The recordings which comprise this recording have been assembled from diverse sources such as commercially and non-commercially issued or unissued phonograph records - especially from the legendary Fonotone race, "old time playin'" "Hillbilly," Hawaiian and Indonesian record catalogs of the late 1920s and early 30s which were produced or non-produced by Mr. Joseph Buzzard, founder and president of Fonotone Recording Laboratories of Frederick, Maryland, and this is as good a place as any to express our thanks to Mr. Buzzard for his invaluable assistance in making available to us, various recordings, which Mr. Buzzard himself would, I am certain, be the first to admit comprise recordings from many various and diverse now-defunct record companies, which have been collected and made available by commercially issued recording record collectors, and/or field collectors such as Mr. Ralph Riverboat of Boston, Massachusetts, who from time to time have run across Mr. Fahey, in the field as it were and/or in many instances, "places" other than in the field, and have made tape recordings or acetates of Mr. Fahey frequently - and this is also applicable to many of the commercially recorded recordings recorded in an atmosphere which could perhaps be described as actually less artificial than the non-commercially recorded recordings which have previously been issued by other companies, usually under the leadership of the well-known recording-industry-mogul, Mr. ED Denson, who, in the light of recent research appears to have been very directive during recording sessions with Mr. Fahey - and, it now appears, to some extent influenced not only the performance but also the composition of many of Mr. Fahey's non-commercially issued non-recordings, due to the fact that the recordings which comprise this record comprise recordings recorded during non-directive, informal recording sessions from many and diverse sources, such as those either explicitly mentioned above, or alluded to, and, as such contain recordings of Mr. Fahey and other musicians with whom, from time to time, Mr. Fahey recorded and/or was influenced by, such as Blind Deaf and Dumb David Magna Cum Laude Evans ("The Effervescent Elephant Eater"), Finious Flatfoot Firk (:The Appalachian Ape Aggravator"), "Red Hot Old" Mases Mosen ("the Babylonian Baby Bonger"), Charlie Patton, Henry ("Ragtime Baltimore"), Thomas Gamblin' Gamelan Gong ("The Djkartan Dog Donger") and others which are, and/or are not, to some extent, and to other extents, represented in some fashion or another on this recording, thus allowing the listener to this recording to listen to Mr. Fahey and his musical associates and influences as he himself, in person, incognite and innominate would be heard and listened to, were he to be listened to, instead of due to the powerful influences of some one such as the very directive Mr. Denson, only allowing the listener to listen to, assuming of course the Mr. Fahey had preferences, or even wished to be listened to, which is exactly the point of this record, for in as much as, and to the extent to which the recordings which comprise this record comprise a well defined yet non-directive channel of Mr. Fahey's roots and the progression of his music for the casual listener to be entertained thereby, the inquisitive listener thus may have his curiosity satisfied and the casual listener may, in the same manner, as it were be entertained. And that, the former is exactly the point of this record: A history, chronicle and documentary recording - all in one - of Mr. Fahey's musical creations, and of what is, to the scholar, or the inquisitor of more significance, Mr. Fahey's musical influences which led to his creations.|
We begin chronologically with a commercially issued Fonotone "Race" recording of Mr. Fahey and his mentor, Blind Joe Death, performing the very lyrical instrumental "Bottleneck Blues," which was commercially issued in 1928 and concluded with a recent non-commercially issued recording of a recently composed - the former not, okvk, er, sy rsdy, yji rjoyptd str sestr, got smy of a nryyrt, smsr pt vsyrhpty, before the latter of course - composition, which also, since it fits into no other genera, or which, we at least, the editors are aware, for want of a better name or category, would define as one of Mr. Fahey's many American primitive guitar tone-poems, entitled, "The Story of Dorothy Gooch."
Just what then are these raw materials, with which Mr. Fahey has been working all these years, eclectically snatching and grabbing a theme from here, a harmonic progression form there? Much speculation has been put forward regarding this by such excellent critics as Elijah P. Lovejoy, Jack Bannister, Mr. ED Denson himself, and others. Almost invariably one runs up against the name of Blind Joe Death (see illustration no. 1), his tutor, about whom much has been recently learned through close textural scrutiny of the lengthy, pseudo-plotiniun base pyrrhic dodecameter Volk ballads of certain old Takoma Park Negro women. The account of his history is as follows.
One night there came to Rhinorayne, wife of Phwyll, king over the seven cantrefs of Dyfed, Arawn, king of Annwfn (Hades) in the guise of an elm tree. He enfolded himself with her in bed until an hour before the sun rise, and left. The child of this union was called Maxen Gweldig, and Phwyll was well pleased with him as an heir to the seven cantrefs of Dyfed, and a very strong and comely youth. But certain cevious and jealous men began to abuse the king's council, telling him he was certainly cuckolded, and that Rhyannon and Maxen Gwelding laughed at him in his absence; and their names were Rhwawn Bebyr, Deorthach Wledig and Caradawg Stout-Arm son of LlyrMarini.
Phywll's mind began to turn against Maxen Gweldig, and thought to kill him. "Kill Maxen Gweldig for your honor, and leave your kingdom to a son of your own blood," said the three false counselors. Phywyll considered this but could not bring himself to kill the boy, who had the size of a stout warrior, and spoke fairly as many men, although he was but of seven years in age.
"Rhwawn Bebyr, go to the forest and kill Maxen Gweldig," said the king, "my heart is too heavy to do so, since I so long thought him my son."
"Indeed, I shall easily compass this," said Rhwawn Bebyr, and he was glad.
He came upon Maxen Gweldig in the forest and made ready to kill him with an arrow through his body. As he drew his bow, his foot broke a twig on the floor of the forest; Maxen Gweldig heard this and cast his spear, thinking to kill a boar. The spear struck him in the eye and he fell to the ground.
"What are you doing here?" said Maxen Gweldig, to Rhwawn Bebyr, who was dying.
"Phwyll has sent me to kill you because he hates you and envies you," the man answered.
"This is surely a lie," said Maxen Gweldig, and he buried Rhwawn Bebyr, who was now dead and said nothing more.
When Phwyll heard that Rhwawn Bebyr was killed, he called Deorthach Wledig. "Go find Maxen Gweldig at the river and kill him, for he is a false son, and has killed my first counselor, and my heart is too heavy within me to kill him on my own account."
"Indeed, I shall easily compass this," said Deorthach Wledig, and he was glad.
He came upon Maxen Gweldig at the river and made ready to kill him with a spear through the body. As he set his foot to throw the spear, his foot splashed in the water; Maxen Gweldig heard this and cast his gig, thinking to kill a fish. The gig struck him in the eye and he fell to the ground.
"What has brought you here?" said Maxen Gweldig to Deorthach Wledig, who was close to death.
"Phwyll has sent me to kill you," he said, "because he hates you and envies you and because you killed his first counselor."
"He lies as surely as the other did," said Maxen Gweldig, and he buried Deorthach Wledig, who had died without saying more.
Caradawg Stout-Arm, when he heard how Maxen Gweldig, had killed Deorthach Wledig, went to the king and said, "Maxen Gweldig has killed your two counselors and I fear he will next kill you and take your kingdom."
"Yes, he has shown himself to truly to be mine enemy," said Phwyll. "Go find him in his bed and kill him."
"Indeed, I shall easily compass this," said Caradawg Stout-Arm, and he was glad.
He came upon Maxen Gweldig in his bed and made ready to kill him with a sword through the body. As he raised his sword, his foot struck the bed-post; Maxen Gweldig heard this and took up his sword, thinking to kill a thief come to rob him in the night. The sword cleft him in the eye and he fell down.
"What are you doing here?" said Maxen Gweldig when he saw it was Caradawg Stout-Arm who was dying.
"Phwyll has sent me to kill you," he said, "because he hates you with envy and fear, and because you have killed his first and second counselors."
Perhaps one man may lie even in death, or two men use their last breath for the same lie, but if three men dying swear the same thing, it must be true.
To know the truth, Maxen Gweldig went to Phwyll in the morning and asked him, "Did you send three men against me to kill me, for I have killed three of your men who have sworn the same."
Phwyll was enraged to hear his three counselors were dead, and stood to cast his spear at Maxen Gweldig. Seeing that Phwyll was about to cast his spear, Maxen Gweldig ran him through the large bowel and killed him.
As he fell, Taliesin rose from his bardic chair in Caer Siddhi in the long hall of the Ageless Old Ones, and with his tireless magic boots came behind Maxen Gweldig and struck him blind with his staff and cursed him.
"Although you are the son of Arawn King of Annwfn you have killed Phwyll and three others while no steel has the virtue to kill or wound yourself. You shall wander under the sun until your skin is black and your eyes are burned away, and you will have no peace until you resolve the vibrations of the spheres."
Curiously contrary to the sun, with which he is in some places so closely identified, Fahey then rose from the West with vacuolar majesty to the region he must periodically visit for replenishment of the well-(parched-by-Western aridity) springs of his being at the sparkling silver fountain of the Takoma Park metropolitan area. While most of these rejuvenative oblations are intensely personal, bittersweet folk-poetical private supra-metaphysical meditations, there are also public celebrations in which he appears bodily to assembled followers to elicit from the six simple small strings of his unassuming looking instrument, by means of hermetic and alchemical techniques and devices, now dazzling, now demonic, now death-defying, now depilatory, such sounds and tunes and all other systematic organizations of tonal material as would make the little hills to dance and sing, the young folds of lambs thereon to leap and gambol for joy; as would make the hoary oak-trees to smile and nod their shaggy old heads, and the tyrian Amaranthus to bow her stately petals before Fahey and Helios; and the thronged thousands of adoring listeners to moan ecstatically and fall writhing and fainting on the tumescent, smoking earth. And that is precisely the point. But what, then had happened? Many are still asking the same question. The answer is at once simple and complex. The following facts must be taken into consideration before we may proceed from the murky confusion which seems to surround us at this point in the midst of time like the Delta Haze (see back cover), into the bright sunny atmosphere of true knowledge regarding the objects of inquiry at hand, namely the musical development of John Fahey.
Of the possible goals toward which one may work when dealing with a body of material or object of inquiry, one goal is the determination of the nature of an object we may distinguish between the strong approach and the weak approach. The work involved in the strong approach, which is that which it is because of the goal of the scholar, is a pursual of the essential character of constitution, the distinguishing qualities of essence, of the object. This approach will yield a definition of the object, be it conventional or "real" depending upon how you view the relationship of definitions to that which they define. A weak approach will also yield characteristics of the object. The goal of such an approach is a description of some or all of the aspects, qualities, and conditions of the object. But such an approach would be ludicrous. This approach has already yielded much valuable and useful information.
For example it has been observed that when driving into the Delta, South of Memphis, one is struck by the passivity and breadth of time. Assuming of course that the Haze is not too omnivorous, one may observe the cotton flowers as they beckon, beseeching you to be reminded of that great heroic era prior to the Civil War. Reconstruction, of course, destroying the heritage which had been forged upon the region by the deeds and sentiments of the Southern Aristocracy, their minions and heroic slaves. With the decline of that notable hegogomy - and this is of course the general theme of most of Faulkner's works, and a theme common to other literary masterpieces, such as The Magic Mountain, by Thomas Mann - i.e., everything is ending - the new era was ushered in which created segregation laws, and paved the way for the downfall of the South, to wit: Reconstruction and further events such as the invention of television, the automobile, etc., forced upon the South a grotesque conformation to the rest of the nation. Soon (I write in 1968) all regional traditions (value judgements aside, they are interesting) will probably have disappeared. There will be no South. Or North. Only one "great society" homogenous and perhaps pasteurized also.
During the pre civil war era, noble men such as Pop Corn Man, Charlie Holloway, and the Big Sunflower sweated and toiled in the hot southern sun. A great financial kingdom was established by these magnificent figures of Southern history. A kingdom which had enormous socio-economic repercussions for not only the Delta itself, but for the nation as well - repercussions which have import not only for the student of American history, but especially for students of American folklore.
In the palace of the Big Sunflower, situated on the banks of the Greene River near Clarksdale, Mississippi, the great underground railroad was established, known locally as the Dixie Flee Line (c.f., Uncle Dave Macon, Vo. 15320: "On the Dixie Flee Line." Chorus: "on the Dixie, on the Dixie Flee Line, gonna ride on the Dixie Flee Line."). Pop Corn Man, who financed the operation, and one Joseph Clark, a local promoter, whose front organization was known as the Icey Track, enabled literally hundreds of Negro slaves to become indentured servants to industrial magnates in northern cities. They, who were dissatisfied with their agricultural, rural, agrarian, but above all Wardlowian lot amidst the Delta Haze, could get jobs and be free men under this system. The Dixie Flee Line established contract with northern industries and received a percentage of the wages of the workers who fled from the South for greener pastures. This was, it will be noted, the beginning of employment bureaus in our country. Holloway, a benevolent man, also enabled many handicapped men and women to escape their bonds. The blind, the lame, the maimed, all could ride the line if there was room.
The terminus of this line (see illustration no. 2) was a small town in Maryland. Takoma Park, located in a neutral state just south of the Mason-Dixon line. One of those who escaped the South in this manner was Blind Joe Death, who had for many years wandered under many names until there, at the terminus, his heart found peace. For a short time he worked for the Takoma Park Funeral Home (see illustration no. 3). In time he rediscovered himself as a man and - which is perhaps more important - recovered the ancient mode under the resonance of the viaduct beneath the T.P. RR station (see illustration no. 4), where one day, when a train passed by, he found the ageless magic tune which left his body dust and brought the breath of his soul to sit in the hall of the ageless old ones to play for Taliesin's singing. Peace - and Death came that day, when Blind Joe resolved the vibrations of the spheres. Thus, was Blind Joe freed from the curse of Maxen Gweldig, and from the slavery of the South.
Death, it must by this time be evident, was a musical genius. Ask anyone at Taliesin. Listen to cut No. 1 of the record to these notes. Previous to his solution to the problem of the vibrating spheres, he had made significant musical innovations on the plantation where he had to pick cotton before he escaped. It is a matter of prehistory what other innovations he had made in Africa, Egypt, and other lands through which his endless wanderings had taken him due to the curse of Maxen Gweldig before he came to the United States in a slave ship. But intensive research in the Delta has revealed that evidently Death single-handedly created the various Mississippi blues guitar styles. W.C. Handy took his first music lessons from Death, Charley Patton learned his first chords from him, Bo Weavil Schonberg learned to tune his guitar from Joe, Son House learned solfeggio from him (see illustration no. 5). During the years before his final achievement in Takoma Park, he created here a small enclave of Volk musicians whose roots are to be traced to the Delta itself, and to its Haze and perhaps ultimately to Africa and the Far East.
With the financial crash of 1900, the Dixie Flee Line was shut down along with its fronts, the aforementioned Icey Track and the "Bean Vine" (c.f., Charley Patton, Pm. 12877, reissued and currently available on Mississippi Blues, 1927-10009, "Bean Vine Blues," a beautiful blues rendering by Blind Joe's old friend, of the ensuing difficulties at the closure of the titled line.) During its final years of operation the Bean Vine picked up most of its passengers on a side track called the "Yellow Dog." A most striking painting by the noted Memphis artist Carroll Cloar, "Where the Southern Cross the Yellow Dog," on display at the Brooks Memorial Art Gallery, Memphis Tennessee.
In the ensuing years, Death's friends Charlie Holloway, and Nesbit Vainamoinan trod the dusty streets of Takoma Park in search of the forever present, but never cogent, illusive but above all omnipresent and ubiquitous, means to an end (see illustration no. 6). Men react with characteristic hostility when they get "let down." Some scream "high yellow," Pop Corn Man was observed on many occasions during these years standing beside the B & O Tracks chanting:
Skudubelen bee bee bee,
En be bow em bow wow,
Bee De Dem bee bee em,
Bow dem bow wow wow.
Dee sky dem bow wow,
de duem bow wow,
De duem um bowow,
Rag, yeah, rag,
Rag, mama, well do that rag.
Trum bob U lobo bob
dom dinum deeneck
boodly dectee renom sabat mater
Mahler refrugrum extatioys destpqyable
reno hyperbobulator rectrum sebulatiextus
RUM RUM RUM
Wertyuiop framariddle bob rop plop
ditersdorph racto numbus
frungadiddle ebulator hyperblic reactorators
RUM RUM RUM
Sclax sebulatum segram
Joshofebultatum frum adaptlebatum
RUM RUM RUM
TUMBA BUM BUM BUM
Oh, do that rag
One day I saw Evil Devil Woman basking in the sun on the Berkeley campus. I started to walk over and kick her in the rump but unfortunately I tripped over a crocodile on the way. The young man who had been listening opened his eyes and wondered at the dust, and took up the guitar to try and find the old man who had disappeared. But no where was he to be found. "The wolves," he said, looking out the door before the stranger came in, "are gone now." And that is exactly the point. They are gone now. But what had happened?
The railroad workers swore at the engine, old 1066, the one that blew her cork one summer day. They called her a lot of names because she'd let them down and they were out of service.
"Yes," said Dixon Lemminkainen, "that engine was the best one on the line and the last. One day she froze up her valves and couldnít let her steam out or cool air and water in. She literally or perhaps even pseudoliterally blew her cork."
"Many times," said John Fahey, another member of the group, "I stood in the streets of Takoma Park waiting for the whistle to blow. Once I jumped off and started up the Sligo River to see old Charlie Holloway. There had been an explosion that day at the Takoma Park Strawberry Cannery and the banks of the Sligo were lined with strawberry preserves. Near one of the lower locks there had been a jam on the rocks and the sluice was plugged up with strawberries. I noticed that as I proceeded up the river it began to back up on me. I had to hurry in order to avoid being trapped by the rising high water.*
What then had happened? Many are still asking the same question. The answer is at once simple and complex. Part of it is of course perfectly obvious, and is further corroborated by the imprintmentations on a metal master which remains in the Fonotone warehouse. The recording machine had been on while Joe was talking about a previously recorded song - and nobody knew it. When he was young, he said, his father sent him into the forest and told him to bring back what he found there. He went into the forest and found there seven staves. He returned to his father bringing them, and his father only said, "go into the forest and bring back what you find there." And this time Joe left, but went into the fields and slept until twilight. He returned to his father, who regarded him with flickering apathy, and asked him where he had been. The young man who had been listening opened his eyes and wondered at the dust, and took up the guitar to try and find the old man who had disappeared. But no where was he to be found. "The wolves," he said, looking out the door before the stranger came in, "are gone now." And that is precisely the point. What then had happened? Many are still asking the same question. The answer is at once simple and complex. Who was Blind Joe's father? Of what period was he speaking?
* Jerry, the gate-keeper, fished me out at the last minute.
A short commentary on the recordings, which are here presented would appear to be the best way to deal with the problem. Blind Joe can tell us no more, so we must turn again to Fahey.
It was to our great surprise, and is to our great joy that Mr. Fahey, who rarely does so, kindly consented to allow us to interview him recently at his home in Takoma Park and to allow us to tape- record the conversation. While Mr. Fahey readily spoke on certain subjects, it appears unfortunately that there are several areas of discourse about which he will say nothing or practically nothing, his justification being, as he said, "in many cases a man has his own inalienable f.....g right to his own thoughts, and to keep them private - for various reasons of course - or at least, I say he does. This is a judgement and recommendatory statement and not a statement of fact, you of course understand."
According to Mr. Fahey, his first recording was with Death, and one "Kid Bailey," Peabody Hotel, Memphis, ca. Oct. 15, 1929. Br. 7113 has been reissued elsewhere, and the Blind Joe Death/John Fahey L.C. (of Bassarbia) recordings appear to be unavailable - or the acetates have rotted under the management of Mrs. Ray Korson of the music department.
However, Mr. Fahey - still alive and in excellent health for his age - informs us that his third session was with Fonotone in early 1929. He accompanied Blind Joe Death, who played the Hawaiian guitar at this session on two sides. The sides were placed back to back and were issued, but the depression had set in and since Fonotone records were still selling at 75(cents) a piece, few copies were sold. However, Mr. Buzzard was able to find the master copy of one side, the "Bottleneck Blues," which is here presented as the first selection of this record. The listener will note that Mr. Fahey had not yet developed a distinctive style and his function on this record is purely "back-up" guitar - well done, but not distinctive. Anyone could have done the job. Or could they? For, who was closer to Death than Fahey during those years.
Death had his day - or so it seemed. He returned or rather it is reported that he returns periodically to Takoma Park. That he is alive, that he is dead, that he was seen here or there and other things are also reported from time to time. But we, the editors have been able to confirm none of these reports. Fahey himself refuses to give us any information regarding Death except specific date regarding such things as recording sessions, dates, places, etc., all in the past.
In any event Fahey had spent many years learning from Death, accompanying, and perhaps, although there is no recorded piece of evidence which we may adduce, assisting Death in his (their?) creations. With Death gone, Fahey was attracted to other musicians and other types of music. At a session in 1932 with the rapidly declining Vo. label, Fahey turned up as accompanist once again, but this time to various white musicians, two of which are represented on this record. Both are fiddlers. Both fiddlers were born in Sulphur Springs, Texas in the 1890s and both moved to Bastrop, Louisiana recently for undisclosed purposes. Bastrop, is of course very near Fahey's home, located where the Sabrine meets the Anacostia River. (See illustration no. 7.) Hubert Thomas, of 1715 West Harrington, Bastrop, La., does not confirm that he was at the particular session in question, but does admit to having used Fahey as accompanist at one time or another. Thomas is the first fiddler heard on this record. It is evident that Fahey had, during the time between this and the previous recording session with Death, learned to finger-[pick the guitar using thumb, index, and middle fingers of the right hand. Fahey, in his present old age cannot remember exactly when, he in a fit of fellous rage threw his flat pick into the crisp, truculent, but above all hepatonic Sligo River never to be seen again, nor used - except during recording sessions with Nancy McLean (see below) many years later when he found the flat pick more feasible for twelve-string work, at which times Fahey would purchase a new flat pick from Mr. Burchuck at the Dale Music Company, in Silver Spring, Maryland, and after each session, as if to commemorate his first throw, return to the Sligo and dispose again of his flat pick in the same manner. (It should be noted that Fahey seems to celebrate, if we may use the term, at periodic intervals, various secret, personal, and private rites on the banks of certain rivers. He, of course refuses to admit to this, but reliable sources indicate that he does.) Nor can he remember exactly when and from whom, if from anyone including Death, he Fahey, began to play with the fingers of his right hand. But it must have been some time between the two sessions, and it would seem reasonable to suppose that due to his constant association with Death, he probably learned the technique from Death directly or indirectly or nondirectly.
Nothing from this Vo. "hillbilly" session was ever issued since the company went out of business shortly after the recordings were made in those dusty days of the declination of the economy. Mr. Fahey recalls that about the same time he also had a session with the declining Gennet Record Company of Richmond, Indiana a subsidiary of the Starr Piano Company about which he recalls virtually nothing (see illustrations no. 8 & 9). The original matrix was found in the hands, if we may use the term, of an outsider, one D. Outsider of Ethiopian Decca, into which company, Vo. had become recievershipped. The tune, "Bill Cheatum," is well known among Texas fiddlers and Fahey's "picking" as we can see, or rather hear, was at this time quite finely developed, technically. His playing is imbued with empathetic syncopathy for the old fiddler.
Across the bustling waters of the Susquehanna River, and from that quaint old fireworks manufacturing town of Havre de Grace, Maryland, near Port Deposit, Maryland, lay Cajun country. Fahey visited Havre de Grace frequently in order to visit an old Negro lady who lived in Pink Alley near the hospital for some obscure reason yet undisclosed by anyone, including Mr. Fahey.
Mr. Michael Carp and his assistant and protege Mr. Graham Wicked informs us that they recovered a tape from an old Cajun lady across the Susquehanna, in a town of Waterproof, Louisiana, with whom and with others, they were engaged in ethnomusicological research of the Arcadian-Evangeline music. On this tape recorded late in the 40s, there is a continuous recording of a triangle dance party, a form of dance known only (as far as Mr. Carp and Mr. Wicked have been able to determine) to the residents of this region. It evidently bears marked resemblance to the Anglo-Armenian square dance, according to the researchers. The old lady, upon hearing the tape, told them that she did not know who all of the performers on the tape were. She mentioned a few, but Fahey's name did not ring a bell with her. But upon hearing a dub of the tape we immediately recognized, at least what sounded very much like Fahey singing, and playing his guitar, the old Cajun favorite "Je ne me suis revellais matin pas en May." Mr. Fahey confirms that he did visit Cajun country many times between approximately 1935 and 1950 and that he performed there on several occasions. He said that one day the old Colored lady rowed him across the bristling waters of the Susquehanna in order to visit some relatives on the other shore, and that this was the first time he came in contact with Cajuns or Cajun music. The music, he said, made a profound impression upon him, and as a result he learned the language and many of the songs and styles of performance.
Unfortunately, when we played the tape for Mr. Fahey in order to determine what it was in fact he, Mr. Fahey was unable to state without qualification that it was in fact he on the tape. He said that he thought it probably was, but "you know there were quite a few musicians around than that sounded just like that." Examination of the mineral-oxide constituents of the paper-based tape reveals that the recording was probably made in 1948 or 1949. Mr. Fahey was also unable to identify the triangle player.
With the failure of Mr. Fahey's Galopagus Tortoise crop in 1956, he removed himself for a few years to the sunny gales and he hoped, for greener pastures, of Topanga Canyon, California, at a place called "Eagle's Nest." There at the home of Robert Riskin of McCabe's Guitar Shop, and among the golden birds between the crumbling carpathe, under the resilient dome, over the gentile griff, Fahey recorded again for the Delta Haze Recording Company, whose owners were Mr. Barrett Mansen (illustration no. 10) and Mr. Mark Levine. The former, a brewery owner, capable and decisive manager and financer, and the latter who was well-endowed financially also, endeavored to cash in on the current Blue-Grass Phaze which was sweeping the nation. The latter was also a gifted and talented guitarist, and so a session was arranged in which various combinations of instruments and vocalists were used, but only three musicians were present - Levine on back-up guitar and second kazoom, L. Mayne Smith, whose graceful five-string banjo work has been described as "much like a lacy filigree," and Fahey who played Hawaiian guitar, while Smith doubled by playing lead kazoom. The session, unrehearsed, was in some respects an example of communal creation. The main musical ideas, according to Fahey, whose testimony generally checks out, were his own, but as he stated, "both Smith and Levine contributed a great deal during that session not merely in terms of competent backupmanship, but in terms of creativity."
The tapes from this session were stolen by Mr. ED Denson, of Takoma Records, who, also a very shrewd and able businessman ("Mogul" might be a better term), according to his nature will stoop to any means to enhance his economic situation. Denson likewise wanted to cash in on the Blue-Grass Phaze as he had on the Delta Haze. And indeed he did. He sold some of the cuts to Mr. Ralph Riverboat of Boston, and these were issued on Riverboat RB 1, The Transfiguration of Blind Joe Death. Despite what the RB notes state to the contrary, Mr. Fahey, assures us that the account we have given is accurate. Denson denies it.
And so Fahey was exposed to still another, new kind of music, the Blue-Grass Phaze.
Quite early in his career, Mr. Fahey played the clarinet, or rather, as he himself stated, "I tried to play the clarinet," in a Takoma Park brass band under the direction of Mr. Chester C. Petranick (see illustration no. 101/2). This band played numerous compositions of classical composers and the original scores had been re-orchestrated so that they could be played by a group of stringless musicians. Mr. Fahey did not stay with the group more than a few years, since as he said, he "never could learn to play the damned thing," but it was during this time that he became acquainted with Western hiart music in a second-hand manner. As a result, Mr. Fahey whose cypress trees were selling quite well at the time, leaving him with considerable amounts of money to spend, hired a well-known church organicist, Mr. Robert Anthony Flee. (See illustration no. 11.) Mr. Flee was to go around the Washington, D.C. record shops and purchase what was in his opinion, recordings of all of the very good or better hiart works, and teach Fahey something about them, mainly through listening. During the ten years of Mr. Fahey's prosperity, Mr. Flee was most influential in playing the records he had purchased for Fahey, and explaining something of each. Thus Mr. Fahey became exposed to Western hiart music, and it should be added, to a family who were friends of Mr. Flee's, the McLeans of 2303 Drexel St., Lewisdale, Maryland. The eldest daughter, Nancy (see illustration no. 12), was at the time an accomplished floutist (she is now an instructor at the Eastmen Rochester School of Music in Rochester, New York). At the suggestion of Mr. Flee, the two "experimented" with flute and guitar improvisations, and with a few notated skeletal outlines. The premier public performance of Fahey and McLean was held at St. Michael's and All Angels Church, in Adelphi, Maryland, circa March, 1962, as a musical benefit show for the church. Robbie Basho, R. Grubbert (see illustration no. 13) and David Gardner, Eileen Denney, Mr. Flee, and Howard "Trash Can" Mettley also performed in his show. The show was recorded, and it was from this live show that the now classic "Downfall of the Adelphi Rolling Gristmill" (see illustrations n0. 14 & 15) were issued on Takoma C-1003. What was hitherto unknown is that Fahey and McLean did extensive private recordings together at various intervals and that Fahey was (is) in possession of the entirety of them. It was consequently from Mr. Fahey that we obtained the two flute/guitar duets on this recording. The selection was ours. (Ed: Takoma plans to issue many more of these duets in the future if sufficient response is indicated by the public.) The "Lewisdale Blues" refers of course to that part of Prince George's County, known as "Lewisdale," where McLean lived with her mother and sister (father deceased) at the time. At least minor flirtation occurred between Fahey and McLean, which may explain some of their musical empathy. To whatever extent the flirtation went, Fahey would, when we interviewed him, say nothing more than, "-but Evil Devil Woman screwed that up, or perhaps I did. The responsibility is perhaps mutual. I will say no more, except that I shall probably have to go through two or three reincarnations due to my actions, and her name was Pat. (See illustration no. 16.) We mention this only as we feel that it is relevant to another selection on the record, "A Raga Called Pat, Parts II & IV." Part one and two were issued on Takoma C-1014, Days Have Gone By.
Through McLean and Flee, Fahey was exposed to and absorbed much classical music. Something happened with an unknown woman named "Pat," which on the one hand seems to have destroyed the relationship between Fahey and McLean, and on the other hand, made a profound impression on Fahey's life. We presume the latter since Fahey continues to write additional parts to his "Raga Called Pat," numbering now approximately 10 parts (Ed: to be issued), despite the fact that Fahey insists that the "Raga" parts, are on the one hand, in his opinion, "pretty good music and sound effects. But on the other hand," he said, "the continuation of the title is a joke, but a "put-on,' just as are the writings about the Gretchell, and the Knott's Berry Farm Molly (see illustrations no. 17, 18 & 19). It makes good publicity Denson tells me, to make the public think I have all kinds of heart-throbs, for old girl-friends,...that I led, and continue to lead an unhappy life at the hands of various sadistic women I used to know. It is true that at one time or another I wrote songs which were inspired by various women, or seemed to be so inspired, but in many cases, after due reflection in most cases later felt that I probably would have written them anyway - with perhaps the exception of one or two songs: "When the Springtime Comes Again' and 'Epithalamion' which is still in process. But really, it's all Denson's publicity notions (Ed: Denson denies this) and I really don't understand them, but they seem, or something seems, to sell the records."
The Indian Raga concept which Fahey through his association with the blind Indian musician, Aouhl Krishnawhilsan (see illustration no. 20), Dr. David Morton of the Ethnomusicology Department of UCLA, and the numerous recent recordings of other Indian musicians, is not at all strictly adhered to in these pieces, but then it can be noted at any public performance by Ali Akbar Khan or Ravi Shankar, or Balachander - and on most of their records for that matter - that they rarely adhere to the tripartite alap, jor, and jabla which they all preach, and/or teach. Fahey departs even further by changing modes occasionally in one section or "part" as he calls them. But all of this is of little significance in comparison with his use of sound effects in these "ragas" and other pieces. It should be noted, however, that Fahey was the first occidental guitarist to make use of the raga concept, antedating even the great guitarists Sandy Bull, and Robbie Basho. Fahey recorded an imitation of Shankar's "Apu Theme" on 8/22/64 with Blind Wilhelm Barth at the Adelphi Recording Studios at 516 East Indian Spring Drive, Silver Spring, Maryland, under the direction of Mr. Gene Rosenthal. Bull's ragaesque record was issued before Takoma C-1004, but Fahey conceived of, and recorded the idea first. In fact he stated that he had been playing around with ragas "for years" before 8/22/64, but never thought of recording them.
From what has been said, then, we can surmise most of the musical influences which went into his later current "tone-poems," "Train" was recorded at the Delta session, while "Bean Vine Blues" and "Take This Hammer" both come from Fonotone test pressings, and both sessions and their significance have been discussed above.
Fahey likes to end each record with a religious selection, much to Mr. Denson's dislike. But Fahey told us that he will not record for anyone unless this procedure is adhered to. We asked Mr. Fahey why he did this, but all that he would say was that it was an old Nashville custom to which he humorously adhered. "It's really funny to watch a country music show, these days. It wasn't always that way. Those musicians - I am using the term loosely - for years now have been putting on shows which up until the last song deal with things which they consider sinful and damnatory; and then just to show that they're really good old-fashioned Baptists or something, they try to clear up everything or cancel it out at the last minute by closing with a hymn. On the one hand I do it as a joke, aping their hypocrisy. I mean, I could put the hymns anywhere on the record. But you see on my records, or when I play a concert, it is quite appropriate in a was - as I see it, to conclude with a hymn."
Unfortunately, that is all that he would say. On this record, the last selection is again a hymn, or spiritual - at Fahey's insistence, and from what we had at our disposal to issue we chose the selection in which Mr. Fahey accompanies Virgil Willis Johnston of Van Avenue, across from the Hudson Grocery, Bastrop, Louisiana. (See illustration no. 21). This again comes from the Br. hillbilly session referred to above, during which Mr. Fahey accompanied various fiddlers and vocalists.
By demonstrating on this record Mr. Fahey's musical influences, and by discussing them in these notes, we do not mean to imply that Fahey is merely eclectic. Quite obviously he is eclectic and he is the first to admit it. Yet, equally obvious, is the fact, that it takes a great deal of talent, if not genius to forge into a coherent and forceful work such as "The Story of Dorothy Gooch," which is presented on this record, by drawing upon the various and diverse source materials discussed above. (See illustration no. 22.)
This work is overall "classical," or hiart-Western, in form and content. Yet we hear elements of folk tunes, anthems, Christmas Carols, modal allusions to other musical cultures - even a short section utilizing an unusual North Indian mode, another section exposing the Indonesian PELOG model (Western-tempered of course), two, or three "blues" melodies, electronic techniques, etc. Obviously, all of Mr. Fahey's musical influences would be unlikely to occur in one work. But most of them are here. "The Story of Dorothy Gooch" was Mr. Fahey's most recent composition at the time we approached him for advice and to ask him to record one recent exemplary work. We asked Mr. Fahey who Dorothy Gooch might be? He did tell us something about her, and about the "song," as he casually refers to it: "I call it 'The Story of Dorothy Gooch' because I know part of the story and I think that it is an important story - at least it is to me. But I hardly know the entire story. She was a very good girl-friend of mine a very long time ago. I was in junior high school - we went to different schools. She lived over on Prince George's Avenue at the time, in Prince George's County. I was from Montgomery County - a very important status thing at the time, but it worked in more than one way. Anyway, we were not lovers or anything of the sort, but, well, let's see. I don't know if you boys experienced junior and senior high school the way I did. I hated them - for various reasons. Aside from the boredom, and the jail-like atmosphere and all the other terrible things, there was no atmosphere for honesty. And consequently there was no atmosphere for some other very important things. Everyone was so utterly overwhelmed with status-making, clique-joining, or with creating a phony image of themselves - the two are interrelated of course - there was no one around to point out to us - all of us - what we were doing, what fools we were, and we didn't have the intellectual tools to deal with the situation ourselves. Our teachers were rarely of any help, and our so-called counselors were at least where I went to school either extremely stupid and unsympathetic, or fags, or both. They couldn't help us. We couldn't help ourselves. It was hell. Real hell.
You know a lot of people never really change from being like that. But some do, and then they see what they've done. I liked Dorothy a lot. Yet because I was trying to create some phony image of myself at the time - I don't remember which one, cowboy, gangster, something else maybe, I forget - and because there was probably some status s--t going on in my head too - I didn't, or didnít want to, or couldn't, or didn't know how to or something - I couldn't, didn't let her see that I really did like her - and her father too come to think of it. Everytime I saw him he was sitting in the living room reading the bible, with a Buddha-like smile on his face. He was always very kind and generous to me.
"Dorothy and I drifted apart in time. I forget why, and she probably never knew I liked her - I mean I liked her a lot and if we'd gone on together, well, I don't know. For some reason or other, I think it was because she wore glasses - really gross status things then - I don't think she knew that other people liked her a great deal, but were afraid to show it for various reasons. I know the guy next door to her, Bob Howes I think was his name, liked her - he was much older than either of us and he wasn't very much concerned with status nonsense. I knew other people who liked her. But I don't think she ever knew. And she never knew how much I thought of her.
"Well, two or three years later - well, I'm not going to tell you what, but something terrible happened to Dorothy. I won't say what because you probably would consider it insignificant - and perhaps to many people it was. But to me as well as to her albeit in different respects - it seemed most unfortunate, and I felt - still feel, indirectly responsible. I feel guilty. If I hadn't been playing status and image games we would have both been much better off. I don't know the end of the story. I just dreamed about the past one night, and she was in the dream and I woke up and started thinking and then - and I do this a lot - I picked up the guitar, it sort of helps me think or relax or something - it was after breakfast and I was just sort of sitting here thinking and then - and playing with chords and I noticed I had some nice, new things on the guitar. So then I deliberately set about writing the song - organizing the parts I already had and adding some more and trying to tell the story, or what I knew of it on the guitar. So the song is programatic I suppose you might say, in an impressionistic sort of way. The chronology isn't so much temporal as it is organized around orders of significance. You can hear the motives and maybe you can tell what some of the significances are - which ones are more important than others, but I'm not going to tell you any more of the story. The song is programatic, but I think I'm the only one who understands the program and I'd prefer to leave it that way. By the way I didn't mean to imply that our friend Bob Howes or whatever his name was had anything amorous for her. As far as I knew he liked her about the same way he liked me and I liked him. I wish to hell we could have just liked each other and acted on that and said to hell with the status/image s--t, but...."
Then Fahey turned around and went over to the window and looked out at the panoramic gentle curving slopes of the Sligo River. The sun was setting and there was a most striking contrast between the evening shadows and the darkness. Fahey was silent for awhile, and began to hum to himself. I believe that he was to a great extent unaware of our presence at this point. Eventually he turned around and his countenance had changed considerably. His eyes seemed to reflect that same sunlight we could see on the river, and it seemed as though his mind were somewhere else. He seemed to speak more to himself than to us. And his expression was rather chilly, hopeful, far off, and sad - yet somehow happy at the same time. I fear that he was unaware that the tape recorder was still on but it was: "And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing will come - or maybe it has come, I don't know." (Ed. This is a very inaccurate rendering of the Biblical Song of Solomon, II:12 - apparently Fahey had it garbled and didn't understand it anyway, since "turtle" is archaic for "turtle-dove," and Fahey was speaking of reptiles.) "The voice of the turtle," he went on, "I wonder how many people know what it is. Who is it that will do the singing?
"We have a gardener at Church. We call him St. David more out of honor than anything else. He always has a rather enigmatic expression on his face. He spends all his time like a Zen monk in a rock garden, as if he was making spiritual exercise out of his work. He's a mystic and I've seen him in what appear to be trances. He's very nice and friendly but sort of strange too, kind of like a visionary.
"One time he stood up in the middle of a meeting of the congregation and he was in one of those trance-like states - or he looked that way. We frequently record our services in entirety since most of it is sung and we try to improve our singing - and in Latin to boot - but nobody interrupted him because of the way he looked and talked. I later made a transcription of his "prophecy" because I thought it was most interesting. Let me read it to you as I translated it.
There is, there will be, there was, there at no time is, was or shall be, and neither shall there not be. A vision, a dream, a memory, a prophecy; an affirmation of all of these, a combination, a disjunction, and a negation of all of these. A confusion is perfect clarity; (My) mind sees what (my) eyes think; (My) eyes know, do not know, see and see not. What is now disjunct is, will be, was, was not, neither shall be nor shall not be. Conjunct, all of these. In Riverdale and not in Riverdale, at and not at Magruder Park. I hear and do not hear the voice of the Sligo River turtle. It says and does not say. A turtle and not a turtle. All of these, conjunct. Dogs everywhere but do not bark. Fronds rain in the grass, but no one is wet. The swamp is odorless. I see my mother walking on the swamp. A rainbow, a recapitulation, a restitution, a reunion, a confrontation, everyone knows everyone. A party, a communion. All of these, If I were not illegitimate I would not see the fog. I would see that we have lost each other. We have lost our way. We sleep, we wake - it is the same. We prowl like stray dogs. If the sun goes down, we know that the earth is turning from its axis. But all of these, and nothing more. At Magruder Park the sun stands still, and we are together. We have not lost our way.***
An alternative account given by Reba Reba Reba, from the Takoma Park Journal. (N.D.)
All of these and more. Before was Paramount, Vanguard is the future now. Tulips then, but flowers can do no more. The middle is done with soon. Nurture while no circled moon, sit high and promise good. Walk awhile and talk in days. On my Pathway stood two who have all the summer time, and two have all the spring. The two are not conjunct, nor can the present bring. All of these and more.
THE COMMEMORATIVE TRANSFIGURATION
occurred, or will occur, or perhaps did not occur and/or will not occur at Magruder Park in old Hyattsville, Maryland very near where Hamilton Street (which intersects Ager Road - poised like a dagger at the heart of Takoma Park) approaches like the forbidding menace of Melrose Crossing.
AND COMMUNION AT MAGRUDER PARK
The young man stepped back for a moment from the curb and shook his head as if to clear it and everything came back. He stood in the sun shining through the trees and remembered back to when Hyattsville was a happier place and Magruder Park only a playground in men's minds. He remembered how they would gather around and listen as old Mrs. Demogorgon Uhr of Principio Furnace, Md. would sing low her old oikotypical variant stanza of "Wormwood Flower."
I will blind with mu fingers the raving black hare
Could she have known even then? Could the harmless verses that lilted so light then have foretold the Melrose Crossing lowering as the topless towers of Hyattsville fell in their calamity?
With thin rodeo keds of the childers of air,
At the murmurred soap-rite, ephemeral tooth,
The Pale Horse's leader, with eyes to cook a jew.
Perhaps this shadowing of an imitation was already in someoneís mind on the drive past Magruder Park years later - although, to most, it seemed then only a place for Fourth-of-July fireworks and baseball games.
And so, thus it was that all suddenly realized how Magruder Park brought forth to mind, or would bring to time, or if found would bring to mind, or will bring to time, having brought fourth the unfound, or mind to bring, or finely sing or ring to mind or brought ought. And Walter Maxwell Winant brought sorrow. Robert Sutton Stow brought pain, Louise Maybelle Livings brought more pain, James Slvester brought wisdom in the form of enigma, and Milton Frank brought more wisdom but in the form of a heroic leap of faith, James Blalock and Nathaniel Berger brought back old memories of the Mohorovicic Discontinuity and John Branch brought the same and added humor (a much needed ingredient), Theodore Carroll brought militance and patience, Wee Michael Measley and Howard Krieger brought both edification and ramification, co-mingled and co-extensive, Jack Peters and others unknown brought more enigmas, compensated for by the Gesamtskunstwerk of James and Frank Hill, and Robert the Ace Cheek brought technical knowhow and nothing else, and Douglas Dye brought those who had, including himself, and the notorious Fisher Bros. brought visions of the hopeless flight from burning Berwyn Heights, and Purvis Pervis Purves brought suspicion, and John, Billy, Bobby, and Teddy Jarboe brought Idealization, and A.J. Jarboe brought Uhr, and the whole family brought a green thumb pointed downwards, signifying much regarding the behavior of Flora that day, and George Beatty alias "Horse" brought a substantial amount of extra Uhr in case of emergency, and Julie Buckingham brought nonsense, while Richard Camp brought mechanical technicalities, while Mickey Foster brought a Terrestrial Omnibus Machine powered by Harbingers of Martins, W.F. & Co., and Lawrence Corsini brought criminality and illegality, and Joe Thompson brought a great deal of pseudo-Uhr which was quickly exposed as bogus, allbehim corpulent, portly and craven but not warlock by a Chelonia snappus maxillaterribilis, which was brought by Donald Willey along with a great deal of at least apparent Uhr (the issue remains unresolved), and Cecil Parsley brought apparent tendencies, and Donald Catudal brought hair, while Tommy Branch brought accident-prone, and Johnny Parsley brought Sassanidae whose grandson Ardahir became king of aromatic bitters and beer-sate, and Jack Stakes brought dispensed with sadism, while Lee Briggs (no relation to janitor Lee Jordan, who brought color and our first exposure, God rest his soul, if still alive God Bless him) brought militance, warfare, cooperative excellence and was consequently removed and taken back to the establishment, and Michael Moth brought Maundy Thursday, and Dorothy Davis brought the heat of Allentown Jail with her, and Ann Seeley brought personal guilt, cubscouts, no mattresses although they were in our mind, games undefined by one side, games which brought forth misunderstanding, games which had not been games, and Kenneth King brought Tackman Sam, symbol of dying pool halls everywhere and dead himself, and James and John Short brought feminine sadism, while Larry Fagin brought his poetry, began to read aloud and was consequently sacrificed upon the Bastillion of Isthar, and Raymond Quigly brought sound common sense for which he was quickly reprimanded and thrown into a tub of peppermint stick-onion ice cream mixed with newly arrived spermatozoa, sagitaria, and sargasium, and Stanley Weinstein brought Philosophy, acted as go between and coordinator for the non-Christians during the religious exercises, displaying to all his talent as Cantor (Chanter), understanding and humility, while John Gerguson brought Ann Gree, and Dougles Russo, Bruce Rothrock (by accident), James Rothgeb and Brenda Belassa brought no one but themselves which was not all sufficient, while Robert Calvin and Dick Wells brought Nothingness, and absolutely nothing for which they were dealt with accordingly, while Joe Libbey brought Fred Edan for the afternoon noise contest, and Gene Burgandine brought extreme conservatism which was really unnecessary, and Jerry Northern brought knowledge, and Bill Barth didn't bring Pat Morgan because he never could have, but Henry Vestine and Al Wilson were there, which two brought large quantities of One, and John McIntyre brought Steve Kling and wife and baby and the true Spirit of Memphis, and Southern Hospitality, and Ralph Doplemeyer and Phil Spiro brought Beautiful Linda Getchell - the two got in a fight over her which, under the circumstances, was considered at least acceptable - and Mike Hall and Sally O'Connor brought a Whaleing Hand, a Dekadent Wildgoose, three non-existent blues-ballads, five non-existent "items" of folklore, while David Evans and Marina Bokelman brought living-in-sin, and Bob Height brought cans of heat and Flames of Fat, while Robert Box brought bone disease and in one hand psuedo-morphs and in another hand Mnemosyne and in another Hyperion relegated with the Titans on Tartares by the vomit of Kronos and Catholicism, and David Hathaway brought betrayal, and Myra First and Anne Marie Johnson who together brought grinning Taliesin and his lilting amphribraihic oiko-typical variant stanzas from his bardic chari in the dolorous hall of the Ageless Old Ones in Caer Siddhi, and William Haut brought the fire at the Carroll Avenue Pool Hall and the burning Takoma Park rail depot over the viaduct when all was darkened with Aetnean throe, and David Pittle brought half of himself, and the other half brought the first half and they both brought the eagle's maw, and Robert Seibert brought himself which was quite sufficient, and Robert Markwood Cann brought somber Sligo's stately turtles, and David Gardner brought the mild flute girl and she brought the syrinxian Modalities of old Patton (and he as conspicuously absent, as was the person that Bucky Youngblood did not bring which was Paramount, and Nick Perles who had too many things to do in New York. And conspicuously excluded were Mrs. Beckman and all other authorities on anything; All student council members, all hi-Y members, all joiners, all Lyons Club members, all cooperators, all establishment) and Frederick Mills Gray brought consubtantiation and coesermalit and George Alfred Kerrick brought transmorgrification, and Eileen Denney brought flood, and James David Laasch brought theogony, and Robert Anthony Flee brought the fall of the Megaron of Nestor, and Barrett Hansen brought maco-economics to the public consciousness, and Michael Carp brought the wide-spread use of limited-slip differentials, and John Sidell brought Bucky Youngblood and they brought the notorious Menage Bros., who in turn brought Dexter Standard and he brought a three-quarter life size bronze allegorical figure of civic virtue and the John H. Meyer Shipping firm of Lanham sent:
and I brought John Fahey (see back cover) and he brought a single trailing radius rod, and ED Denson brought Bill Hancock and Bill Hancock brought Pat Sullivan and Pat Sullivan brought Dave Jay and Dave Jay brought my mother and my mother brought seven Staves of Prescott Pithy Pears, and the service was presided over by the Very Rev. Don Shaw, at which time the Extremely Rev. Bishop Greighton of the Arch-Diocese of Washington, D.C., was defrocked for having committed the cardinal sin of having made neither a believer nor an unbeliever of Richard Spottswood, who was also present, and who brought his record collection with him, and there was music for all.
John Fahey was once a younger man, & it was to him that the park had spoken first as he had felt the effusion of the indwelling immanence of Magruder Park, observing early in life somewhat confusedly the mystic cellular mythopoesis that was to come to flower only later as he gradually internalized the reality of the situation in terms of what and where he was and was not. And in the first paroxysm of the realization of the Commemorative Transfiguration and Communion to be he, in his ekstasis released the wheel of his blue two-door 1955, 283 cubic inch V-8 three speed manual shift Chevrolet sedan and only the Flee (exclaiming "Bye Croddes Roodel, Kristos Pentokrato.") whose incredible and continual nervousness and watchfulness and negligible mass lent him speed far beyond mortal man, saved the car from colliding with the brick and cement portal of Magruder Park.
And by these signs and portents all knew that as John's tumescent imagination slid easily between the yielding thighs of truth and falsity, this gaze into the future and the past was the conception of an art work, a majestic song which is Vanguard & all-encompassing, visionary & sterophonic.
"Sounds like a treasure hunt to me," wrote one of the readers of this report. "Perhaps a treasure map," remarked one of the congregation, "certainly not a vision appropriate in this service. I believe a heresy trial may be in order."
The young man who had been listening opened his eyes and wondered at the dust, and took up the guitar to try and find the old man who had disappeared. But nowhere was he to be found. "The wolves," he said, looking out the door before the stranger came in, "are gone now." And that is exactly the point. But what had happened?
The Voice of the Turtle