Thirty years away from the Blues

The timbre of the night

Lincoln Drive, in Philadelphia, parallels the dramatic curves of the Skuykill River, as it flows toward Center City. Swimming upstream, as I drove my car away from the city, I was listening to the radio — WXPN. Twilight embraced.

Red taillights wandered at warp speed, hugging the Skuykill as if glued to the asphalt in front of me. I was alone. Jonny Meister was broadcasting The Blues Show,  like almost every Saturday evening since 1977. His voice is unmistakable--its timbre belies a weird joy born of substantial knowledge of the genre.

Too, the night itself spoke with a timbre. Taillights began to trail like shooting stars into the fading purple darkness. Akin to the phenomenon of seeing black and red when experiencing rage, what wasn’t black was purple in my field of vision — except for the taillights. A deep comfortable eggplant purple. The immediate atmosphere absorbed and reflected music and light, in the moment. 

The possibilities offered by the coming darkness — numbness, gregariousness, primality, community, mindfulness—can bring both joy and sadness.

Smiling at a sad story

The Blues are born from sadness, and loss, just as assuredly as Jonny’s timbre is born of substantial knowledge, genetics and personal culture. Perhaps the reverse is true as well. Both births provide a paradoxical joy. Listening to stories of suffering set to a predictable rhythm and chord structure offers inexplicable connection to the tragedy of the body electric. With a little knowledge, the stories, too, are as predictable as the progressions — in the same way that most tragedies can be predictably sourced back to The Bard.

Jonny broadcasting tragedy. Warm tragedy. Welcoming tragedy. 

Following art in Philadelphia

There is a dramatic art tribalism that exists in my city. When pursuing local artwork, looking for discussion and insight from gallery owners and artists, I often remark that I was away from the creative scene for a very long time, and that I am still trying to find my way through the community — looking for a community that I am coming to believe doesn’t exist. That said, when I explain that I’ve been away for a long time, many people think that means I’ve been to prison — really. 

Where I’ve been for thirty years is my business, but I was definitely away from Jonny. On Saturday, I returned.

If you’re lucky enough to listen to Mister Meister, and you pursue mindfulness, may I suggest that you sit in a low-lit room, at eggplant dusk, with a 70’s stack stereo equipped with neon green amplifier bars that jump sharply with severely bent notes — and you turn the volume down to just above the imperceptible. Let Jonny guide you into the moment.

Sad. Suffering. Wonderful. Jonny.

Jonny's podcasts can be found here: The Blues Show with Jonny Meister - WXPN

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Newsletter: Sugary candy for the soul

I don’t teach, preach or sell hard. I do send out silly ten second stories about people, places and things.

• November 2022 1
  • Nov 24, 2022 The scroll of Kerouac's soul Nov 24, 2022
• October 2022 1
  • Oct 3, 2022 A brother helping me remain in light Oct 3, 2022
• September 2022 1
  • Sep 1, 2022 Ten things to never say to a new car salesperson Sep 1, 2022
• August 2022 1
  • Aug 1, 2022 The question of an evolving identity made whole by street artists and vandals Aug 1, 2022
• July 2022 1
  • Jul 4, 2022 The warmth of knowing my baseball glove is in the sweater drawer Jul 4, 2022
• June 2022 1
  • Jun 2, 2022 Sonny Rollins standing on the bridge in Giverny Jun 2, 2022
• May 2022 1
  • May 1, 2022 Sitting in front of forever May 1, 2022
• April 2022 1
  • Apr 2, 2022 A temple, a church, a synagogue or an artist’s studio? Apr 2, 2022
• March 2022 1
  • Mar 2, 2022 Foghorn Leghorn inside the flower garden of the mind Mar 2, 2022
• February 2022 1
  • Feb 6, 2022 My first cup of Tibetan butter tea Feb 6, 2022
• January 2022 1
  • Jan 4, 2022 Dancing is better with a corn dog in each hand Jan 4, 2022
• December 2021 1
  • Dec 1, 2021 Even Edgar Degas made mistakes Dec 1, 2021
• November 2021 1
  • Nov 2, 2021 Running shoes, rhetoric, hyperbole and the dog with the human head Nov 2, 2021
• October 2021 1
  • Oct 2, 2021 Still life painting at 36 Via Fondazza Oct 2, 2021
• September 2021 1
  • Sep 19, 2021 True creative genius Sep 19, 2021
• August 2021 1
  • Aug 17, 2021 "Sometimes you need to just lay on the sidewalk and bleed for a little bit" Aug 17, 2021
• July 2021 1
  • Jul 12, 2021 Dozens of worn-out couches in a true art house Jul 12, 2021
• June 2021 1
  • Jun 14, 2021 Daft Punk Frida Jun 14, 2021
• May 2021 1
  • May 17, 2021 Eating cake in a cemetery May 17, 2021
• April 2021 1
  • Apr 8, 2021 Mindfulness, meditation, a drum circle and the yellow doves of Mount Airy Apr 8, 2021
• March 2021 1
  • Mar 9, 2021 That diner in Brighton Mar 9, 2021
• February 2021 1
  • Feb 17, 2021 Tibet via North Philadelphia Feb 17, 2021
• January 2021 1
  • Jan 11, 2021 Bukowski is family Jan 11, 2021
• December 2020 1
  • Dec 23, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation, parking meters, poems, love notes and library books Dec 23, 2020
• November 2020 1
  • Nov 16, 2020 Six tongues and the sugar face Nov 16, 2020
• October 2020 1
  • Oct 20, 2020 Tequila, cops and grace Oct 20, 2020
• September 2020 1
  • Sep 25, 2020 Feeling the machinery Sep 25, 2020
• August 2020 1
  • Aug 17, 2020 The futile fury of a final letter Aug 17, 2020
• July 2020 1
  • Jul 4, 2020 It all begins with the word Jul 4, 2020
• June 2020 1
  • Jun 19, 2020 Hate in the abstract. Love in the specific. Jun 19, 2020
• May 2020 1
  • May 19, 2020 Dirty hands drawing a circle May 19, 2020
• April 2020 3
  • Apr 19, 2020 A singularity built from many pieces Apr 19, 2020
  • Apr 14, 2020 Resurgent feelings and the Bowery's Blitzkrieg Bopper Apr 14, 2020
  • Apr 5, 2020 Channeling my inner Iggy for the third time Apr 5, 2020
• March 2020 1
  • Mar 24, 2020 A golden eagle's echo will carry forever Mar 24, 2020
• February 2020 3
  • Feb 21, 2020 Seven crappy poems Feb 21, 2020
  • Feb 11, 2020 Words from the white space Feb 11, 2020
  • Feb 5, 2020 Bursting between the beasts Feb 5, 2020
• January 2020 6
  • Jan 30, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation and the Yah-Yah contraption figure Jan 30, 2020
  • Jan 22, 2020 The Beastie Boys, potato salad, the number 12 and a phone call from a Buddhist monk Jan 22, 2020
  • Jan 16, 2020 Mindfulness, meditation, nevermindishness and nothingness Jan 16, 2020
  • Jan 8, 2020 Glibquip Jan 8, 2020
  • Jan 6, 2020 DeSoi versus Hemingway Jan 6, 2020
  • Jan 5, 2020 Hating happy cats Jan 5, 2020
• December 2019 6
  • Dec 31, 2019 Baked beans and ice cream Dec 31, 2019
  • Dec 27, 2019 Zen and the little blue box Dec 27, 2019
  • Dec 20, 2019 About the power of symbols Dec 20, 2019
  • Dec 13, 2019 Obscure references lend credibility, especially when you make them up Dec 13, 2019
  • Dec 9, 2019 Three fingers tickling the air Dec 9, 2019
  • Dec 5, 2019 Sunday dinner at the DiGiulios Dec 5, 2019
• November 2019 11
  • Nov 26, 2019 One man's silly secret to writing an online dating profile Nov 26, 2019
  • Nov 20, 2019 Burning man at Burning Man Nov 20, 2019
  • Nov 18, 2019 A didgeridoo full of goo Nov 18, 2019
  • Nov 16, 2019 Two thousand words from the future Nov 16, 2019
  • Nov 14, 2019 Every scar is cool Nov 14, 2019
  • Nov 12, 2019 Daily affirmations and anonymous encouragement taped to the back of a stop sign Nov 12, 2019
  • Nov 10, 2019 Willem de Kooning’s women have jacked-up teeth Nov 10, 2019
  • Nov 8, 2019 Flames, bikers, bras, jaws, Jack, Lemmy and liquor Nov 8, 2019
  • Nov 6, 2019 I met a German vegetarian in an Italian butcher shop Nov 6, 2019
  • Nov 4, 2019 Art + money + object = fetish Nov 4, 2019
  • Nov 2, 2019 Ferried on the fingertip wings of an angel Nov 2, 2019
• October 2019 12
  • Oct 31, 2019 Cyclops @ night Oct 31, 2019
  • Oct 29, 2019 Nietzsche was wrong about almost everything Oct 29, 2019
  • Oct 27, 2019 A singular reason to hate social media Oct 27, 2019
  • Oct 25, 2019 Mindfulness, meditation, chance and The Village Vanguard Oct 25, 2019
  • Oct 23, 2019 Umbilical Oct 23, 2019
  • Oct 21, 2019 The curve of a single elegant line Oct 21, 2019
  • Oct 19, 2019 Five Boro Flamingo Oct 19, 2019
  • Oct 17, 2019 Mistress and wife to the same musician Oct 17, 2019
  • Oct 15, 2019 A python named Tom and a Toyota test drive Oct 15, 2019
  • Oct 13, 2019 Sweetie pie and the sugary fire Oct 13, 2019
  • Oct 9, 2019 A great artist doesn't need to leave a single great artwork in his wake Oct 9, 2019
  • Oct 7, 2019 Eleven effective ways to control the tempo of negotiations with a car salesperson Oct 7, 2019
• September 2019 2
  • Sep 28, 2019 What to expect from the dealer trade vehicle evaluation Sep 28, 2019
  • Sep 24, 2019 Three stories being told at once Sep 24, 2019
• August 2019 1
  • Aug 24, 2019 Thirty years away from the Blues Aug 24, 2019
• July 2019 4
  • Jul 22, 2019 Ten hours in Madrid Jul 22, 2019
  • Jul 11, 2019 When life slows down to let you take a look Jul 11, 2019
  • Jul 6, 2019 The Buddhist Manager Jul 6, 2019
  • Jul 2, 2019 The perfect, hopeful, subversive headbanger Jul 2, 2019
• June 2019 8
  • Jun 27, 2019 Scribbleheads Jun 27, 2019
  • Jun 24, 2019 Myth of the Knotdog Jun 24, 2019
  • Jun 19, 2019 Dream of the Zen Blue Hat Jun 19, 2019
  • Jun 16, 2019 Sleeping dogs and the power of forgiveness Jun 16, 2019
  • Jun 12, 2019 Skate Hog Jun 12, 2019
  • Jun 9, 2019 I type with two middle fingers Jun 9, 2019
  • Jun 5, 2019 Hillbillies love Salvador Dali Jun 5, 2019
  • Jun 1, 2019 The single most important thing a prospective Fordham University parent needs to know Jun 1, 2019
• May 2019 3
  • May 31, 2019 The accidental copywriter May 31, 2019
  • May 28, 2019 Five 70s albums every Millennial should listen to this weekend May 28, 2019
  • May 15, 2019 Five secrets to writing a moving love letter May 15, 2019