RUDIMENTS 486.

RUDIMENTS, pt 486

(stop making sense, pt. one)

Whenever it was that David

Byrne came out with 'Stop

Making Sense,' 1982, or

whichever year and era

it was, a light went on. I

mean for me, with words

and ideas. I immediately

grasped the extension of a

concept I'd been dwelling

on. You see, everything

comes through a person

in a small self-contained

tunnel, and as we accept

it, each of us, whatever 'it'

is and however different

it is for each of us (face it,

we all live in separate

worlds), it expands outward,

as it all exits that tunnel,

(us), and we become what

we are or what we make

of all that. That's why all

that preparation, and

coaching and scholastic

stuff is a bunch of nothing

more than business. You're

choosing a product you'd

like, but it's never going

to be you, or perfectly

characterize you, because

you are, primarily, what's

already in that tunnel.

Which is why most

people spend life trying

to fit through hoops

of their own imagining.

Listening to that music,

I realized what he was

meaning to get across

with the entire 'stop making

sense' thing; I'd just always

called it, before, absurdity.

I'd guess the very first time

I ran across true absurdity

was with the 'Freak Out'

album of Frank Zappa and

the first 'Mothers of Invention'

group he had. That certainly

had stopped me short - at

whatever age I was then.

'Brain Police' in fact is

even more valuable today

than it was then. And just

as true. In his day, the world

was clean, and his music

was whatever it was (no

one, of course, knew),

now the world is dirty,

and it's that music that

seems clean and right.

-

Back in the seminary,

weirdly enough, in the

'lounge' rooms, the other

guys in my age group

often sat around listening

(and singing along) to a

song by a British group

called 'The Animals,'

(Eric Burden), that went

'We gotta' get out of this

place, if it's the last thing

we ever do...' (and there

were other versus, 'Daddy's

hair a'turning gray,' and

'Girl there's a better place

for me and you,' which

was twisted about because

'we ever do' needed a rhyme,

which became 'you' - all

trite stuff, but whatever)...

and I used to shake my

head and just say to

myself 'What's wrong

with these guys? They're

here of their own stupid

choice, and now they're

wailing about it as if it

was prison. And if they

want a 'girl' to escape

with what in the world

are they plopping their

dumb asses here for?'

Yeah, yeah, please - 

stop making sense.

-

I guess, one sticking

point was that I never

had a scintilla of gentility

in me. There was, however,

around me, a certain level

of it going on - a number

of these priestly people

were pretty high-up livers,

society types - who knew

their way around shirts and

ties, shoes and socks too.

I had no clue. It was as if

someone had taken this

really stupid 'catching the

school bus at the Shop-Rite

corner' Avenel guttersnipe

and thrown him into Eton,

or some other weird-ass

prep-school where the

differing strata of society 

quickly becoming apparent, 

and with me on the losing 

end. (That always worried

me, being so close to the

word castrati). There was,

I admit, a large gulf 

between myself and 

many of the others. 

I often bluffed, and I 

guess it worked. No 

one ever really turned 

me out, of anything. I 

always liked those 

'telling' moments that 

get across a whole 

theme. The kind of

person I was becoming

was the sort who watched

for those sorts of things, 

and recorded them. One

for me was, in the Drama

Department, on the stage, 

being a stage-crew guy 

at first, I was able to go

way high up, onto the

catwalks and ladders that

ran quite high above the

stage area, and where all

the lights and filters for

those lights and effects

were. There were chains

and brackets and hoists.

All high above the stage

and affording a view out

somewhere onto the heights

of the theater itself - seats

and heads, etc. I'd clamber

up there and just watch - 

the outlined beams of light,

the dust in the air, listen to

the coughs and chatter from

those in the seats, the rustle.

I already knew the plays and

the actions below, so it was

all just passive witnessing 

at that point. I loved it. From

rehearsals, I knew already

the lighting changes, the 

exits and entries of varied 

characters, the tape marks 

on the stage, each showing 

location and position for

this or that scene. It was

sometimes stunning, and

miraculous for me. Other

times, I'd think of 'bounding

off' into the open air, leaping

to my death over the heads of

others, my flying, descending,

carcass intruding on a scene,

disrupting everything, forever.

Or, with a heavy rope around

my neck leaping down to hang

myself, above the stage, above

the crowd and characters, and 

I'd wonder - how long would

I be hanging there before they

cut me down, how rigorous a

task would that be, what 

would happen?

-

I was only a 'stage-hand' 

during my first year there. 

Very soon after that (I was 

also a 'page-turner' and

back-up organist for the

accompaniest to these 

productions, who played 

organ music during the

interludes, intermissions, 

and when 'soundtracks' 

and scenes demanded it.

That guy was John Banko).

Very soon after that I got

involved in the productions 

themselves. One of the big

affectations there, was, for

those guys who weren't

really into the gung-ho

religious aspect of the 

entire gig - such as me -

the Drama section afforded 

a way out. We were a stringy

clique of our own; playing

jazz LP's at will, hanging

out, (and with black coffee)

in the separate lounge for

the stage people. It was 

almost beatnik-like, if 

you can consider 12 and 

14 year olds beatnik-like.

This is where I first heard

John Coltrane music, and

Miles Davis, and numerous

others. Here I saw Jack 

Ruby, on live TV, kill 

Lee Harvey Oswald.

Malcolm X was killed, 

and Winston Churchill

died. And even, as I recall,

Pope Paul VI visited NYC.

This was all big stuff to

my already stuffed, young

and growing mind.

-

The likes of all this had

led me into very strange

and deep positions. Lairs.

Situations. I was roaring,

and raring to go. Act One

was just about to get started.