A Weekly Jazzonian Newsletter
January 1, 2018
Happy New Year

...is a jazzonian e-newsletter published weekly unless the author is somehow incapacitated. It details the thriving jazz scene in Columbus, Georgia and the surrounding Chattahoochee Valley, written exclusively by
Rusty Taylor, the jester-singer for the vocal jazz band Southern Standard Time


CAVEAT: The reason that this week's newsletter is late is because I usually compose it at the Harris County Public Library in Hamilton, Georgia, but it's been closed because the cold weather knocked out the bibliotheca's heater; the library's been closed due to its debilitating hypothermic conditions. I also must confess that the jazz scene is currently slow and the country's spiral into a possible thermonuclear winter caused by the ignorant fermentation of the specious bravado of our nation's idolatrous cultic fidelity to emotional superfluity has provided an atmosphere in which musing about absurdity is not only encouraged, it is expected. For a year Trump has become the deranged megalomaniacal usurper of feigned power; he is the catalyst for the excessive bombast that pervades this week's rhetorical calisthenics revealed through my controversial and emotionally charged commentary... I've written a bunch of nonsense. You've been warned. Good luck, and enjoy this lengthy tome brought to you by the words sycophant and testudinate:

  • sycophant (noun): A servile self-seeker who attempts to win favor by flattering influential people.
  • testudinate (adjective): Of, relating to, or resembling a turtle or tortoise. -testudinate (noun): A turtle or tortoise.

Republican automaton Mitch McConnell is the most shameless sycophant in the history of soi-disant suprematism by fraternal, slack-jowled, glabrous, pasty white, middle-aged corpulence, an unconscionable political millionaire testudinate whose deliquescent face is slowly melting into his undulating neck and who is so aesthetically impaired that he couldn't get laid in a female prison with a fistful of pardons if he had not have hoarded money, the illusory speciousness errantly decried as economic power.

And now for something completely different...

Happy New Year ev'rbody! Before I officially begin the inaugural Jazzonian newsletter of 2018, I feel the need to express my gratitude to everyone who has supported my singing and for tolerating my bombastic vociferance against our nation's current political manifestation... and I must request further adjuration for this week's excessive voluminous rhetorical superfluity, but I do have a reason for such nonsensical surplus: on Thursday, January 11th, I will be admitted to the Shepherd Center for surgery the following morning to unblock the mass of blood vessels that are currently restricting the urine flow from my kidney to my bladder. It shouldn't be a complicated procedure, and I'm very confident that I'll be able to sing with my friend Ted McVay for our gig in Equality, Alabama on Friday, January 26... I'll be singing harmony for Ted's original songs that, quite frankly, are really creative and fun to sing. (I even attempt a fairly plausible pseudo-yodel for his song entitled "Redneck Riviera"!)

However, one never knows, and let's face it, I've cheated the Grim Reaper a couple of times already in my lifetime; I've been living on borrowed time. My paternal grandmother's Catholic priest is on speed dial... and I will be fifty-four years old in exactly one month. Plus, I'm diabetic and have been sedentary for... well, on April 18th I will have lived thirty-two years as a quadriplegic... well, I'll have lived thirty-two years as a quadriplegic jester and poet who loves to sing, tell bad jokes, and sell drugs to preschoolers while dressed as a nun. I am not promised tomorrow; although, I am mo' than confident that this upcoming surgery will not be nearly as nerve wracking as my visit to the hospital back in July. I really came close to shuffling off my mortal coil to visit the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns. Again, my situation is not dire, but, just in case, I must disclose for the record that I love you and am glad that you have been a special part of my personal terrestrial manifestation, and... I feel very strongly that 2018 will be a positive, life-affirming year.

I would also like to take this opportunity to thank my dear Muse for helping me to more effectively navigate the tumultuous path through the year's excessively emotional superfluity; of the superstitious nimiety; of the highly effective but hopefully temporal acceptance, maintenance, and nourishment of a puerile security in the illusory fantasy of a thrice imagined Elysium; of the downright childishness of egocentric narcissism at its most destructive; at the soi-disant interpretation of New Testament wisdom to justify the moralization of covetous behavior; of the hypocritical coupling of Capitalism with Charity when this prodigal mindset is, de facto, an avaricious attempt to don ineffective and specious golden armor to guard and guide my cupidity that is somehow, with thaumaturgic apology, consistent with my dogmatically consigned covenant with Omniscience to feed the hungry, to shelter the homeless, to forgive as if to ask for forgiveness, and to treat everyone as I would want everyone to treat me--and when I write about everyone, I mean every member of the Homo sapiens species who has been granted the gift of sentient reality by ineffable yet faith-assured, beneficent positive energy, deified but not humanized, ineffable, unknowable under terrestrial influence.**

I was just listening to Paul Simon's wonderfully poignant "Old Friends" wherein the song's protagonist laments: "Isn't it strange to be seventy?" This song was written in the early 60s by a young man during the very incipience of his life as an adult, contemplating the sobering veracity of our temporal biologic corporeality. I first heard this song in the 70s, during my pubescence, and I remember staidly thinking that I was so fortunate to be young and healthy when it seemed that the 1960's hippie philosophy of optimistic inclusion had penetrated the part of our culture that stimulated my interests: the ecological study of the detrimental effects of modern civilization on the environment, with a view toward the prevention or reversal through conservation; Jacques Yves Cousteau's wonderful world of oceanic magic; a White House that had solar panels; a growing respect for the migratory Native American lifestyle; the relaxation of an impossible moral code of conduct that made prisoners of wives to abusive relationships; Rocky Mountain High; seven-minute guitar solos by Jimmy Page, Eric Clapton, and Jimi Hendricks; of course, this is during my youth, back when I wondered why anybody would need fifty ways to leave her lover, a time when if you weren't with the one you love, all you needed to do was love the one you're with.

Of course, this was just before the decadent 1980s that witnessed the infamous lust-gorging, deep-throated, pornographic ejaculation of carnality that lacked inner significance; the razing of my neighbor's property so that I may hoard an unconscionable amount of illusory power; the frenetic pulse of intense biorhythmic syncopation as the repetitively dull thump, thump, thump of Morpheus' kettle drum somnolently droned into the dreamy ethereality that lulls noble intentions into soporific indifference; the moral ambiguity that favors statutory rape above voyeurism into a grossly narcissistic implosion of excessively specious illusions that draws the undivided attention of troglodytes who can only understand myopic atavistic impulses that favor individual luxury over a more communal necessity.

Of course, my unabashed and totally objective remembrance of only some of the most positive images of the 70s--to the exclusion of the horrific images of the Vietnam War, gas shortages, the hostages abducted by the Iranian government, the unpopularity of segregation by too many of the adults that hovered over my emotional and cognitive growth like a quadcopter's delivering fast food... or bombs; the terrorists' attack at the 1972 Summer Olympic games in Munich, Germany; George Wallace; Strom Thurmond; and Watergate--might have more to do with the fact that I was young and healthy. I didn't need help with anything of a physical nature. Living was easy, carefree; I couldn't even imagine that growing older meant much more than an increase of time spent on a calendar, that with age comes the insidious deterioration of the body and as the different bodily systems start to fail, the prognosis of recovery lessens until finally your body simply gives out; and as you get older and closer to the finish line, one's thought processes focus less on satisfying one's tellurian incentives in favor of a more universal acceptance that terrestrial life is a gift received by such an insignificant percentage of what we currently understand as our reality... and this expanse of everything may just be a single drip of saline in the vast ocean of possibility.

Peace Through Music

** How is that for a single sentence? Incidentally, as I wrote down the word "tumultuous" in the previous sentence, I realized that the word itself has four "u" in it. And, yes, I just copped a buzz just before I came in my room to write. That, and the fact that I'm currently listening to my friend Robert Orr's recording of "Time On the Planet" on his CD entitled "I'm Cooking Gumbo," may have a direct and creatively stimulating influence on my current cognitive manifestation... Duh!
Groovy Upcoming Events
  • Saturday, January 13 – The Tivon Pennicott Quartet at Venkman's starting at 7:30 pm EDT. Tivon Pennicott was born & raised in Marietta, Georgia in December of 1985. He began studying tenor saxophone in high school, garnering recognition early on as an outstanding soloist in the Lincoln Center's Essentially Ellington competition, as well as the Georgia All-state Jazz Band. In 2004, he relocated to Miami to study at the University of Miami, where he had the opportunity to perform alongside artists such as: Dave Liebman, Randy Brecker, and Maria Schneider. Visit Tivon's website by clicking here.
  • Sunday, January 14 – The Glenn Miller Orchestra begins playing at 3 pm at Spivey Hall in Morrow, Georgia. Fo' mo' info, click here.
  • Saturday, February 3 – The Afro Cuban All Stars at The Rialto Center for the Arts in Atlanta, the Afro-Cuban All Stars band begins at 8 pm EDT. Afro-Cuban All Stars is a Cuban band led by Juan de Marcos González. Their music is a mix of all the styles of Cuban music, including bolero, chachachá, salsa, son montuno, timba, guajira, danzón, rumba and abakua. To visit their website, click here.
  • Friday, February 9 – Diana Krall - Turn Up The Quiet World Tour At Atlanta Symphony Hall.
I Need A Favor, Please
The next time you go see a live musical group, check out the stage. Does it have a wheelchair ramp leading from the audience to the stage or are their steps? Is there a wheelchair ramp backstage? Is there handicapped parking where the performers load and unload? Chances are that the venue doesn’t provide these accommodations. It’s like this: my biggest challenge as a quadriplegic jazz vocalist is finding accessible stages on which to perform. I was once raised up to a five-foot high stage using a forklift and a wooden palette because the stage was not wheelchair accessible. Fortunately, I didn’t die. Point is that there are few wheelchair accessible stages; otherwise, I’d sing much more often.

It’s easy to see why this isn’t a mainstream problem: there are few “physically challenged” performers, but that’s merely an excuse encouraged by indifference. We handicapped performers exist and are eager to share our dreams with fans who dig what we do. But why are we unconsciously ignored? That’s easy: Being unable to perform even the most rudimentary acts of daily living is a major downer; the wheelchair, quite frankly, is a symbol of lost hope. Let’s face it; it’s a marketing problem, and this is where you come in to save the day.

Physical handicaps are wrapped in lugubrious imagery, but not every moment of life in a wheelchair is steeped in mournful decay. Believe it or not, I laugh every day… some days more than others, but if life were perfect, I, for one, would take a bite of forbidden fruit to find some excitement from the decay of entropy (the hypothetical tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity). What I’m trying so desperately to connote here is the fact that having a physical challenge can, at times, be fun and inspirational. What we need is positive imagery, and here’s where I ask for a favor from you, dear reader, and it has to do with social media, more specifically, using the ubiquitous #hashtag: will you help by coming up with a #hashtag meme that has positive connotations for the handicapped and send it to me. This could be fun. Maybe I can come up with prizes for creative contributions. Regardless, this could be the beginning of a social movement that witnesses an outcry of creative energy by talented people who have difficulty overcoming the obstacles that are hidden from people who can hop out of bed running full tilt. By the way, I’ve come up with a possible #hashtag meme that might work: #FantastAbility. What do you think?

The gauntlet has been dropped. Do you accept the challenge? Please reply to this email with as many suggestions as you want, and challenge your friends as well. Let’s see if we can extend this conversation internationally. (Actually, when you send in your suggestions, include the name of your hometown city. We’ll see how far this request goes.) Let’s make the wheelchair a symbol of fun… or grace… or intelligence… or, dare I say it? Let’s make the wheelchair Sexy!
I went through adolescence during the 70s, so I have haunting memories of the Vietnam War, the 1972 Summer Olympics in Munich, the happier memories of the Miami Dolphins undefeated season, of Rock-n-roll in its heyday, Disco, and gas shortages. I also remember that the Pittsburgh Steelers were the powerhouse team of the decade, winning four Super Bowls with a defense that was crude and rude but socially acceptable. Of course, this is the time when defenses in the NFL were particularly nasty. Clotheslines were legal, linebackers could knock receivers off their routes, running backs ran through potential tacklers instead of around them in an attempt to gain the last inch of yardage, quarterbacks were praised for receiving life-threatening hits from defensive maulers, spearing defenseless players was adulated with the most encomiastic laud, and pass interference was not only accepted, it was encouraged. Jack Tatum (Oakland Raiders) permanently paralyzed Darrell Stingley (New England Patriots) and was lauded for his toughness. It truly was barbaric... but that is why it was so popular.

These days, it's hard to find anyone who will admit that she enjoyed witnessing the cruelty of what amounts to aggressive intimidation of the weak by the cognitively impaired ruffians of the NFL, the type of militant aggression that makes heroes out of bullies. This glorification of cruelty may have been the catalyst in Junior Seau's suicide caused by the excessive head trauma he received as a linebacker for the San Diego Chargers... or, maybe a delayed reaction to Lyle Alzado's death that haplessly swirled around in the whirlpools of controversial waters that floated the idea that steroids might be a leading factor in energizing violent behavior through pharmacological influence... or maybe it's a cyclical mammalian reaction to ever-changing swings between violence and tranquility... between emotion and the intellect... between waxing and waning... between hate and love... between war and peace, but slowly, insidiously, like a fatal disease that hides within one's body for decades before its fatalistic discovery, the superfluous violence that has pervaded the NFL since is inception is finally viewed with unimpaired vision, is seen as the fruition of ignorance or the hoarding of economic nimiety; however, it seems that regardless of the progress of humanity's benevolence, there will always be angry factions of humankind who honestly feel that the strong shall always be the most efficacious leaders of humanity; they also claim that charity is a sign of weakness, as if penury isn't destabilizing enough. These sick puppies cannot accept that someone else, other than family, might receive even the smallest amenity when the troglodytic have justified their relative opulence as divinely sanctioned moral or intellectual rewards... even when they, themselves, either concocted the rules by which they play in a game they, themselves, created or they benefit with illusory rewards from rules that they find unchallenging. And, yes, there are still people, tacit, that still believe in the violence of football as espoused in Jack Lambert, the rugged, edentulous linebacker for the Pittsburgh Steelers of the 70s... there are also people on this planet who find Donald Trump the Kleptocratic Moron(c) emulous.

I have an aunt whom I love dearly but who admitted to me that she is a white supremacist who gets all of her news from Fox Commentary and that she proudly voted for Trump. Looking back on her life, it's not hard to see how she became disillusioned. First, her father, my paternal grandfather, died when she was prepubescent, and she was raised by a mother who was irrevocably Catholic. (Yes, my grandmother had ten children, one of which died in childbirth as an alleged reaction against the time my aunt jumped on her pregnant mother, which, if true, would obviously lead to psychological encumbrance, and yes... the legally aborted baby was named and baptized so that its soul would go to Heaven, an oddly terrestrial paradise that would exclude over 99 percent of the Universe, but that's kindling for another fireside chat...) My aunt was also strongly encouraged to marry her high school sweetheart after she became prematurely pregnant, and that ended up in divorce.

One of the reasons I love my aunt is because she found happiness as a young adult when she became a bartender. She was a natural, amiable, amicable; she could sweet talk Satan into considering a life of Love, and she made good money. It was her niche, except... she was the mother of two and needed insurance, so she had to quit the bar business to find a job in the soul-sucking world of corporate indifference through which she could obtain affordable health insurance that would only cover a selected few health anomalies, the kinds of maladies that would continue filling the coffers of the insurance companies at the cost of the acceptable collateral damage of a few "unworthy" lives. She bought in to the idea that her happiness was the price to pay for believing in her Conservatism, a price she continues to pay even though she claims to be living a life of penury surrounded by smiling friends and family in the virtual world of social media. Sadly, if the Affordable Care Act would have been around when my aunt was a very successful bartender (and the GOP would've worked to make ACA better instead of derailing the president because of his race), my aunt would still be a major success story and a much happier woman. "White privilege" has a way of derailing success by sabotaging one's emotions against one's intellect.

Here's the kicker of the story, a real flagrant punt to the testicles of Common Sense: my aunt still considers unregulated Capitalism, and, by extension, Corporate Indifference, as the paragon of a conservative life lived well, despite its obvious hypocritical connotations. This is ironically humorous because it seems to embrace the illusion that the most successful path to a rewarding life of conservatism would include a route through the halls of academia, a college degree. Because my paternal grandfather died while serving his country (he served in the theater of war during WWII and the Korean War), all of his children, including my father, had the opportunity to use the G.I. Bill to go to college almost tuition free... and my aunt went to a Catholic high school in the deep South that specialized in preparing its students for college... yet she forewent that opportunity to find a more immediate happiness, much like the proverbial prodigal son. I can only imagine that this gnaws at her as much as the fact that many of the things that inspire her actions are quickened through a philosophy of Life that runs counter to the teachings of Jesus, but then a Christian's voting for a megalomaniacal, racist, misogynistic money-hoarding, statutory ignoring, pubescent-raping, adulterous, divorcé, with the mental acuity of a cold, damp sponge seems highly unlikely as well. It also seems messed up to me when one espouses Christian dogma to undermine the very teaching of its iconic spiritual advisor.

Peace Through Music
On A Personal Note...

I had my four-hour jazz vocals gig last Friday night at Eighth and Rail, and I had a great time, playing with guitarist Taylor Pierce, which is always a treat. It was also the first time I played professionally with Chris Helms (sax), Patrick Bruce (bass), and Trey Byars (drums), and that was a really groovy experience. They assured me afterwards that they really enjoyed playing with me and said they'd love to do it again, which is so groovy because these cats can play. I talked to Mike Patterson after the gig; he's the owner of the venue, and he seemed pretty happy. I think that he did fairly good business during the first two sets... the front and the bar itself was hopping pretty well. I'll talk to Mike later in more detail to better understand how he did economically. I'll then gauge whether or not to ask for another gig. It'd be groovy to be a regular at Eighth and Rail. Who knows, maybe Ted and I might get a gig there. The place really jumps when we play and the local patrons are so loving. It'd be nice to call Eighth and Rail a special home away from Home.
Weekly Area Jams
Eighth and Rail
Every Tuesday 7 - 10 pm CT
The Eighth and Rail in historical downtown Opelika, Alabama is the venue for a wildly groovy weekly jazz jam as hosted by the Jane Drake Jazz Band. It's a cozy celebration of life that has become a buzzing collection of jazz-loving fanatics gathered together in a coterie of peaceful, fun-loving positive energy. I am downright proud as a peacock with enhanced LED-flashing feathers to participate in the jam on a regular basis, and I really love it! Proprietor Mike Patterson makes the wonderful sushi and Miss Tiffany keeps the affable atmosphere at a lovely level of emotive satisfaction. Plus... they serve an awesome cheesecake that'll make you wanna slap yourself so hard as to tell horrific knock-knock jokes to mimes. No lie. We have really talented musicians come in from the bi-state area: Auburn, Montgomery, Tuskegee, Columbus, LaGrange, Fort Valley, et al. The jam begins at 7 pm and ends at 10 pm CT. Hopefully, I'll see you there.

Eighth and Rail
Venkman's Jazz Jam
Every Tuesday starting at 8 pm ET
Venkman's is a nightclub in Atlanta, a venue that Joe Gransden uses for his weekly jazz jam. This is where the Who's Who of the Atlanta Jazz Scene come together to dazzle us mortals. It's free and starts at 8 pm ET. Fo' mo' info, click link below. I've participated in this jam a couple of times, and I love it as well. Joe Gransden always welcomes me with a smile that will melt antarctic glaciers in the middle of winter, which, oddly enough, is during June through August... when it's so hot and humid in middle Georgia that my toenails sweat. Nevertheless, Joe's band often includes keyboardist Kenny Banks (sometimes Kevin Bales), drummer Chris Burroughs and bassist Craig Shaw, and these cats kick it. When I find the transportation, I'm going.

Red Light Cafe Jazz Jam
Every Wed at 8 pm ET

I have not been to the weekly jazz jam at Red Light Cafe, but it is hosted by the Gordon Vernick Quartet, and I am a huge fan of Gordon's, so I'm planning to go soon, and when I do... Ha! I'm very likely to get excited. Fo' mo' info, click here.
Apache Cafe in Atlanta
Every Wed at 9:00 ET

Al Smith's Midtown Jam Session @Apache Cafe!  Contemporary Jazz , Soul, R&B vocalists jam Session. Featuring live band led by keyboardist Al Smith! Vocalists are invited to sign the list and jam with the band, musicians can sit in too... a must attend! Different Dj spinning on the back patio each week! SPECIAL GUEST HOST EVERY WEEK! Doors open at 9pm and list-sign up is at 9pm. Event admission, the day of, at the door, is CASH. Fo' mo' info, click here.
1048 Club in Montgomery
Every Sun at 9:30-12:30 CT

The 1048 Cafe is in Montgomery, AL. The weekly Jazz Jam led by Sam Williams, 9 pm CDT, $5 cover. I don't really know that much about it, but the 1048 has a jazz jam every Sunday from 9ish 'til whenever. Apparently the jam draws some incredible musicians. Fo' mo' info, click here.
Piccolo's Lounge, Auburn

It's not a jam, but the Piccolo lounge offers a comfortable, clubby environment. Leather club chairs, a cozy fireplace and comfy banquettes serve as a relaxing getaway. Enjoy a single malt scotch and relax and unwind from a hectic day or meet friends to hear live jazz every Friday and Saturday night, of non-home football game weekends. Fo' mo' info, click here.
A Little Lunch Music at Jule Collins Smith Museum, Auburn University
On Thursdays at Noon, make a lunch date with our region’s finest musicians. A Little Lunch Music is an informal, come-and-go performance presented by JCSM and coordinated by musician Patrick McCurry. You can sit in and listen to the entire performance, dine in the Museum Cafe from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. CT, browse the Museum Shop or explore the galleries.
  • November 2 - On Thursday, October 19, from noon to 1:00 pm, the series will present a free concert by Plains 2, featuring trombonist Matthew Wood and pianist Joshua Pifer.
  • November 9 - Clarinetist Patricia Crisp with pianist Beibei Lin
  • November 16 - pianist Vijay Venkatesh in collaboration with Emory Chamber Music Society of Atlanta
  • November 23 - No concert... it's Thanksgiving
  • November 30 - classical guitarist Kevin Manderville
  • December 7 - hornist William Shaffer with pianist Joshua Pifer
  • December 13 - The Auburn Music Club Singers

It probably comes at no surprise to learn that Paul Simon is an especial influence on my musical life. His lyrics inspire me, as I've noted earlier in this newsletter. One of his songs that resonates deeply within the most inaccessible recesses of my emotional theater is his song "Old Friends/Bookends":

Old friends. Old friends.
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes on the high shoes
of the old friends
Old friends. Winter companions
The old men lost in their overcoats
waiting for the sunset

The sounds of the city sifting through trees
settle like dust on the shoulders of the old friends
Can you imagine us years from today
sharing a park bench quietly?
How terribly strange to be seventy.
Old friends. Memory brushes the same years
Silently sharing the same fear
Time it was And what a time it was
It was/a time of innocence...
a time of confidences
Long ago . . . it must be . . .
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you
Video of the Week

The following video is of the New York Voices singing a song by Paul Simin. Enjoy...
Jazz Association of Macon
We Promote Jazz in Macon
and Middle Georgia
Our purpose is to:
Encourage and support creation, presentation, and preservation of jazz music.
Support the creation of new audiences for jazz music.
Provide education and information about jazz.
Encourage young musicians to learn and appreciate jazz.
Develop a network among local and regional jazz advocates.
Increase awareness of jazz events and musicians in our community.

To read their blog, click here.
Area Musicians
Actually, this is a link to a page of my personal website, but it makes it much easier t maintain. It is a dynamic list of area musicians that will, hopefully, be continually updated until I can no longer do it. If you are a musician who is not listed or you are listed but with invalid info, please let me know, and I'll make the appropriate revisions. Thank you, and click here to visit the link.
High Museum of Art: Atlanta Jazz
Live jazz in the Robinson Atrium at the Atlanta High Museum of Art every 3rd Friday of the month. Fo' mo' info, click here .
On-line Radio
  • WCUG 88.5 Cougar Radio - Columbus State University.
  • KUNR 88.7 Reno, Nevada.
  • KNCJ 89.5 Reno, Nevado.
  • Saturday Night Jazz hosted by Scot Marshall and Dallas Smith (Columbus, GA native) - Scot and Dallas bring their rich musical experiences together in "Saturday Night Jazz" to feature music which ranges from the latest releases to jazz classics and occasional recordings by local artists, as well as announcements of upcoming local jazz events in the Reno-Tahoe area. "Saturday Night Jazz" is supported by the Reno Jazz Orchestra and For the Love of Jazz. Dallas' program airs on KUNR (kunr.org) from 9pm-1am PST. The 9pm-1pm EST broadcast is on KNCJ (streaming via the kunr.org website).  
  • WCLK 99.1 Atlanta's Jazz Station, Clark Atlanta University.
  • Adore Jazz - Adore Jazz makes listeners relax, feel, think and smile through listening to the finest vocal jazz.
  • WTSU 88.9 Troy State University - Ray Murray's Jazz Radio Show Saturday nights at 10 pm Central Time.
  • WVAS 90.7 Montgomery - Jazz, Blues, News, and views.
Forgive My Ire, But It's A New Year, A Time For Change

As we delve into this year, I think we are all wondering what answers are currently blowing in the wind. Late last year, Virginia experienced a profound shift in the communal predisposed mental attitudes against the benefits of diversity. And Doug Jone's really unlikely unseating of a Republican Senatorial candidate in one of the deepest Red States that gave Trump the Kleptocratic Moron(c) a 26-point victory about a year ago is so encouraging. It seems like everybody was hardwired to the election but was worried that the GOP candidate was going to win. Donald J. Trump the Kleptocratic Moron(c) fully backed Roy Moore, the sexual predator who was banned from the Gadsden Mall because he, as a thirty-year-old assistant D.A., would stalk teenaged girls. It is obvious to even the most loyal Christian cultist that Trump (and by logical extension his supporters) believe that it is more morally consistent with Christianity to support a sexual deviant than to elect a progressive candidate to Senate. Today, Roy Moore is the face of the flailing GOP, but I can't wait 'til he replaces the current icon of false GOP political acumen, the government-deregulating but soon to be understood political pawn of unabated Capitalism that has been the catalyst for the largest disparity of wealth in our nation's history: the errantly panegyrized Ronald Reagan.

Currently, the GOP is the party of the morally corrupt, misogynistic, middle-aged, pelican-jowled and corpulent, Islamaphobic, homophobic, racist, pasty-white-supremacist male politician, and we, as a nation, are witnessing its swan song, it's last audible gasp; however, this myopic mindset has quickened three awesome results: it has empowered women and the youth, AND it has emboldened the news medium to ask harder questions.

I am tired of people who appear relatively sane but who justify Trump the Kleptocratic Moron's(c) nearly illimitable egregious actions simply because he's "not a politician." It should be obvious by now why this line of reasoning is unacceptable: voting for a non-politician, especially an unconscionable businessman, is socially irresponsible; it's inviting chaos into the economy by submitting to the non emulous, unreasonable hoarding of symbolic power when the unconscionable businessman already boasts of possessing substantially more of this illusory authority even though he refuses to disclose his taxes, which he's already claims he doesn't pay, blaming the politicians for his cupidity because they allowed it to happen. (Seems to be a pattern to blame anybody else for his slips into immorality... like blaming the teenaged beauty pageant participants for allowing him in their dressing rooms so that he can leer over their vernal bodies.) As I recall, Hitler was similarly lauded as a shrewd politician by his constituents until History revealed the fuehrer's obvious moral depravity that was as evident in his youth as Trump's adulterous, race-baiting, dignity defiling lack of decency in the 80s when he paraded his jewel-laden liaison throughout New York City's decadence while his wife stayed within the confines of her golden incarceration.

Peace Through Music
Christmas Music by Area Musicians

Some area musicians have recorded Christmas music. Simply click on the cover art, and the link will send you to a magical, virtual store where you can buy the music. If I've missed an area musician who has recorded Christmas music, let me know and I'll include it here. Support local musicians; otherwise, Santa will leave you coal in your stockings.
Pat Trudell
One Silent Night
Annie Sellick
Let's Make A Christmas Memory
Joe Gransden
I'll Be Home For Christmas

If you know of an area musician who has recorded a Christmas CD, please let me know. Thanks.

The year is winding down, and what a year it’s been. Our nation’s Democracy hangs in the balance, but I believe that major social change is immanent. Women, especially women of color, have been unshackled, and their powers are waxing as the power of the pasty white man wanes into obscurity. Young people are energized as well. We, as a nation, are witnessing a profound shift in power that hasn’t been experienced since the redoubtable patriarchal monarchies were threatened with the creation of U.S. Democracy over two centuries ago, which, as we all know, was initially a reaffirmation of “white privilege” built with the cheapest form of labor… slavery. Democracy is slowly becoming all-inclusive, but immigrants, the LGBT community, homosexuals, women, the physically challenged, and other minorities are seeing a more aggressive push against their very existence as the last dying gasp of the pasty white man suspires into nonexistence. A golden age of peaceful diversity is just around the corner. It’s like jazz… inclusive, loving, peaceful, harmonious.

 The media is also slowly regaining its swagger. Fake news, as espoused by our current illegitimately selected president and, by extension the GOP, will soon be exposed as the authoritarian tool it is. Objective news that is unaffected by money is alive because the Internet facilitates global access. That’s why net-neutrality is vital to terrestrial stability and why the current appointed establishment is so keen on controlling it. What these usurpers of illusory 
power tend to neglect is the fact that they are the minority. The women and men who actually make our society great are the soldiers, firefighters, laborers, nurses, doctors, students, and teachers. It is they who allow societal security. When they realize the narcissistic ambitions of authoritarian government, the populace will turn to revolution. It is my contention that Mueller’s investigation will soon reveal Trump’s megalomaniacal ambitions before the chaos of revolution sends the planet back to the Dark Ages of ignorance and superstition. The minority that currently wield power will return to their meager troglodytic existences in the shadows of humanity, and a long age of peace and prosperity will prevail wherein progressive diversity will become the norm. Happy New Year!

Peace Through Music