Loadstar 141/141side4.d64/jukebox text

Text File | 1995-01-01 | 12.8 KB | 575 lines

dogiejohn
calliopejohn
borderjohn
waltzingjohn
marchingjohn
tangojohn
johnya.ii
quartet
*

##############
# DOGIE JOHN #
##############

It was a dark and stormy
night. Well, it probably was a
dark and stormy night
somewhere but here the sky was
clear and moonless.  "Here"
was the New Mexico desert and
"when" was sometime in the
1950's or '60's.

Knees Calhoon was enjoying a
refreshing can of brew and
watching the stars when he
heard a mournful sound from
the other side of the hill. It
was almost like the wail of a
demented coyote but much more
musical and melancholy. (Oh,
yeah? Well, you try saying
that with a mouthful of
Coors!)

Knees grabbed the rest of his
brew (remember, 12-packs
hadn't been invented yet) and
swiftly sought the source of
the soulful sound. (Whew!
That's another good one!)

At the top of the hill he
paused and looked around.
Halfway down the other side
was someone sitting on a rock
and playing a harmonica. The
music was ineffably sad,
tugging at Knees' heartstrings
until finally he broke down
and offered the sad but
musical stranger a can of
beer, which was quickly
accepted.

Knees unslung his everpresent
six-string orchestra and he
and John, for that was the
name of the mysterious
musician of the mountain, made
serious music for the rest of
the night.

While they were improvising a
blues with kind of a rocking
bass figure and a bunch of
descending chromatic thirds, a
coyote came up to the side of
the fire and began to wail.
John and Knees just kept
playing. If the coyote had
been howling in the wrong key
they probably would have
stopped, but apparently
coyotes always wail in the key
of F so it was cool. Pretty
soon the whole pack was
joining in and they all jammed
until dawn or until they ran
out of beer, whichever came
first.
*

[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[
[ CALLIOPE JOHN [
[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[[

Knees had just grown his first
mustache and was working as a
clown in the circus. As the
troupe neared the end of the
season, when the animals would
be wintering in Southern
Arizona, Knees wondered what
he would do for the winter.
Unlike the animals, he didn't
especially relish the idea of
living in a cage and eating
hay for three months --
although it might be good for
him.

Anyway, he was cartwheeling
down the main street of this
little western town and trying
to make the yokels laugh when
he saw a familiar face. The
young man playing the calliope
in the parade, the young man
who had obviously just grown
his first moustache, the young
man was no other than John,
with whom he had serenaded the
desert sky only a couple years
before. Of course, they had
been assisted by a band of
coyotes at the time.

To make a long story short,
Knees and John got together
with their mustaches and their
axes and found a local tavern
that was eager to have them
play. A couple of locals sat
in, a drummer with a big nose
and a great talent and a bass
player who must have been all
of fourteen but already was an
awesome musician.

The music they played has
already been discussed and
dissected in another place,
with only the names and places
changed to protect the
innocent.
*

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
< Border John <
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Somewhere in Mexico, sometime
not too long ago, Knees
Calhoon slipped into a little
cantina for a cerveza. The day
was hot and so was the pursuit
so he thought he'd better stay
low for a while. He never told
whether it was an angry
boyfriend, a jealous husband,
a process server, a bill
collector or a U.S. Marshal
after him, but he was
definitely on the lam!

In the quiet little cantina on
Calle Canal, Knees quaffed his
Carta Blanca and considered
his options. While he was
quaffing and considering, the
band came in and started
setting up for the evening
entertainment. Several girls
came out from their rooms as
well, yawning and scratching
and obviously getting ready
for their evening's
entertainment.

There was a familiar face in
the band. It was John, with a
handlebar mustache dyed black
and a sombrero as big as a
cartwheel.

"Pretend you don't recognize
me!" he whispered fiercely as
Knees approached him. "Hola,
gringo, que tal?" he continued
in a normal voice.

Knees played along. He always
did. "Can you play La Bamba?"
he asked loudly, then
whispered, "What's up?"

"I'm doing secret work toward
my master's degree," John
whispered, "Don't blow my
cover!" Loudly he said, "Si,
por cinco dolares tocaremos La
Bamba."

"Five bucks? That's too much!"
And softly Knees asked, "Do
you realize how stupid this
sounds?  You're speaking
Spanish and I'm speaking
English. Don't you think
someone is going to notice?"

"Don't worry about it." It was
the voice of the bandleader, a
giant who held a guitarron as
if it were a ukulele. "We've
known all the time. But what
the heck, he's a pretty good
guitarist and he doesn't cost
much!"

John's face was a red as his
sombrero. "I thought my
Spanish was pretty good. How
did you know I wasn't
Mexican?"

The leader grinned. "It was
the salsa. You like it too
hot. No real Mexican likes
salsa that hot!" He went to
the bandstand and played a few
loud bass notes.

"I gotta go, Knees," said
John. "I'll talk to you after
the set."

Well, they did more than talk.
Knees borrowed a guitar and
sat in and they hired him too.
He ended up playing six weeks
with John in a band called
"Gilberto's Gringos" and
nobody came looking for him in
all that time. Or if they did,
nobody recognized the guitar
players with the big
mustaches.
*

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
% Waltzing John %
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

This one is too complicated to
try to understand, but realize
it involves:

Knees Calhoon, in an
unaccustomed role as orchestra
director in a small opera
house in Vienna.

Gretchen von Schnurbart
(better known as Peggy Smith)
playing the 'cello and working
for the CIA (the 'cello solo
you hear is hers) as a courier
but moonlighting for the IRA
as a soft drop and the MENC as
a secret secretary, the ACDA
as a baton, and the AMEA as
audition judge (yes, she gets
around!)

John, traveling through
Vienna, but not on the Orient
Express, carrying many samples
of women's underwear, with an
unpublished waltz manuscript
of Strauss (Not Johann, Oskar,
Wilhelm or Richard, this is
Fred Strauss) and sixty pounds
of dark chocolate shaped into
a replica of the Venus de Milo
(don't ask!)

A junior high school girls
volleyball team plus
cheerleaders (18 girls!)

Two dromedaries (I don't know
a Bactrian from a Reynolds
camel.)

A partridge in a pear tree.
(I'm just kidding about this,
but the others are all real
and all important. Honest.
Cross my heart and hope to
die. You've GOT to believe
me!)
*

=================
= Marching John =
=================

This has absolutely nothing to
do with Knees Calhoon, with
the Desperate Duo, with the
Degenerate Duo, with the
Disparate Duo, with anybody or
anything except me, John S.
Davis.

Somewhere around fifty years
ago I started playing the
clarinet. It was in 4th grade
and I had already played the
violin for two years so my
teacher thought I was better
than I really was. (He was
probably getting me confused
with my older brother.)
Anyway, he put me in the all-
city band even though I didn't
know one note from another
either on the page or in my
fingers.

The awful day arrived and I
was taken to the place of
preparation. It was a high
school band room and I was
really impressed, for I had
never been to a high school
before. My grandfather taught
in college and I'd been there
but that didn't count. This
was a HIGH SCHOOL!

Everybody there was older than
I except for one little fat
boy who was also in the fourth
grade. Since I was also little
and fat they put me right next
to him in the front row. How
embarrassing!

We rehearsed for two hours,
even though we were supposed
to have the march memorized.
What I remember of the
rehearsal is this -- oboes not
only sound like ducks, they
sound like sick ducks!

The parade is one vast blur. I
followed the guy in front of
me and I held my clarinet to
my mouth whenever possible. We
marched over parts of the city
I'd never seen before. My feet
became very tired. I couldn't
even see my little piece of
music stuck in my lyre (That's
the little thing that holds
the music.)

When we finished the little
fat kid looked at me and said,
"You didn't play a single
note!"

Caught! I blushed and
admitted, "I don't know any of
the notes."

He grinned at me. "Neither do
I. I didn't play a single note
either."

This march is what I should
have played. Every soaring
solo is mine. This is what I
would have played if I could
have, and at the end the
little fat kid would have
looked at me and said, "Wow!
You're great!"
*

::::::::::::::
: Tango John :
::::::::::::::

Everybody goes to Las Vegas!
Even John, and he was
expecting to play a slot
machine or ten, see a show or
sixteen, hear a lot of good
music, play a hand of 21 or
two, and even quaff an
inexpensive brew or three..

The dancers in the Morocco
Room were fabulous! They
literally moved as one, each
motion being perfectly in time
with each other, every step
expressing the emotion the
dancers were feeling. It was
like the Apache dancers of
Paris in the 30's but more so,
they danced tangos with wild
abandon!

When they finally took their
sweaty bows the room erupted
with applause. John slipped
the waitress a sawbuck to
invite them to his table and
they soon showed up.  The girl
dancer was gorgeous and John
quickly put some moves on
her.

"Ixnay!" It was the male
dancer. "Ees-shay a-way ay-gay
eye-gay in-way ag-dray." (I
know it doesn't make any sense
if you don't speak Pig Latin,
but if you don't speak Pig
Latin at your age then you
have to figure it out from
context. So there!)  (Anybody
your age should have learned
Pig Latin by now.)  (I don't
feel the slightest bit sorry
for you, 'cause it's your own
fault!) (I know, I know, back
to the story.)

John looked at the gorgeous
girl in horror. Then back at
the male dancer.

"A-way ay-gay eye-gay?" he
stuttered.

"Es-yay," he answered, and
then his eyes widened. "On-
Jay?  It's-way Ees-nay!"

Sure enough, it was Knees
Calhoon. The rest of the story
is an anticlimax. Knees and
John tipped a few, Knees found
out why John was in Vegas and
John found out why Knees was
making big bucks as a tango
dancer in a rather strange
situation.
*

+++++++++++++
+ Johnya II +
+++++++++++++

This is another complicated
piece which involves time
travel, diet drinks, the
evolution of digital recording
techniques, liverwurst
sandwiches, 40-track recording
consoles, Gablinger's Beer,
the acquisition of Goodman's
Markets by Food Giant, then
A.J. Bayless and finally Abco,
thematic transformations in
the works of Richard Strauss
(not Fred or Wilhelm or Oskar
or Johann), counting calories,
poisonous house plants,
wearing baseball caps
backwards, counting
kilocalories, street hockey
techniques as compared to
field hockey, ice hockey, and
horse puckey, Carol counting
kilocalories, the Zen of
Motorcycle Maintenance,
bubbles, bangles (good group!)
beads of sweat standing out on
foreheads or out in fields,
Carol Kiley counting
kilocalories, tweedle beetles
having a battle, Mozart vs.
Beethoven, and finally, Knees
Calhoon and his terrible tower
takeover (now called the T3)
and what right-thinking
America can do about it.
*

]]]]]]]]]]]
] Quartet ]
]]]]]]]]]]]

It was a tiny little bar in
San Francisco and John didn't
think he'd recognize anyone
except perhaps members of his
Army company. He was enjoying
a three-day pass and had taken
the train from Fort Ord up to
visit a friend who was
attending Stanford. Palo Alto
being rather dull, she had
suggested they have an evening
in the city so here he was
spending a month's pay in one
weekend. But what a weekend!

The dinner was superb, the
wine was excellent, the music
was understated and elegant if
a trifle heavy on the bass. On
the bass? He looked again at
the quartet playing on the
raised dais. Instead of the
usual two violins, viola and
'cello, this group was using
violin, viola, 'cello and
bass. And he knew that bass
player! Knees Calhoon,
resplendent in white tie and
tails, sans mustache, was
wielding that bass bow (German
style) with all the
insouciance of years of
deception. John almost slid
from his chair laughing. He
called the headwaiter over
and, using a fake French
accent, found out the
contrebassist was Monsieur
Quenis Qualhune, a famous
French musician, who was
temporarily joining their
regular trio. The 'cellist, a
statuesque blonde, turned out
to be Fraulein Gretchen
Schnurbart, whom Knees had
known back in Roswell as Peggy
Smith. The two upper strings
were a young couple from
Arizona, Randy and Betty
Brady, known in San Francisco
as Signor Erando e Signora
Bettina Moustacchio. They had
taken the foreign names
because nobody would hire
local talent, no matter how
talented.

John suggested all go out
after the shift was completed
and sample the hot spots of
San Francisco and his
suggestion was eagerly
approved. From Alioto's for
fish to the Top of the Mark
for nightcaps everyone had a
wonderful time.

But that music was kind of
heavy on the bass, wasn't it?
*