Tell the folks back home this is the promised land calling…
“Los angeles give me norfolk virginia,
Tidewater four ten o nine
Tell the folks back home this is the promised land callin’
And the poor boy’s on the line”
- Chuck Berry’s “Promised Land”
I live that song. Actually, I love that song as sung by Johnnie Allan. I found myself singing it as we “taxied to the terminal gate” when my London to Boston flight landed yesterday. I am back in town for work next week in NYC and Boston. I front-ended the trip with a bit of fun, too.
This is only my third trip back to the US in five and a half years. All three of these trips have taken place in the last eight months. It is feels good to come back, especially to a city you have a history with. History, and the past, can be cool so long as you don’t live in it. I don’t, so revisiting it every now and then is a treat.
I’m staying in Harvard Square at the Harvard Square Hotel. It smack-dab in the action here in Cambridge. It was a hot summer evening and the vibe was relaxed, but Alive. People were out and about and I joined them. As I walked out the door I has Stevie Ray’s version of “Things That I used to Do” playing in my mind’s juke box. Yeah, I knew the plan without thinking about it: record shop, sushi and live music.
I stopped into a record joint I used to frequent, Planet Records. I flipped through the vinyl for about a half an hour. EVERYTHING looked good…all my “friends” were there. I wanted to take them all back to London with me. I settled on three choice pieces of the black gold: The Best of Clarence Carter, Jimmy Reed’s “Big Boss Man” and, this I felt was a must seeing as to where I am right now, J.Geils, “The Morning After”. That J.Geils album is my fave of theirs. It may have one of the all-time moovin’ and groovin’est Side 2′s of all time (yes, remember that records have a side 2).
I took my prized purchases to the nearby sushi bar and settled in for a heaping helping of sashimi and sake. This is where my plan got changed…and for good reason. I was halfway through with my meal when I got a message from an old friend. He was at the Red Sox game with more mutual friends and their wives. I made doubled time with my chopsticks and then hopped a cab to Fenway Park.
Like I said, it is great to dip back into the high-waters of the past…even better when it is a serendipitous exercise. We drank beers, slapped backs and traded stories for a few hours until they had to head back to Rhode Island. I headed back to my room at in Harvard, but not before I stopped in to a local haunt, “Charlie’s Kitchen“. My friend George told me that they have an excellent juke box on the second floor. I couldn’t resist checking out. George knows his shit, especially when it comes to local Boston and music. Hey George, you were right.
I played a mix of well-heeled classics and not-oft-heard nuggets, “You Got the Silver” and “Every Picture tells a Story” representing the former and Link Wray’s, “Chicken Run” and the MC5′s, “Kick out the Jams” representing the latter.
By this time, by London time, I had been up for over 24 hours. I was tired, but this was good process to grab the jet-lag by the short and curlies. I woke up at 11:30am today feeling ready to rip. I’m jumping a bus to Nashua, NH to see some old friends and then on to the Acton Jazz Cafe in Acton, MA. Tonight Peter Parcek is going to shoot bolts of lightening from his fingertips and I want to be there to see it.
_____
As I write this I am looking out my window in my Harvard Square hotel room. I couldn’t help but think of lyrics from Bob Dylan’s, “Blind Willie McTell”
I”m gazing out the window of the St. James Hotel
And know no one can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell
I had to alter them a bit:
I”m gazing out the window of the Harvard Square Hotel
And know no one can play the blues
Like peter Parcek, my old blues pal
