Monday, September 15, 2008
Osaka, After Seven Weeks
There’s a lot of other stuff to catch you up on but the short version is everything’s fine and no news from Korea yet. Meanwhile, I’ve got the third of three music-related posts for your ignorement. This time it’s not a vignette I experienced on the bus, it’s a poem based on a story I am pretty sure is true in its most basic essentials but I am making up all the details because I am sly like that. Enjoy your monday poem. I am busy now.
The gig was in Osaka
After seven weeks on tour
1968 it was
America was number 1
I’d been woodshedding all my life
but when I got the call from Ray
I knew for sure I’d hit the jackpot
Everybody loved his sound
Barrelhouse and boogaloo
He wanted me to blow my sax
while somebody from way back when
stayed stateside for to sober up
Mr C knew how to party
but he took great pains to tell me
up on stage the expection was
Perfection - nothing less
Let me know a couple times
I needed to clean up my act
Ray would stumble up to me
some evenings after clubs were closed
to tell me I’d been off the beat
I laughed at him all blind and mumbly
Guess I knew what he was saying
Seven weeks into the tour
We were playing in Osaka
We were making decent money
I was spending it on whiskey
Got a couple geisha ladies
Had myself a little party
just before the second show
Took the stage without my necktie
Figured Ray would never know it
When I answered at the roll call
he could tell something was funky
I could see it how he paused
and cocked his head when I said “here”
Smile chilled me like an ice cube
sweating through a highball glass
Anyhow we started in
on all the songs that I’d played twice
a night for seven weeks already
I’ll admit I was a little
shakey on a couple solos
never fully lost the beat
but once or twice I near misplaced it
I recall that I was anxious
sweating through my smoking jacket
fingers slipping on the pads
I had some trouble with my breathing
Came on up to “What You Say”
That’s a song I used to love
Those Japanese were getting down
Seven weeks into the tour
I had gotten tired of it
but that night the spirit moved me
I recalled how good it was
to let the music be in charge
to give myself away to it
Suddenly I realized
my solo was three bars behind me
Ray was vamping, rocking, frowning,
So I jumped on in too fast
fingers slick and reed bone dry
It didn’t sound quite like I wanted
Stumbled through as best I could
Felt like I had blown a lung out
Stole a peek at Mr C
swaying there at his piano
He had something on his mind
The song went on but then it ended
Japanese folk clapped politely
Ray stood up to take a bow
which was unusual mid-set
so I suspected bad news coming
Ray asked me to stand up with him
Take a bow, he told me grimly
So I dipped my face to floor
as Ray told them to give it up
for my last night on stage with him
In fact, that was my final song
I rose erect, eyes locked on him
Don’t try to stare a blind man down
He clapped me firmly on the back
and told me, get your horn and go
Just let me wrap the set, I pleaded
didn’t care that I was begging
Ray was cutting like a bandsaw
I’ll pay for your ticket home
but I have had enough of you
I don’ t care how much you drink
but I will get your best from you
if you intend to share my stage
Are you gonna need an escort
so I bowed again and left
took a flight back to the states
but at home I felt uneasy
like I’d left a part of me
up on stage back in Osaka
Gigged around some here and there
wound up drinking more than playing
I suppose Ray got that right
and ever since I left Japan
I keep on hearing “What You Say”
my mind repeats it all night long
and I don’t ever mess it up
I’d like to play it one more time
so Ray could hear the song like I do
now he’s dead but I have faith
that I will also die someday
and meet Ray Charles once again
to show him what I’ve really got
