Heading
off for a meeting this morning in a cab and I was texting and not paying
attention. Normally I always tell
the cab driver, take a particular short cut. Passing by, cognizant suddenly; a moment of anxiety. Let it go. Then another crack at this short cut to the road by the
river, but I didn’t mentioned anything and we just continued on. The driver was competent,
confident. Because we took this
method, we approached a key bridge on Jingmi Road from a distance. It was plain
to see, as we pulled up, that it was a disaster in the making.
I asked the driver if he didn’t think that going straight to
the highway, given the circumstances, might not be preferable. He pondered this, and, before we were
committed to the charnel up ahead, we did a “u” turn and sped off in the other
direction. Needless to say, had I
insisted on the short cut, there would have been no such opportunity and we
have been forced to join the crawl.
Glad then, at my previous distraction and decision to have kept
silent.
Next challenge, will the airport express way be clogged as
well? Usually it's a God-awful
mess going in to the city from this location. With every turn of the way out there, new reasons for trepidation
presented themselves. Sometimes
this side road is a mess, but, today, it isn’t. Sometimes the entrance to the high way is impossible, but today
it’s clear. And now the moment of
truth, getting on the actual highway itself, this could the beginning of a very
bad situation . . .
Now, three meetings, five shots of espresso, and a bowl of
noodles later, I’m back in a cab.
It’s nearly seven PM. We’re
moving towards the summer solstice and we still have at least another hour of
daylight left. Coming down now
from an elevated entrance out in Shangdi, round down on to the fifth ring road
it is all rather ugly. Traffic is
moving steadily at about 10 miles per hour. Our guest we had in Beijing was treated to a excellent meetings,
the last one of which was particularly fascinating, where you almost felt like
you witnessed a form of pure, collaborative innovation that resonances that would pulsate for years to come. Today is a clear,
temperate, sunny day; the kind of day that makes you wonder what all the fuss
about pollution in Beijing is all about.
I was up too late with too many things to do to really read
the news today. I haven’t really
had on any music either. Got an
interesting email back from the gent to introduced me to Teddy Weatherford that
confirmed that the only song he’d ever found recorded by the man was also “My
Blue Heaven.” Perhaps I’ll throw
another Harlem Stride man on when I get back. Indeed, perhaps its time to put on the main man himself, Mr.
Fats Waller. More on him and his
big smile and untimely death, soon.
It’s good to finally settle down upon Mr. Waller. I’ve always known of him and I could
place the voice quickly. But I don't think I would have ever really thought to put him on.
Listening now, its clear what an influential figure he was, not just
on pianists but on entertainers in general. His rolling, jiving, slapstick is a period window that seems
to bridge a vaudeville, black face pantomime with the piercing bebop innovation
Monk and the provocative, cutting humor of Muhammad Ali.
There is a story about him that sounds like it should have
been turned into a play. He was
exiting a club in Chicago and a bunch of gangsters kidnapped him and brought
him to be the "special guest' at Al Capone’s birthday party where he was ordered to perform at gunpoint. He apparently proceed to do as he was
told and got on with his show, and with the drinking ponderous amounts of alcohol to
fuel this unique form of stage fright and later leave with a fat tips for
his labors. I’m enjoying “I Had to Do It”, 1938 which was, also, apparently “forced
upon” him. Pneumonia took him down before he even reached forty.
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