entrance is a small street where we parked; across this street were low income apartments. Sherry met us as I hoisted the tri-pod and cameras out of the trunk. We jumped back into the car and fogged-up the windows while she talked about the protocol and etiquettes of our visit. On our way, I suddenly stopped. I’m a writer collecting my emotions, trying to glimpse tents through dense forest. A strange feeling came over me. Do I really want this because I sensed a queasiness in my intestinal lining; butterflies evacuating in a panic. I felt like coughing resignation; get away while the going is good. “John Wayne, where’s your horse?”  I sensed something; I’d never be quite the same again by the time the sun rose a little higher in a perfectly majestic dark blue sky; how poetic; I was grasping. Then I ran back to the car trunk and opened it and yelled to Tara-Jean and a bewildered Sherry. “I want you both to see this ceremony. I’m taking this huge weighted box of symbolic politics off my back and shoulder so that when I walk into Tent City there is absolutely nothing political about me; I’m just a human being with eyes, ears and a working cardiac chamber.”

 

 

 

the Chapel

the Chapel

 

 

more pride and dignity

more pride and dignity

Two Lakewood police cars blocked the frozen bumpy dirt road; they were leaving. I was dizzy (too much strange foreign visual input) and cold as I glanced at the first tent on the right; a barking dog was tied with a rope to a tree. I wondered if the dog knew about Tent City. As if a magic wand from Glenda (that Northern witch) passed over us, tents were suddenly everywhere with musty smoke from wood burning stoves coming out of make-shift chimneys; a strange smell(suffering?) wafted in the air we breathe. The ground was covered with patchy snow; why wasn’t I here during the summer? We were now in the middle of the city; as far as the eye could see through thick trees, tents lined a bumpy dirt road. Just then a tall young man approached; Sherry greeted him and then introduced us to Angelo. He was near his tent. We shook hands; he had worn gloves (bare fingers exposed) and invited us into his tent. He was a charming, outgoing eloquent man. Something (a perfect word here) struck my extant dizziness; he was absolutely proud to show us his home; a bed, a wood burning stove (he excused himself to run out and chop a log for more wood) and a few shelves of clothing. But it was his home; the bed was made like it was ready for army inspection. I was faint and still dizzy; it was all real and beyond my imagination; but everyone here was human. Sherry whispered there are all kinds of people here from different walks.

 

 

 

 

a barking dog. does it know about tent city?

a barking dog. does it know about tent city?

 

no caption necessary

no caption necessary

 

Some tents were perfectly appointed. How strange I thought; could I be in the Catskill Mountains at a tent colony for the summer; Woodstock just up the road. It’s 1969 and soon a big concert. No, this was a real world of homeless humans waiting for a Springsteen song to be written about them. I whispered to myself, “My God.” Angelo’s tent was so cold. How do humans sleep? Yet as we walked passed tents and people; something was (that word again) hard to describe which grabbed me in disbelief. Was this an exciting way of life?  A woman walked over to Tara-Jean; “Come let me show you my tent.”  They were proud of their homes. It was theirs; a belonging. I felt it. Next we saw a tent where there was a warm shower and another set up as a chapel and finally a kitchen of sorts with stacks of empty pizza boxes. Local pizza restaurants frequently drop off pizza. Overcome with dizziness now; I knew it was a manifestation of shock and disbelief; how and why. We’re all humans that past through birth canals dressed the same way.

 

 

 

 

 

calvin and tara-jean vitale (nj discover producer)

calvin and tara-jean vitale (nj discover producer)

 

 

 

 

I keep saying ‘humans.’ Reason; two of the letters in the word are U and S; spells us. ‘Us’ works in a democracy but when we start using the word ‘them,’ democracy weakens. I’ve heard and read people near Tent City (the humans who want them out) refer to the people here as them. “Get them out of here.” How sad. From a distance, Sherry saw Tent City leader Minister Steven Brigham approaching. Eye to eye we stood shaking hands; he was almost as tall as me. Eyes were intense and filled; easy to see. And here’s where I save words. Minister Steve would let us interview and film him so you can watch the video. I’m not sure if anyone else has ever spent such quality time with this amazing man of peace and compassion.

 

 

 

the storage shed

the storage shed

 

 

I’ve decided not to describe any more physicality of Tent City now. I would be some kind of dizzy (light headed, heart-broken, sad) all week and beyond while on this journey to self-awareness. What did I learn from this day of my intestinal excavation? Both Sherry and Minister Steve talked about Destiny’s Bridge which is both a new acclaimed documentary movie by filmmaker (storyteller) Jack Ballo and a concept dream for a future community of homeless people who one day might live together in dignity, productivity and self-reliance. Conceptual dignity is a common thread. Homeless people today are rounded up and thrown into distant shelter’s calloused halls with cots and no privacy; warehoused and usually kicked out in the morning for another day without borders and wandering streets; no human dignity or productivity. Destiny’s Bridge is a dream and a hope for belonging, community, ownership, training and human services. Minister Steven Brigham has given the last 12 years of his life to see that dream come to life. Tent City is soulful energy which fuels this dream every day.

 

 

 

calvin near a chimney

calvin near a chimney

 

 

 

Sherry Rubel has spent the last year of her life being involved, caring, documenting and photographing; she’s there relentlessly and compassionately. Jack Ballo has been at Tent City three days a week for the past year creating a documentary film legacy depicting the hope of Destiny’s Bridge. As I write this, Jack is considering several New Jersey film festival premieres over the upcoming spring and summer including the Garden State Film Festival in April. For me, a journalist, this film is about humans, homelessness, New Jersey and dignity; the film’s issues are a no-brainer and should be on New Jersey film festival radar. I remember leaving my political notions in the trunk of my car for the good of honest human reporting. I wonder who wrote the Book of Love when Yuri Gagarin became the first man in space. President Kennedy promised we’d be first on the moon. I wonder about the homeless.

 

 

 

calvin and singer/songwriter arlan feiles in brooklyn to see kobe bryant

calvin and singer/songwriter arlan feiles in brooklyn to see kobe bryant

 

 

 

Mine eyes had seen the coming and so much more that day. Tara-Jean and I asked permission to come back. While we were readying to leave, four residents were talking near a tent; a dog was barking in the distance. On a nearby table were packages of hamburger buns stacked three high. Minister Steve had disappeared down the dirt road. Our drive back to suburbia and gas heat, electricity, bathrooms, two door refrigerators and other banal comforts was relatively quiet and pensive yet Tara-Jean and I had differing views of the world. But that’s OK, Mah.

 

 

 

 

 

arlan feiles on 4th avenue brooklyn

arlan feiles on 4th avenue brooklyn

 

a cop in penn station throwing homeless humans out into the cold.

a cop in penn station throwing homeless humans out into the cold.

My awareness journey was not over. The next night I picked-up extraordinary singer/songwriter Arlan Feiles and headed for a NJ Transit train into New York City. Wonder where this is going?  One of his songs (a favorite of mine), ‘Viola,’ is about this courageous woman Viola Liuzzo who was a Unitarian Universalist civil rights activist from Michigan who was murdered by Ku Klux Klan members after the 1965 Selma to Montgomery marches in Alabama. While on the train heading into Penn Station and eventually Brooklyn’s Barclays Center to see the Nets play Kobe Bryant and the Lakers, I told Arlan about Tent City.  Subconsciously I hoped.

In the fourth quarter we saw Kobe take off from the foul line and sail over two Nets defenders and jam the ball; poetry in motion. Then Arlan got a text message; there was an open mic on Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn; Arlan did four songs and blew the place away. Next a slice of ethereally tasting Brooklyn pizza and by the next blink of my tired left eye, it was 11:44 PM inside the New Jersey Transit waiting room inside Penn Station. Remember; it was very cold outside. Two dozen human beings were spread out sitting in chairs, sleeping, ostensibly waiting for a train. Then an Amtrak cop appeared; he pulled out a ‘Billy club’ and pounded on the walls behind the sleeping humans. He yelled, “Let me see your ticket. If you don’t have one, you have to leave.” He was throwing homeless humans out into the cold night. He was also profiling. I never took out my ticket. He never asked to see it; thusly the second day in a row seeing homeless humans without dignity or warmth. The cop never saw my camera flash. On the meandering slow train back to suburbia, I felt that feeling again.

 

 

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tc 17

 

 

Cut to Friday night; a few days later. I don’t understand everything in the universe which pretends I’m modeling clay. Recently something made me order the DVD ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ with Henry Fonda.  I’d never seen it before and shame on me. Universal energies abound and it was time. After knee braces pulled tightly in place, I jumped on the exercise bike and pedaled full throttle into a dizzying oblivion while I watched this 1940 black and white movie about an Oklahoma family forced off their land. The Joad family travels to California, suffering the plight of the homeless during the Great Depression. I was back at Tent City; nothing had changed from Lakewood, New Jersey to Steinbeck’s novel in 1939. Time froze. So did I on the bike.

Tom Joad (Henry Fonda) is talking to his mother near the end. The sweat is dripping from me; 924 calories burned so far. “How am I going to know about you Tommy?” Tom replied to his mother, “A fellow don’t have a soul of his own. Maybe just a piece of a big soul. Then it don’t matter. I’ll be all around in the dark. I’ll be everywhere. Where ever you look. Where ever there’s a fight so hungry people can eat, I’ll be there.”  I closed my eyes; suddenly it’s last Monday and I’m sitting in the Tent City chapel talking/interviewing Minister Steven Brigham, a 12th generation American. I’m black and white and talking to John Steinbeck.

 

Tom Joad talking to his Mah. at the end of the movie they finally kissed goodbye.

Tom Joad talking to his Mah. at the end of the movie they finally kissed goodbye.

 

from 1939-1940 black and white BUT nothing much as changed since the grapes of wrath over 70 years ago. is this lakewood today?

from 1939-1940 black and white BUT nothing much as changed since the grapes of wrath over 70 years ago. is this lakewood today?

Then I just sat motionless on the bike and watched the movie credits fade to black. Of course I was dizzy again; a different kind of dizzy with resolution and substance.  I remembered that Sherry Rubel wrote a fascinating blog about a Tent City resident, Kevin, who’s been in and out of county jail and Tent City. Kevin is Tom Joad. Synchronicity, personal journey, Tent City, Sherry Rubel, Minister Steven Brigham, Tara-Jean Vitale (NJ Discover producer) and being an apolitical human being enhance my cerebral spiritual synapses.(conscience) Homelessness is on my mind; sounds like a song title. We could use a fresh song.

What I noticed these past weeks are so few humans around these parts (New Jersey and beyond) know (care) what’s going on in Tent City. I’m saddened but not surprised; still dizzy after all these weeks. I’m heading somewhere. There’s a last scene in a movie, ‘Here Comes Mr. Jordan’ when Robert Montgomery stops and realizes he’s going somewhere but he’s not sure. He can’t explain it but he gets up and leaves his boxing dressing room. I worry about a next court date in March for the humans of Tent City; what if?  I need to get back there. I just looked out a window behind me and saw children dancing around a May Pole; why are they dancing in slow motion? They’re human children; a few years removed from the birth canal. There is no real window; a mirage? And the Atlantic City hotel, Revel just went bankrupt ($2.4 billion). A few hours ago someone close to me asked why I’m writing about Tent City when I usually write about musicians, artists or environmentalists. I didn’t answer. That was my answer.

Here are some links:

Tent City Project:  https://www.facebook.com/TheTentCityProject?fref=ts

Tent City website: http://tentcitynj.org/index.html

Facebook: Destiny’s Bridge the movie:  https://www.facebook.com/DestinysBridge?fref=ts

Jack Ballo film maker:  http://www.ultravisionfilms.com

Sherry Rubel Photography: www.sherryrubelphotography.com

 

Calvin Schwartz:  vichywater.net

Facebook: Cal Schwartz

Twitter: @ earthood

earthood@gmail.com

 

 

 

 

January 26, 2013

Hey Charles Dickens (the writer), Willie Nile Band is Performing Live in Rahway, New Jersey AND I’ve Become a Rock and Roller with an AARP Card. Jan 26th 2013

 

 

Willie Nile and me at prequel to Light of Day

Willie Nile and me at prequel to Light of Day

250px-Woodstock_poster

 

 

Before Willie Nile: I think my world here in central Jersey knows I’ve morphed, drifted, evolved, and reinvented myself into a music journalist and devotee. Reasons proliferate almost daily. It’s probably better served if I write a novella on the histrionics of my music involvement. But for the expediency of this blog moment; a few words on that transformation. Maybe I am a butterfly or in some pre-cursor larvae stage to a chapter in Gail Sheehy’s book ‘Passages.’ Ease on down the decade’s road.

 

History 301 (not 101): I came out of the sixties with rock and folk vinyl collections and stopped abruptly in 1970 as sounds changed. Maybe my parents went through the same change; after Glenn Miller and South Pacific, Bill Haley and Elvis arrived and parents sat in a corner listening to their oldies (Benny Goodman, Duke Ellington); too much social change and confusion for them. The musical highlight of August, 1969 for me was running out of my apartment (not lived in yet. My fiancé and I were just fixing it up for our marriage in November) and reaching for my friend’s car door handle (how visual) as we were heading to this concert called ‘Woodstock.’ I never got to open the door. She ran out of the apartment (her hair probably in rollers) and warned me not to go. If I did, she wouldn’t be there if I got back. So I backed down. Never went to Woodstock for a life’s memory, drifted away from contemporary music and inevitably divorced that fiancé four years later.

 

 

 

 

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Willie Nile at  improv jam session at 3 am after Light of Day concert

Willie Nile at improv jam session at 3 am after Light of Day concert

 

As decades marched (how poetic) I remained fastened to ‘Peter Paul and Mary’ and that dragon dude ‘Puff’ who I’m convinced smoked pot. I never did and could prove it. Loving the Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel and pure folk music, I envisioned myself enveloped in a lighter shade of pale because of the saffron light bulbs I purchased. At 40, I’m a new father. (See how fast we’re moving.) My son loves music and funs me all the time because of my stubbornness to extricate myself away from that dragon’s music. Now my son is twenty-five, (still moving at break neck speed) and I’ve just become a journalist for a local county paper after my first novel was published two years earlier.

On July 3rd 2011, my son took me to my first rock and roll concert since Lyndon Johnson was President. The concert was Southside Johnny at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park. Thousands were there. My body gyrated with the best of them. A week later one of my epiphanies caught me off guard; as a new journalist in central Jersey, I would get involved with music here and become part of the scene. The echoes of my son’s doubting voice still reverberate, “Yeah right Dad, it’ll never happen.” “Let’s bet.”  The rest is history. A source of disbelief and comedic relief, we laugh almost daily. No monies changed hands; debts forgiven. I love/dig this music world and rock and roll music. And all that Jazz and Blues. And old Life magazines my mother gave me.

Here’s an article I wrote yesterday about Willie Nile and his band and rock and roll. I got invited to the concert tonight and I’m thrilled. His music electrifies. You all should listen and discover.

 

THE ARTICLE ON WILLIE NILE:

 

Willie Nile in acoustical session with Joe D'Urso and Joe Grushecky

Willie Nile in acoustical session with Joe D’Urso and Joe Grushecky

 

 

Suddenly last spring, I heard Willie Nile sing for the first time. In the scheme of eventualities of rock and roll music, “last spring” is not particularly one of those full lengths, long career, long time ago happenstances. Put another way, it wasn’t a long time ago. But you see; my journey into rock and roll music or any music for that matter began only a year ago. It’s like an old black and white movie with James Cagney climbing a tower, “Look Mah, I’m on top of the world.” And suddenly I am because it’s never too late for life events. So I’ve become a huge fan of Willie Nile and his band. And I can’t get enough. I’ve come to appreciate the joy of pure lyrics and rock music coming together (just like I’m also a huge fan of the Nick Clemons Band). Willie Nile electrifies and overwhelms. I find myself using the “damn” word every time I hear/see him live. “Damn, he’s so good. Damn, why’d I wait so long?”

It’s funny how you’re drawn into the aura, or a rabbit hole of discovery, or a ballistic epiphany. I discovered the joys of Willie Nile; an auditory gift to all of us and especially us North East folks living close to live gigs and Willie’s home geography. What I mean by the aforementioned two sentences is that I can’t believe I’ve become such a fan, so fast. But I have. I think sometimes I’m too old to be a rock and roll fan then I think about Ebeneezer Scrooge who thought he was too old to change. So I’m not too old, Charles Dickens. Some of my expressions and words may seem a trifle absurd. They are; maybe to make a point but it’s absurd if you care about music (any kind) and you don’t get a chance for Willie Nile live (or some digital music source of pure mountain running spring water and no plastic unrecyclable bottles)

 

 

Willie Nile and a thousand guitars behind him.

Willie Nile and a thousand guitars behind him.

 

The purpose of my words now is let you all know about a Willie Nile concert this Saturday( Jan 26th) in Rahway, New Jersey. Before the concert info, a little digression into a recent Willie Nile series of live sightings; actually exactly a week ago when I was with Willie at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park just as he was finishing a live interview on WCTC 1450 radio with Bert Baron as a prequel to Light of Day musical events over the weekend. Willie told me (we’ve done several photo ops together) that “I’m toasted. I just got back from Europe doing live gigs for Light of Day and last night I performed at Asbury Lanes to kick off Light of Day here.”

The setting was a relatively quiet empty surreal Stone Pony. Many musicians and Light of Day founder Bob Benjamin had gathered for the WCTC live radio broadcast for interviews. All of a sudden, I looked; Willie had sat down on top of a bar with a thousand guitars on the wall behind him. I took the picture and thought how wondrously synchronistic (one of my favorite words these days of discovery) because two of my all-time favorite songs (beating out ‘Puff- The Magic Dragon) is Willie’s “House of a Thousand Guitars” and “One Guitar.” A few minutes later I told him that I’ve been listening and watching his ‘One Guitar” video on YouTube (from last year with Springsteen backing up) at least ten times a week. I said, “I really am over ten times a week.” He smiled, “I believe you.”

Later that night Willie Nile and band were back at the Stone Pony for an unplanned short gig to fill in time for a missing musician. I found my nirvana a few feet away when they did ‘One Guitar.” On Saturday night, the Willie Nile Band was back at the Paramount Theatre performing in the main Light of Day concert.  They were introduced as the best rock and roll band in America. I told my friend, “wait until ‘One Guitar’” The entire theatre was on their feet. Willie Nile electrified. “It’s what it’s all about,” I thought, thinking I might’ve been the oldest audience member gyrating above his seat.

Perhaps the best part of my well lit weekend was after the magical concert walking back to my car with acclaimed DJ, Dave ‘The Rave’ Kapulsky (Relics and Rarities Show). We walked by (at 2 AM) the Berkeley Hotel where many musicians and Light of Day fans were staying. Magnetism drew us into the lobby and by 2:30 AM Joe Grushecky started an improv jam session; then at 3 AM Willie Nile electrified  a hundred people in the lobby with another ‘One Guitar.’ It was a quintessential real live pre-dawn jam session with a performer who constantly soulfully gives back. Yes you should’ve been there.

I guess the best way to close this article is to say if you’re in the mood to be musically, spiritually electrified on Saturday, then come on down (get off the sedentary sofa) to Rahway and see/hear Willie Nile with band mates Johnny Pisano (bass), Matt Hogan (guitar) & Alex Alexander (drums) Hey, maybe Mr. Dickens might be around in some form. It is New Jersey you know.

SATURDAY NIGHT CONCERT INFO:

Legendary Willie Nile is flying high in 2013, coming of a critically acclaimed tour of Italy and turning up stunning shows 4 days in a row for Light Of Day NYC & Asbury Park, NJ. Last week was just a warm up because Willie is bringing his rocking band – Johnny Pisano, Alex Alexander & Matt Hogan to do a full show at Union County Performing Arts Center this Saturday night! Get Ready to Rock Jersey!! Union County Performing Arts Center – Hamilton Stage, 360 Hamilton Street, Rahway, NJ. Get Your General Admission tickets before there gone at http://ucpac.org/html/event_popup.cfm?id=300

 

Willie Nile Home Page:  http://willienile.com/home/index/

 

BRAND NAME PIX - Copy

 

 

 

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