May 4, 2019

A capriciously disseminated newsletter written by a hemp-inspired quadriplegic jester who, like King Lear, impotently screams ineffective vitriol at the raging antediluvian squalls of societal indifference that violently smash the planet and callously destroy the things I love. I cry, defeated by a redoubtable sea of troubles as my siblings, whose pursuits of happiness do not coincide with the status quo, are mowed down by ignorant privilege while comfortably content indifference ignores the anguished cries of people's suffering simply because they don't look the same.
— SSTJazzVocalist

#Wheelchairistocracy #GroovicusMaximus @frangeladuo
Before We Begin

As you can see by the May 4th date on this edition of QuadTalk, I’ve been stalling. I was actually going to abandon its posting indefinitely because I have become, shamefully, too emotional about… things. However, I now recognize that I have, too often, allowed myself the indulgence to post from my all too aggressively emotive state, and what I mean by that is…

I initiate all writing projects from an emotional state. I do the same with singing; I imagine that it’s the same for every hemp-inspired jester. I am motivated by whatever has either pissed off or pleased my Muse, who intensively and, somehow, passively importunes me to write. Go. Do. Move. Put words on a blank canvas.


Anxiously, I laugh as I fill this hefty, blank
page with raging letters, covertly forming
words that spill through the warp and weft
of interwoven ink, staining the remaining
page with sound (soft or shrill)
and fury (frenetic or still)
that aesthetically wraps around
the nascent poetic paragraph.

December 14, 2008

My Muse calls, and I acquiesce like a kitten to catnip dipped in mouse juice. I write, and if I’m stoned… whoa, Nellie! You ought to read some of the shit I write when I’m stoned. Oh, you may think that you do… and you do do… but what my Muse allows you to read is, in fact, a bowdlerized version of its original emotionally abstruse first draft, and that’s just it. What I ultimately post has been watered down as much as the Chickasaw Lounge did its bar drinks back in the 80s. I revise my writings with the assiduous fastidiousness [I know it’s redundant… I’m stoned… and in the public library, which is so awesome…] of a child’s enthrallment in the machinations of a shiny black armored horny beetle.

The point is... or, say it with me, the point was supposed to be … that I write, initially, because my emotions override all other motivating forces, and that’s cool. It causes no direct harm; it’s when I revise and post the newsletter that I need my Intellect to be my stimulus… not my Emotion. And it has been increasingly more difficult to keep my emotions at bay, so I’m going to slow down. I’m thinking about taking a month off.

Besides, I’ve done what my Muse insisted: I’ve been trying since George W[ar Criminal] Bush to warn anyone who’d listen that the GOP has been using #SouthernStrategy since, at least Nixon's mendacious administration, to use a narcissistic and puerile interpretation of patriarchal authority to foment bigoted divisiveness among the voting population and emphatically increase the autonomy of mega businesses to ameliorate political influence that effectively regulates their hoarding illusory wealth at the expense of the entire population of the people, places, and things that even insignificantly delay this aggressive egregious accumulation of sparkly superfluity.

Additionally, I will be performing, with my friend Ted McVay, at the inaugural Opelika Songwriters Festival during the Memorial Day weekend and will be using the majority of my free time practicing. I’m not completely shutting down my writing; I am taking off a month to sing.

Ted and I share a synergetic vocal harmony for wonderful songs that Ted has written, folk-song-type compositions with lyrical creativity that spans the emotional gamut from the sadness of geriatric entropy to the giddiness of a demigoddesses’ dancing to music of celestial orchestration… and yodelling. Well, quasi-yodeling. Ridiculous but fun.

We’re scheduled to sing an hour both Friday and Saturday evening at the citywide public event that will be using a half dozen or so venues and will feature grammy-nominated songwriters, which is impressive to me. It features about 30 or so acts, so it sounds like a big deal. I don’t really know the songwriters’ community, but I expect that these cats are into their genre as I am with my jazz friends, so I look forward to extending my family to include this new group of music lovers.

I simply do not understand why anybody would want to shut out any other person simply because the other person is different, especially when the rejecter claims that she opposes, well… for whatever reason. Why would anyone want a whole bunch of crayons that are the same color? Sounds, to me, like the person who rejects somebody else’s pursuit of happiness does so because the accusing person is not secure enough in her own ability to reject possible temptation of the alternative pursuit of happiness, that the accuser’s ultimate rewards come with certain restrictions that may not deter the outsider from that same temptation that, if not for the restriction—often enforced through fear and guilt—the objector would enjoy… which ain’t fair… the objector thinks, if I can’t do that enjoyable yet morally or ethically questionable act than the other person can’t either… or shouldn’t… at least I’m sure that that is what my God wants me to think… even if it means to totally disregard the main codified guidelines of my moral restrictions… even if the other person’s moral guidelines do not forbid her from enjoying what my moral code disallows... I fear that I may too easily reject my guidelines and acquiesce to this very same temptation, so I need to prevent the other person from doing what I can’t…

but I digress…

One of my main challenges is finding an accessible stage. As previously delineated, the songwriters’ festival is a citywide event that will use about a half dozen venues. One of the venues is the Eighth and Rail lounge, which is the venue for a weekly jazz jam I frequently enjoy. It’s stage is inaccessible, but they accommodate me and my wheelchair with a cozy l’il spot in front of the stage, a single spotlight shining on a music stand and microphone between two speakers, which I dig. Regardless, Ted and I will get to share our sound with a sizable sample of society, which makes me happy for Ted. He really is a groovy songwriter.

I know. I really should be ashamed of myself for writing a too lengthy essay that is very simply, in reality, a promotion for my singing.

But I’m not.

Peace Through Music

P.S. - I wrote the included poem in December of ‘08. I had been fired in April and was feeling creative. This is about the time I must’ve been thinking about recording my CD of vocal jazz standards.


Welcome to QuadTalk. I am Rusty Taylor, a complete, level C-4 spinal cord injury who, for thirty-three years (and counting), has been unable to perform even the most rudimentary acts of daily living, and, as such, I am a victim of the nefarious for-profit healthcare system we, the citizens of the U.S.A., have callously ignored for too long. This will not be a media blitz of superfluity; I am a vitriolic antagonist against the status quo, so if you are naively looking for a feelgood story about a “poor li’l ol’ cripple boy” who done good against the odds, then I suggest you go find the Hallmark Channel and infuse your brain with enough endorphins to make you forget that separating children from their families is simply morally unconscionable or that a casual rapist majestically sits as Supreme Court judge. Otherwise, welcome...


This newsletter is inspired by my capricious Muse. Unfortunately, I alone am responsible for its content and dissemination. I have no proof-reader or editor nor do I have corporate sponsors to moderate my tone and style, so...

I alone am responsible for all the typos contained herein, and all I can do is promise to try not to make additional grievous errors. Please excuse an occasional rhetorical mistake. They are unintentional.

Another Story About My Brother, An Artist

My father Bob (not a member of the clergy... his joke), my brother Ricky, and I went down and set up a table to sell Ricky’s art on Broadway for our city’s Market Days on Broadway between 11 th and 12 th Street. (Ricky has made prints of some of his pen and ink drawings, pictures of castles, a picture of a succulent garden on Alcatraz, and a bunch of pictures with military themes... all places he’s been and seen).

According to their website:

Market Days on Broadway features over 200 local vendors selling homemade and homegrown products, including local and organic produce, home goods, jewelry, crafts and yummy baked goods. Actually, Ted, my singer/songwriter friend, and I have busked during past Market Days, and it’s really nice. In fact, one of my friends videoed one of our songs and posted it to facebook. In fact, I just checked... 6,499 views. Anyway, Market Days on Broadway is a really groovy social experiment.

[Warning: the following section details the geography of where I live. You may want to skip this section if this theme doesn’t interest you.]

Columbus, Georgia is the cultural and civic center of the Chattahoochee Valley where the Piedmont meets the Plains. According to wikipedia:

The Piedmont is a plateau region located in the Eastern United States. It sits between the Atlantic coastal plain and the main Appalachian Mountains, stretching from New Jersey in the north to central Alabama in the south. The Piedmont Province is a physiographic province of the larger Appalachian division which consists of the Gettysburg-Newark Lowlands, the Piedmont Upland and the Piedmont Lowlands sections... The name "Piedmont" comes from the French term for the same physical region, literally meaning "foothill", ultimately from Latin "pedemontium", meaning "at the foot of the mountains", similar to the name of the Italian region of Piedmont (Piemonte), abutting the Alps.


Plains are one of the major landforms on earth, where they are present on all continents, and would cover more than one-third of the world’s land area. Plains may have been formed from flowing lava, deposited by water, ice, wind, or formed by erosion by these agents from hills and mountains. Plains would generally be under the grassland (temperate or subtropical), steppe (semi-arid), savannah (tropical) or tundra (polar) biomes. In a few instances, deserts and rainforests can also be plains... Plains in many areas are important for agriculture because where the soils were deposited as sediments they may be deep and fertile, and the flatness facilitates mechanization of crop production; or because they support grasslands which provide good grazing for livestock.

Columbus is part of a three-city conglomerate with Phenix City, Alabama and Fort Benning, Georgia. Phenix City has an interesting history about which I could easily write lengthy and interesting essays (during my youth, Phenix City won the distinction of being labled the worst city in the U.S., but I am rather dubious about such a ridiculous statement, still... it has an interestingly nefarious history that includes General George Patton’s sending soldiers to the Chattahoochee River to retrieve some of his troops from the city’s jail), but I mainly mention this three-city conglomerate because Fort Benning, Georgia is the Home of the Infantry ; it is a very impressive military institution in the grandest sense of staid integrity. Many, many recruits make their ways through Fort Benning. (Major “Hot Lips” Hulihan once mentioned the base in an episode of MASH, which, for some reason, thrilled me as a kid.)

[OK. Any petraphobes can resume reading... starting now. Thanks for your patience.]

It’s a cool, early spring morning, the sun peers through high diaphanous clouds, a gentle breeze wafting through my hair. The event officially starts at 9, so there’s a sense of calm anticipation as three city blocks of entrepreneurs prepare for the familial assemblage of some generally nice folks. Unfortunately, the kiosk next to use sells miniature cupcakes that look delicious, so I will be about thirty pounds heavier by the end of the season... or dead from diabetes, but, again, they are really nice; I’m not sure what the woman sells on the other side of us because we are separated by a bench and tree but across from her, and athwart from us, an artist sells his wares, his art of celebrities on a wooden plaque, Jimi Hendricks, Marylin Monroe, Martin Luther King, etc. with accompanying aphorisms. He’s a nice dude, and it’s interesting to hear him and my brother talk about art.

The entire day is dreamy... people are passing by left to right, right to left; young families; children; dogs; and the general excitement feels, to me, like a more racially diverse Mayberry with all the lovable characters, again, with more dermal hues and cultural idiosyncracies, many of them bumping into one another as the quality of my brother’s artwork is arresting.

The real beauty of the day is watching my brother discuss his art to the young army personnel, telling them about the drawing he made of Sainte Mere Eglise, the first French town liberated from Nazi control by the Allied forces of the 82 nd and 101 st Airborne Divisions on June 5, 1944. The young men and women who are just beginning their military journeys... they simply drink in every word... as do I.

We only sell two pictures, but we get many compliments, and quite a few tell us that they will return during the season. My brother’s artwork is really good. Now, at least, my wonderful hometown of Columbus, Georgia, the Fountain City just below Coweta Falls, will understand just how much, and I’ll get to share this with my father and my brother.

Peace Through Music 

Tarnished Silver

I can’t believe it. I am only 55 years old, but I feel like my great-grandmother looked when she was an octogenarian and I was in my early 20s. She and my great gran’pa shared a section of my paternal grandmother’s house off of Sedgefield Drive. Their living area was an inferno to my youthful sensibilities, and even then, my gran’ma would wear a shawl and gran’pa would watch his baseball... The Atlanta Braves and the Chicago Cubs. (He was from Muncie, Indiana.) Point is... I feel comparably decrepit, and days like today remind me just how weak I am.

My father drove me to the weekly jazz jam at Eighth and Rail last night. The jazz jam features the Jane Drake Band and starts around 7ish, which isn’t too bad for a Tuesday night event, except that the venue is located in historic Opelika, Alabama, which is, for all intents and purposes, a suburb of Auburn, home of the world-class university. Opelika, Alabama is in the Central Time Zone, and I live about an hour away in the Eastern Time Zone; ergo, I don’t return home until after midnight; unfortunately, I had a bowel program last night. I shan’t go into any detail on account o’ it is a pretty shitty process, but I mention it only because it took away another hour or so from initiating my slumber. Additionally, the Jane Drake Band was on fire last night, and it took me longer to settle down. Point is that it took me a long time to actually fall asleep (did I mention that Jane Drake Band was on fire [1] ), but that’s all right; Dawn, my CNA, comes in later on Wednesdays.

Dawn was at my house at 7:30! One of her Hospice patients transitioned during the night, so she had to come early, and I know that you know that I ain’t gonna complain about that. I mean... I don’t believe in a hell of smoldering brimstone and sulfuric effluvium, but why even tempt it. Besides, my CNA is a special person whose stories are intriguing. With her permission, I will write about her life’s story in my inimitable style in upcoming essays, but I digress...

Cheryl, a very good friend of mine, passed away last November. It was right around Thanksgiving, right after I had suffered a very traumatic UTI, a time I was mentally preparing myself for my personal terrestrial termination. If not the nadir of my emotional oeuvre, this was pretty close to it. I remember thinking that I hadn’t heard from Cheryl in a while, and I was seriously thinking about calling her. She’d been fighting cancer for an eternity, and things weren’t going well for her. A few days prior, I called and she cut the call abruptly. Yes, she hid the fact that she was contortedly cognizant of her terrestrial temporality. She sounded weak... weaker than I had ever heard her, but she was still beaming... I felt her positive energy through the phone.

OK. I was still recovering from the UTI, and it was still kicking my ass only not as aggressively; I know first hand how important rest is to recovery, so I let her rest. Cheryl was a beautiful giving person who determinedly tried to love everyone she met. She was the very definition of living in the moment with each of her conscious moments. I really thought that she was going to pull through this bad spell. She was the strongest person I have ever met. She had many friends and family members, so my calling her would have added to an already stressful situation. Yet I sensed, deep within the most reclusive milieu of my psyche, that something was amiss, so... I wasn’t surprised when I found out that she died.

Should I have called?

I also went to the library today to use their computer; it is much better than mine, and the library community is pretty special, so... I am really, really tired, and I am going to bed. I am weak... my mind is stuttering, and I am, once again, feeling my temporality. I feel like I want to call people, but people are busy, so let me tell all you readers out there that I love you and appreciate your positive energy. I am going to bed early tonight, so if I wake up tomorrow, I will be well rested and feeling alive once again.

Good night.

Peace Through Music

[1] Since guitarist Taylor Pierce’s passing in November to trade licks with Charlie Christian, the Jane Drake Band is a trio with the eponymous lead vocalist (and former Auburn Knight member), keyboardist Coleman Woodson III (Colee… from Montgomery), and drummer Eric Buchanan (from Columbus, Georgia). Fortunately, the venue attracts a wonderful array of seriously talented musicians from the Chattahoochee Valley and beyond. On this particular night, saxophonist Sam Mitchell came from Montgomery and Burdette Becks III came from LaGrange, Georgia, and these cats were on fire last night; they were groovin’ off of and with each other in one of those magical musical phenomena that occur relatively frequently but in varying degrees of intensity ranging from a lover’s whisper to the raging storm of King Lear’s torment. This auricular thaumaturgy engorged the gamut of emotional and intellectual sensibilities of both listener and composer. It was one of those rare jazz jams when the venue collaborated with positive universal influences throughout most of the allotted three hours, an intense celebration of beauty that only took a dip when one of the local favorites initiated a straight blues tune, a local vocalist and crowd favorite who is wrestling with finding his voice, a very likable dude with considerable potential, the kind of guy I root for but can only help by encouraging him to continue to find his voice despite nights like last night when the outcome did not measure up to expectations, but I digress… point is that the jazz jam stoked my energy and I had a hard time falling asleep.

Peace and Love
Three Billboards
Attorney General—and personified image for an ingratiating porcine toady—William Bar (who may be the biological offspring of The Blob and Miss Piggy) seems to be receiving the vitriol from nearly all social media save Fox Pravda and other right-wing white-supremacy terrorist publications that apotheosize the most soul-wrenching patriarchal ineptitude available terrestrially, for, at very least, supporting a double standard, at worst, snuggling up to the Tea Party faction of the GOP that lusts for authoritarian control over governing at the cost of democracy. You know, the “do as I say not as I do” kind of hypocrisy that has squeezed the GOP since, at least, Nixon... the “Hillary Clinton can spend 11 hours testifying while Little Willie Barr can’t ‘cause the mean ol’ lawyers will disclose the fact that he is a soft spoken imbecile with the IQ of a salted slug and the moral dearth of Satan’s illegitimate children” justification that reminds me of Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri , when the character Mildred, played by Frances McDonagh, rages against the hypocrisy of the Catholic church:

Y’know what I was thinking about today? I was thinking ‘bout those street gangs they had down in Los Angeles, those Crips and those Bloods? I was thinking about that buncha new laws they came up with, in the 1980’s I think it was, to combat those street-gangs, those Crips and those Bloods. And, if I remember rightly, the gist of what those new laws were saying was if you join one of these gangs, and you're running with ‘em, and down the block one night, unbeknownst to you, one of your fellow Crips, or your fellow Bloods, shoot up a place, or stab a guy, well then, even though you didn’t know nothing about it, and even though you may’ve just been standing on a street corner minding your own business, what these new laws said was you’re still culpable. You’re still culpable, by the very act of joining those Crips, or those Bloods, in the first place. Which got me thinking, Father, that whole type of situation is kinda like your Church boys, ain’t it? You've got your collars, you’ve got your clubhouse, you’re, for want of a better word, a gang. And if you’re upstairs smoking a pipe and reading a bible while one of your fellow gang members is downstairs fucking an altar boy then, Father, just like those Crips, and just like those Bloods, you’re culpable. Cos you joined the gang, man. And I don’t care if you never did shit or you never saw shit or you never heard shit. You joined the gang. You’re culpable. And when a person is culpable to altar-boy-fucking, or any kinda boy-fucking, I know you guys didn’t really narrow that down, then they kinda forfeit the right to come into my house and say anything about me, or my life, or my daughter, or my billboards. So, why don’t you just finish your tea there, Father, and get the fuck outta my kitchen.

It also reminds me of Hillary Clinton’s op-ed about William Barr’s hypocrisy concerning the Mueller Report:

Our election was corrupted, our democracy assaulted, our sovereignty and security violated. This is the definitive conclusion of special counsel Robert S. Mueller’s report. It documents a serious crime against the American people.

The debate about how to respond to Russia’s “sweeping and systematic” attack — and how to hold President Trump accountable for obstructing the investigation and possibly breaking the law — has been reduced to a false choice: immediate impeachment or nothing. History suggests there’s a better way to think about the choices ahead.

Obviously, this is personal for me, and some may say I’m not the right messenger. But my perspective is not just that of a former candidate and target of the Russian plot. I am also a former senator and secretary of state who served during much of Vladi­mir Putin’s ascent, sat across the table from him and knows firsthand that he seeks to weaken our country.

I am also someone who, by a strange twist of fate, was a young staff attorney on the House Judiciary Committee’s Watergate impeachment inquiry in 1974, as well as first lady during the impeachment process that began in 1998. And I was a senator for New York after 9/11, when Congress had to respond to an attack on our country. Each of these experiences offers important lessons for how we should proceed today.

First, like in any time our nation is threatened, we have to remember that this is bigger than politics. What our country needs now is clear-eyed patriotism, not reflexive partisanship. Whether they like it or not, Republicans in Congress share the constitutional responsibility to protect the country. Mueller’s report leaves many unanswered questions — in part because of Attorney General William P. Barr’s redactions and obfuscations. But it is a road map. It’s up to members of both parties to see where that road map leads — to the eventual filing of articles of impeachment, or not. Either way, the nation’s interests will be best served by putting party and political considerations aside and being deliberate, fair and fearless.

Second, Congress should hold substantive hearings that build on the Mueller report and fill in its gaps, not jump straight to an up-or-down vote on impeachment. In 1998, the Republican-led House rushed to judgment. That was a mistake then and would be a mistake now.

Watergate offers a better precedent. Then, as now, there was an investigation that found evidence of corruption and a coverup. It was complemented by public hearings conducted by a Senate select committee, which insisted that executive privilege could not be used to shield criminal conduct and compelled White House aides to testify. The televised hearings added to the factual record and, crucially, helped the public understand the facts in a way that no dense legal report could. Similar hearings with Mueller, former White House counsel Donald McGahn and other key witnesses could do the same today.

During Watergate, the House Judiciary Committee also began a formal impeachment inquiry that was led by John Doar, a widely respected former Justice Department official and hero of the civil rights struggle. He was determined to run a process that the public and history would judge as fair and thorough, no matter the outcome. If today’s House proceeds to an impeachment inquiry, I hope it will find someone as distinguished and principled as Doar to lead it.

Third, Congress can’t forget that the issue today is not just the president’s possible obstruction of justice — it’s also our national security. After 9/11, Congress established an independent, bipartisan commission to recommend steps that would help guard against future attacks. We need a similar commission today to help protect our elections. This is necessary because the president of the United States has proved himself unwilling to defend our nation from a clear and present danger. It was just reported that Trump’s recently departed secretary of homeland security tried to prioritize election security because of concerns about continued interference in 2020 and was told by the acting White House chief of staff not to bring it up in front of the president. This is the latest example of an administration that refuses to take even the most minimal, common-sense steps to prevent future attacks and counter ongoing threats to our nation.

Fourth, while House Democrats pursue these efforts, they also should stay focused on the sensible agenda that voters demanded in the midterms, from protecting health care to investing in infrastructure. During Watergate, Congress passed major legislation such as the War Powers Act, the Endangered Species Act and the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1973. For today’s Democrats, it’s not only possible to move forward on multiple fronts at the same time, it’s essential. The House has already passed sweeping reforms that would strengthen voting rights and crack down on corruption, and now is the time for Democrats to keep their foot on the gas and put pressure on the do-nothing Senate. It’s critical to remind the American people that Democrats are in the solutions business and can walk and chew gum at the same time.

We have to get this right. The Mueller report isn’t just a reckoning about our recent history; it’s also a warning about the future. Unless checked, the Russians will interfere again in 2020, and possibly other adversaries, such as China or North Korea, will as well. This is an urgent threat. Nobody but Americans should be able to decide America’s future. And, unless he’s held accountable, the president may show even more disregard for the laws of the land and the obligations of his office. He will likely redouble his efforts to advance Putin’s agenda, including rolling back sanctions, weakening NATO and undermining the European Union.

Of all the lessons from our history, the one that’s most important may be that each of us has a vital role to play as citizens. A crime was committed against all Americans, and all Americans should demand action and accountability. Our founders envisioned the danger we face today and designed a system to meet it. Now it’s up to us to prove the wisdom of our Constitution, the resilience of our democracy and the strength of our nation.

Peace Through Music

It Ain't Jazz, But...

Opelika Songwriters Festival
May 24-26, 2019
It ain't jazz, but singer/songwriter Ted McVay and I (featured in the video above... my mother is sitting between us) will be singing for the upcoming Opelika Songwriters Festival. What is the Opelika Songwriters Festival, you ask? Well, according to the website of the Auburn/Opelika's board of tourism...

The Opelika Songwriters Festival, a new annual event based in Opelika, Alabama, will entertain music fans at its inaugural celebration over Memorial Day Weekend (May 24-26, 2019) at multiple venues in the town's historic downtown. Rob and Jen Slocumb, a.k.a. Martha's Trouble (a husband-and-wife folk/rock duo and owners of Opelika recording studio/event center The Sound Wall) are bringing the new festival to life. The Opelika Songwriters Festival is a co-production of The Sound Wall and The Arts Association of East Alabama. Confirmed sponsors include the City of Opelika, Auburn Opelika Tourism, and Sundilla Concert Series, and proceeds from the festival go to benefit The Arts Association of East Alabama. Attendees from across the Southeast and further afield are expected to gather for this very special event.

More than 30 singer-songwriters will make up the roster of performers, from local acts to internationally touring artists, including Grammy Award-winner Dan Navarro, Kate Campbell, Harpeth Rising, and many more. 

The festival will take place in Downtown Opelika at more than nine venues, including John Emerald Distillery, Sneak & Dawdle, Irish Bred Pub, Eighth & Rail, Ma Fia's Outdoor Patio, The Depot Outdoor Stage, Zazu Gastro Pub, and Studio 319 - Festival Merch Hub.

I ain't braggin' (yes I am), but Ted and I share a special, synergetic harmony that'll transcend music-genre stereotypes and touch the souls of listeners who are passionate about music . Additionally, Ted's lyrical wit and compassionate tone encourages the active listener to experience the gamut of emotions from heart-wrenching sorrow to riotous laughter and... yodeling. For more info, click here .
Dr. David Banks is the current president of the Columbus Jazz Society that has been extant since 1977. If you'd like to receive an email containing area jazz events, send him an email, and get added to his distribution list by clicking here .

Interesting Free Podcasts

Shameless Solicitation

It’s time. I need money to pay for someone to help me because I’m wearing out my family. I’m hoping to solicit enough money to overpay someone to help me throughout the day and night for a weekend... or longer; my septuagenarian parents need a break. Please read my story, and if you can, donate a few bucks. If a bunch of folks give just a little, I can stay home; otherwise, I will consider going into a nursing home. I am tired of being a burden on my family. If you are unable to donate, your support will be just as appreciated. Thank you very much.

Read my story...
...or you can buy my CD of jazz Vocals


To enhance the Quality of Life of People with Disabilities and the Under-served by Creating Music and Arts opportunities for Employment and Enjoyment!