Here's the third and final part of "The Parable of the King":
The Parable of the King: Part III
In those days, the city of light and flying water was content. The world spun on its axis, yet the night and day seemed equally bright and all but indiscernible from each other in that city. The people should have been content, and so they were.
The king, who mainly had the city to be built in a sparkling fashion like his own, had long since passed. His effigies and likenesses, however, could still be seen, sometimes on the coinage of one or another lands, sometimes on the garments of a visitor from afar, sometimes on the back of a caravan. These served to remind the people that although the power of the dam had brought them light, it was the power of the king that had brought them brightness. Yet, even though the king had long gone, still the city prospered and grew.
As the city grew, it expanded not only in size, but in diversity as well. Settlers from the Far East had garnished the right bank of the via, although they were kept in check by a contingent from Norman lands to their south and native settlers to their north. On the opposite bank, the Asians and Egyptians had chosen to settle the southernmost tip of the city, leaving the Europeans to stare across the way to their rivals, prevented from moving farther north by the influx of various buccaneers and vagabonds who camped at the entrance of the bazaar. Most of the citadels preferred mirrors for their surfaces, to reflect not only the vacant stares of the passers-by, but also the insidious glances of rivals from neighboring citadels, far in the distance, yet close in height and high in curiosity. It was no wonder, then, that the mirrors also shunted the stiff intrusion of the sun during the day and the brightness during the night. The city became ever more shiny and sparkling, even as the dirt and decay grew both within and without the citadels.
As people in other lands often visited this city and found there much joy, even if occasionally mingled with expensive and bitter grief, many sought to build cities like the one created by the king. They built strong edifices and towering citadels like those they had seen in the king’s city. They filled their buildings with fields of green and red and black, where all who had means could come and dispense with it, or build it, as fate would allow. Entertainers came and sang and danced, pugilists came and fought and fell, traders came and bought and sold. All these cities who so emulated the king’s city stood tall, and bright, and though these cities might rest on or by the water, unlike the city which the king had summoned from the sand, they felt just as secure and happy, some might even say, happier.
But, it was not meant to last.
Presently, a great wind arose in the ocean to the east. So great was the wind, and such its fury, very islands both big and small were swept away in front of it. The ocean itself surged to heights no man had ever climbed. And as the great wind approached, the people in the imitations of the king’s city came to wish they too had built on something more solid than a pile of water soaked rock and debris. Even as the wind approached, they nonetheless believed their ingenuity was such that even this wind could not destroy what they had built, and so they continued to cast their gold onto the red, black and green fields, and dine on the delicacies of the ocean, an ocean that unbeknownst to them moved ever closer to their own meager dominion.
Eventually, the ultimate depth and fury of the wind was realized, even as it crept over the water and onto the waterside edifices of the now diminishing and scurrying cities. The waves continued to rise, the spirits of the people dampened and fell, but not nearly as hard as the citadels of the cities themselves. For many days, the wind and waves rocked the cities and all they contained, until eventually, they contained nothing. The people who had not been washed away fled. The buildings that had not been demolished were sunk. Only broken caravans and tainted spirits haunted the cities. When finally the wind and waves subsided, when the sun at last shone through the heavy black clouds again, no trace of the cities was to be found. Where once had stood mighty towers and sparkling domes, intricate complexes of lavish entertainment and delicate cuisine, there was nothing, nothing at all. The wind had swept men and their makings before it, and washed it out to the sea from where it came, leaving only a depression that all men shared but none called his own.
People who had flocked to the cities stopped coming, for they know the cities were gone and would take many months, or years, to rebuild. Some who did not know of the fate of the cities came, only to be met by protectors and soldiers, turned away from the aftermath. “Fields of green?” they might exclaim to the uninformed questioner. “All that is green is what is left of the ocean that hath surged upon us. Keep your gold in your pocket, for it will be needed to buy you a meager meal on your trip back to your homeland.” The intrepid would turn around, then, and long for the thrill of the king’s city all the more.
And so, as the imitators rebuilt, the people returned to the one true Mecca, the city of the king. The caravans that flew through the air were still fewer than before, but the number of people seeking the joys of the city did not subside. All were packed closely in their berth until at last they disembarked at the gate of the city’s portal. Upon exiting the gates, all were bathed in the light of city, but whether from the sun, or the glitter, or the mirrors of the citadels, none could tell. They only knew that it was bright, and the fields of green and red and black were still scattered with gold, and where the king had but established a few, now there were many such fields and stages on which men could cavort. More than enough were there to satisfy the endlessly thronging masses, who once again, left with no choice and no other refuge for their furious lusts and cravings, glanced longingly down the via bathed in light, looking around them at their fellow seekers of pleasure. The joy and astonishment that they felt would suddenly well within them, and though they might only be somewhat conscious of their action, their mouth would give forth with an expression of this joy. Some would shout, some would exclaim. Others would gasp, or sigh, or whisper. Yet all voices whether loud or soft, soprano or bass, raspy or clear, all were in unison: “Viva,” they said. “Viva, Las Vegas!”
Friday, October 31, 2008
Saturday, October 25, 2008
The Parable of the King - Part II
I am back from Vegas. Finished on the bubble in two poker tournaments two days in a row. Had one winning session. I made more money playing Casino War than every other game. Bought a Cher T-shirt. Yes. It's gay. Even gayer than the Elton John T-shirt I was thinking about (insists my brother). Anybody makes a comment I just say, Yes, my shirt is gay, but I'm not, and I'm secure enough in my sexuality to wear it if I want to.
When I got back, my piano playing was obviously, and heavily, rusty. I have a lot of work to do to get my chops back by Wednesday night. And of course, I received no word regarding the songs we are going to play in four weeks, though it is possible no decisions were made. I'm going to focus on drills and our playlist and just do the best I can, as always.
Here's the second part of The Parable of the King.
The Parable of the King - Part II
(Shortcut to Part I)
In those days there was no evil that men knew of. Though there was much evil outside of their city walls, pressing in on them as it grew stronger and more sinister with each day, within the city only goodness shown, like the bright lights brought to life by the water and The King. In their tents, cooled by the living breath of the gods they had built themselves, and even out upon the heat soaked via, people lingered before plates full of the finest delicacies, and marveled at the millions of candles, illuminating the air borne water. For when the water began to fly, the buzzards were banished to the east and west, unable to endure the speed of the mist and frightened by the tumult and ringing that never ended below. At last the people could venture outside of their tents without fear, and they did so with great abandon. Where once only rich men could cast their fortunes upon the fields of green, red and black, now poor men too, and the consorts and wives of each of them, could create a void within their fine leather pouches. And though their children sallied with pirates, threw candies and rocks at animals of the wild, and tumbled with clowns and thieves alike, they neither knew nor cared that the tithes of their teachers and futures were being scattered to the wind by their elders, even more quickly than the water that flew.
Entertainers from lands far and near gathered, for nothing so much entertains an entertainer than entertainment. Already, the mages from the cold lands, and the delirium pronouncers of false witness who traveled from the west, found their audiences in the larger tents, and sacrificed their hours and genius for the few dinars and pesos which had not yet made their way from without their purses. Then, even men with blue heads, a circus of mermaids, a Cherokee singer with hair of gold, silver, pink and green, arrived to enthrall the masses and enrich their private priests of accountancy and law. Large men of brawn and bulk, gathered to battle each other, while little men of speed, fortitude and courage brawled with their like. These men battled so fiercely, that only a torrential flow of blood, the rubber-arm wave of the white and black man with rubber-coated fingers, or the knockout sleep would stop the mayhem. And of the large and small combatants, no man could proclaim which was the stronger, for in this land, David and Goliath were not dictated to ever meet. Women who could not sing and dance, pretended to do so nonetheless, covering their meagerness of talent by exposing the sheen and gloss of their own flesh. Lucky were the men who had not cast all their gold onto the green, red and black fields, for they could then cast their gold at the feet of these women, possibly even to touch their skin, dreadfully cold from the breath of the tent cooling gods.
One day, out of the desert and into this land, there came a wanderer. His black hair hung low in front of his ears, yet sat high upon his head. His eyes were said to sparkle and skip, like the full moon on a windblown lake, but no man had ever seen them, for they lie hidden behind the ray-banning armor of amber. His horse was large and pink, and it did thirst much for the liquid from the ground, but not for water. He was clad in a sparkling suit of white, covered in stones that sparkled as magnificently as his eyes surely did, but which cracked to the touch and wove uneven patterns down his legs and arms. To hide these broken stones, he wore a long red and white gown, which flowed around his ample waist, and several small white kerchiefs, dangled loosely from around his neck. He strode with the confidence of a king, for he did, in all aspects and mannerisms, greatly resemble The King. People from within the land and without stopped to watch as he walked by, and his steed of pink was captured on the digits and paper of many a scribe. Those people of dim eyes and dim minds who did see this wanderer, would later swear to the heights and depths that this was, in fact, The King. And though many suspected this wanderer was not, indeed could not be, The King, doubt was suspended and he was treated as royalty wheresoever within the city he went.
This king stayed many nights in the city, or so the people said, for he was seldom seen in the day and no denizen of that fair town could fathom his whereabouts in the light. But when darkness came, his horse did appear, and this king did grace the people with his presence, feeling rapture in their honoring glances and murmured words of respect. This man would enter a tent, and entertain great crowds and masses, just as the men of blue and the woman of many heads, but the people who saw him were affected in great manners, as they would sit and chant for the repeat appearance of this king. “We want The King!” rose the chant, and although the voice of the hills assured them that this king had left the tent, no one on the outside could admit to having seen either The King or another man leave.
Yet, he vanished.
But before long he would appear again, and again. His appearances made the people perplexed, for though they might see him in the tent of Bavarians and tigers, others swore to have seen him in the tent of the great Sphinx. Still others would bring protest, for they had seen him in the tent of the Normans, or the tent of the Mandalay. But, “No!” would another claim, “He was visiting the lake to the north, or riding the boat to the south. I cannot remember which, but he was not within a tent!” Yet another would see this king within the great castle, or another in the great tower, the tent of the Arabian, the tent on the river, or even on the island of treasure. This king, they said, is everywhere! And so much did it seem so, that they again began calling him, The King.
And so might this parable end, but its teller would be amiss, for the listener or reader of the parable might feel a compelling and strange desire to meet this king who they call, The King. And although the listener knows The King might be found in many tents, where, great parable teller (he or she might ask), where are the tents? Well, fair listener, I can only say that you will find The King where the water flies, where though the land be brown the fields are green, red and black, where the people shout, day and night, “We want The King!” and The King responds with music. And when he sings, all join as one great voice to proclaim the goodness of their land, the land which The King himself created, “Viva,” they scream and shout, “Viva, Las Vegas!”
When I got back, my piano playing was obviously, and heavily, rusty. I have a lot of work to do to get my chops back by Wednesday night. And of course, I received no word regarding the songs we are going to play in four weeks, though it is possible no decisions were made. I'm going to focus on drills and our playlist and just do the best I can, as always.
Here's the second part of The Parable of the King.
The Parable of the King - Part II
(Shortcut to Part I)
In those days there was no evil that men knew of. Though there was much evil outside of their city walls, pressing in on them as it grew stronger and more sinister with each day, within the city only goodness shown, like the bright lights brought to life by the water and The King. In their tents, cooled by the living breath of the gods they had built themselves, and even out upon the heat soaked via, people lingered before plates full of the finest delicacies, and marveled at the millions of candles, illuminating the air borne water. For when the water began to fly, the buzzards were banished to the east and west, unable to endure the speed of the mist and frightened by the tumult and ringing that never ended below. At last the people could venture outside of their tents without fear, and they did so with great abandon. Where once only rich men could cast their fortunes upon the fields of green, red and black, now poor men too, and the consorts and wives of each of them, could create a void within their fine leather pouches. And though their children sallied with pirates, threw candies and rocks at animals of the wild, and tumbled with clowns and thieves alike, they neither knew nor cared that the tithes of their teachers and futures were being scattered to the wind by their elders, even more quickly than the water that flew.
Entertainers from lands far and near gathered, for nothing so much entertains an entertainer than entertainment. Already, the mages from the cold lands, and the delirium pronouncers of false witness who traveled from the west, found their audiences in the larger tents, and sacrificed their hours and genius for the few dinars and pesos which had not yet made their way from without their purses. Then, even men with blue heads, a circus of mermaids, a Cherokee singer with hair of gold, silver, pink and green, arrived to enthrall the masses and enrich their private priests of accountancy and law. Large men of brawn and bulk, gathered to battle each other, while little men of speed, fortitude and courage brawled with their like. These men battled so fiercely, that only a torrential flow of blood, the rubber-arm wave of the white and black man with rubber-coated fingers, or the knockout sleep would stop the mayhem. And of the large and small combatants, no man could proclaim which was the stronger, for in this land, David and Goliath were not dictated to ever meet. Women who could not sing and dance, pretended to do so nonetheless, covering their meagerness of talent by exposing the sheen and gloss of their own flesh. Lucky were the men who had not cast all their gold onto the green, red and black fields, for they could then cast their gold at the feet of these women, possibly even to touch their skin, dreadfully cold from the breath of the tent cooling gods.
One day, out of the desert and into this land, there came a wanderer. His black hair hung low in front of his ears, yet sat high upon his head. His eyes were said to sparkle and skip, like the full moon on a windblown lake, but no man had ever seen them, for they lie hidden behind the ray-banning armor of amber. His horse was large and pink, and it did thirst much for the liquid from the ground, but not for water. He was clad in a sparkling suit of white, covered in stones that sparkled as magnificently as his eyes surely did, but which cracked to the touch and wove uneven patterns down his legs and arms. To hide these broken stones, he wore a long red and white gown, which flowed around his ample waist, and several small white kerchiefs, dangled loosely from around his neck. He strode with the confidence of a king, for he did, in all aspects and mannerisms, greatly resemble The King. People from within the land and without stopped to watch as he walked by, and his steed of pink was captured on the digits and paper of many a scribe. Those people of dim eyes and dim minds who did see this wanderer, would later swear to the heights and depths that this was, in fact, The King. And though many suspected this wanderer was not, indeed could not be, The King, doubt was suspended and he was treated as royalty wheresoever within the city he went.
This king stayed many nights in the city, or so the people said, for he was seldom seen in the day and no denizen of that fair town could fathom his whereabouts in the light. But when darkness came, his horse did appear, and this king did grace the people with his presence, feeling rapture in their honoring glances and murmured words of respect. This man would enter a tent, and entertain great crowds and masses, just as the men of blue and the woman of many heads, but the people who saw him were affected in great manners, as they would sit and chant for the repeat appearance of this king. “We want The King!” rose the chant, and although the voice of the hills assured them that this king had left the tent, no one on the outside could admit to having seen either The King or another man leave.
Yet, he vanished.
But before long he would appear again, and again. His appearances made the people perplexed, for though they might see him in the tent of Bavarians and tigers, others swore to have seen him in the tent of the great Sphinx. Still others would bring protest, for they had seen him in the tent of the Normans, or the tent of the Mandalay. But, “No!” would another claim, “He was visiting the lake to the north, or riding the boat to the south. I cannot remember which, but he was not within a tent!” Yet another would see this king within the great castle, or another in the great tower, the tent of the Arabian, the tent on the river, or even on the island of treasure. This king, they said, is everywhere! And so much did it seem so, that they again began calling him, The King.
And so might this parable end, but its teller would be amiss, for the listener or reader of the parable might feel a compelling and strange desire to meet this king who they call, The King. And although the listener knows The King might be found in many tents, where, great parable teller (he or she might ask), where are the tents? Well, fair listener, I can only say that you will find The King where the water flies, where though the land be brown the fields are green, red and black, where the people shout, day and night, “We want The King!” and The King responds with music. And when he sings, all join as one great voice to proclaim the goodness of their land, the land which The King himself created, “Viva,” they scream and shout, “Viva, Las Vegas!”
Sunday, October 19, 2008
The Parable of the King - Part I
Back when I first started going to Vegas on a regular basis (I've been probably 12 times in the last 20 years), I used to write a parable of "The King" to put in my 'out of office' assistant to entertain my co-workers. Then Viagra stole the "Viva" song and trivialized my work. Still, as I leave on my five-day odyssey to the city that Elvis (and a bunch of gangsters) built, I feel it is a good time to revisit my parable. So, here, for your delight in my absence, is part one of "The Parable of the King"
The Parable of the King - Part I
For many years, the people in the land of sand and heat lay beaten and discouraged. The sun dried their crops and throats, and no wind cooled their abodes. Then one day, the flow of the mighty river stopped. A great oasis was formed, and their days became filled with abundance. With the oasis came a great king, and with him, many people from many lands. And though the land provided all for these people, still they wondered at their good fortune.
And so they said unto the king, "How is it that you have brought life into this wasteland?" And the king said, "It is not I who have brought life, but the water from the great dam." But the people remained mystified. So the king stepped into the radiant sun and said, "With the water, comes the force. With the force, comes the power. With the power, comes the light. And with the light, so may the people gather. For where the darkness is dispelled, there is joy and great revelry."
"Oh great king, what you say may be true," said the people. Yet still their minds were unsettled, so the people asked, "Is it not you who has brought us the songs of joy and revelry, that our days may be filled with pools of blue? That our bellies may be stuffed at overflowing buffets? That great magicians shall make fierce beasts appear from thin air? That we may loose the shekels and dinars from within the calfskin hides we carry? And so we toss our material wealth onto the fields of green, and red, and black, that the great devils clad in fine raiments of black and white, smiling with no gladness like the jackals of the desert, will snatch up our worth and means? And though we shall never see such wealth again, we smile.
“For there is only joy in the desert of song and flowing beer,
And sun all the days, and neon all the nights.
“Is it not true that you, great king, have given this unto us?" And the king said, "Yea! It is so."
And the people rejoiced in song as the king commanded, "The name of this kingdom shall be known through all lands and peoples. And though I should pass away, my kingdom will never die! For I am Elvis, And I am the king!"
And all the people let up a great shout as The King led them in song. “Viva,” they sang, "Viva, Las Vegas!"
The Parable of the King - Part I
For many years, the people in the land of sand and heat lay beaten and discouraged. The sun dried their crops and throats, and no wind cooled their abodes. Then one day, the flow of the mighty river stopped. A great oasis was formed, and their days became filled with abundance. With the oasis came a great king, and with him, many people from many lands. And though the land provided all for these people, still they wondered at their good fortune.
And so they said unto the king, "How is it that you have brought life into this wasteland?" And the king said, "It is not I who have brought life, but the water from the great dam." But the people remained mystified. So the king stepped into the radiant sun and said, "With the water, comes the force. With the force, comes the power. With the power, comes the light. And with the light, so may the people gather. For where the darkness is dispelled, there is joy and great revelry."
"Oh great king, what you say may be true," said the people. Yet still their minds were unsettled, so the people asked, "Is it not you who has brought us the songs of joy and revelry, that our days may be filled with pools of blue? That our bellies may be stuffed at overflowing buffets? That great magicians shall make fierce beasts appear from thin air? That we may loose the shekels and dinars from within the calfskin hides we carry? And so we toss our material wealth onto the fields of green, and red, and black, that the great devils clad in fine raiments of black and white, smiling with no gladness like the jackals of the desert, will snatch up our worth and means? And though we shall never see such wealth again, we smile.
“For there is only joy in the desert of song and flowing beer,
And sun all the days, and neon all the nights.
“Is it not true that you, great king, have given this unto us?" And the king said, "Yea! It is so."
And the people rejoiced in song as the king commanded, "The name of this kingdom shall be known through all lands and peoples. And though I should pass away, my kingdom will never die! For I am Elvis, And I am the king!"
And all the people let up a great shout as The King led them in song. “Viva,” they sang, "Viva, Las Vegas!"
Thursday, October 16, 2008
A little dangerous knowledge...
Jazz ensemble class was interesting last night. We started narrowing down our selections for our concert and have decided to play four (maybe five) songs. We settled on definitely doing Wave. We do it pretty well. It's an interesting song, and, I've practiced it enough that I sound okay playing it, and since I'm the least capable musician in the group, that's as good a starting point as any in deciding a song to play. Then, before we could practice and decide on another, our singer suggested Michelle.
We'd never played that together as a group, and I hardly ever played it, maybe bashing it out once or twice when I first got The Real Book and looked for songs I knew and could play. While the instructor taught our guitarist the intro, I played through the changes once. So, 1, 2, 3, 4... and away we went!
We sounded good. Not great, but pretty good. Our instructor said we sounded like a small jazz group at a cafe in Paris, and we did. He noted that we hit all the diminished chords right on the money. Obviously, that's because we were familiar with the song. It is basically the first "new" song we've done that I knew, proving once again, a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. The Lennon/McCartney hit made it into a repertoire on the first try, after two full months of playing ten or twelve other songs, and never quite getting confident on them.
Amazing.
We'd never played that together as a group, and I hardly ever played it, maybe bashing it out once or twice when I first got The Real Book and looked for songs I knew and could play. While the instructor taught our guitarist the intro, I played through the changes once. So, 1, 2, 3, 4... and away we went!
We sounded good. Not great, but pretty good. Our instructor said we sounded like a small jazz group at a cafe in Paris, and we did. He noted that we hit all the diminished chords right on the money. Obviously, that's because we were familiar with the song. It is basically the first "new" song we've done that I knew, proving once again, a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. The Lennon/McCartney hit made it into a repertoire on the first try, after two full months of playing ten or twelve other songs, and never quite getting confident on them.
Amazing.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Piano Instructor Pith
Two weeks ago, my piano instructor had to cancel my lesson. When I called to reschedule, we were not able to work out a time prior to my next jazz ensemble practice, leaving me to have to analyze two songs on my own, devise my own chord changes, adapt my own rhythmic influences, basically do everything a jazz musician has to do to prepare songs, however, with only fourteen months' experience and precious little practice time to back up those decisions/actions.
I didn't point this out to my instructor, but at this point, I'm really paying him for his experience and analysis when it comes to these things. So, when I realized I was going to go to two straight ensemble practices with no support in between, I said, "Well, I guess I'll have to rely on my whims and wiles to get me through."
And although he was apologetic, he said, "Hey, that's what jazz is all about."
As it turned out, I did fine (terrible, but fine), and I continue to work at my music. I think it is no coincidence that an anagram for piano is, "O, pain!"
I didn't point this out to my instructor, but at this point, I'm really paying him for his experience and analysis when it comes to these things. So, when I realized I was going to go to two straight ensemble practices with no support in between, I said, "Well, I guess I'll have to rely on my whims and wiles to get me through."
And although he was apologetic, he said, "Hey, that's what jazz is all about."
As it turned out, I did fine (terrible, but fine), and I continue to work at my music. I think it is no coincidence that an anagram for piano is, "O, pain!"
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