I Left a Message

Coming back from the gym I tried to give my dad a ring.  Musta been his dinner time.  I left a message with my number, though I wasn’t expecting a ring back and pedaled on.  The unmistakable sound of Jimi chatting away with the audience, I was soon treated to a live version of Voodoo Chile that came on the mix.  I don’t remember the precise show but it’s the one with the Band of Gypsies where Jimi introduces the song as “Black Panther National Anthem.”  This had me pedaling hard now and it was almost too much when about seven minutes later, as doesn’t usually happen, this “genius” app intelligently served up the apogee-like “Machine Gun” from the original Band of Gypsies disc, one of those nights there at the end of 1969 from the stage at the Fillmore East. 

Fortunately none of my neighbors, taking their kids to school, heading off to work, could see much of my contorted face as I stretched my mouth into an open O-ring to accommodate that one insane bend of Jimi’s as he begins the main solo.  One of the two twins in the Ghetto Fighters, the backing group that Jimi had for songs like “Ezy Rider”, had made the claim in one of those Hendrix movies that he’d asked Miles Davis:  “Hey Miles, which tune was it that finally got you into Hendrix man?”  And he replies imitating Miles’ gravelly voice: “Machine Gun.”  And though there are many live versions of the song and I’ve no way of knowing, I certainly imagine it was this precise evening, not the next, there in Manhattan, with Miles in the audience, during which he had his mind blown at this particular point in the song.  I can’t listen to this version of Machine Gun, without always somehow imagining Miles’ also experiencing it. 

Back home the girls were getting ready for school.  I took off my big orange, down coat and put it in the closet.  I removed my hoodie and my shocking, electric blue thermal underwear and acclimatized myself to our heated home.  The older one was eating down on a piece of toast with eggs and avocado on top.  The younger one had her green Mod parker on and was already at the door, yelling ‘We’re leaving!”  I waved them off, as I do, continuing on as the car backed up, k-turned, noting their waving back, as this ritual reminds me of when I dropped them off for school, years back, when they were in grade school.

Back at the computer, there was an email from my dad.  He said he couldn’t make out the number on the message.  Send it on and he’d call, he wrote.  I sent it on, but called him on Skype-out instead.  “Is that your number?  I don’t have that number.” He explained.  “Yeah.  That’s my mobile.  It’s the same one I’ve had for the last decade.  Now you’ve got it in an email.”

I sat back and we had a wonderful call.  He’s the only one that’s interested in my business war stories.  Even you, tender reader, as spared these details.  My pop leant me his ear for a while, and we had a real good talk where I confessed that I have no idea just what I’m doing, but I’m gonna keep on with it.  I tried to end off with a wechat tutorial.  “Yeah man, you can use that to call me any time, for free.”  He liked the sound of that, but he didn’t have his mobile handy and we’ll need to pick that up next time.

Friday, 01/11/19