Chapters:Tone Deaf The Tonette Matt The Yborhemians Cosmic DaveRev. Ralph Ferrera Football and I Tried The Ybor City News Experimental Music Ensemble:Gary Rexroad, Ron Britt Daryl Wren, Mark Wren, TC Ron Britt Saturday Night Jam Ronny and The Rayguns The PlaymakersJennifer Ankle Bone BluesSteve Martin-Caro 115 Hyde Park Avenue with (VIDEO)The Waybon BluesARTS ALIVE! Streetsong GG Allin Boolsheet, Trava, Pivo ~ The Czechs New York City 1989 - 2006 Woodstock '89 David Peel The International Subliminal Feedback Society Heroin The Bookstore
Back in Ybor 2006 - 2012
There are no jobs, but there is a college down the street Rev. Ralph Again
Jersey City/New York City 2012 - Present Rew & Who? The Offenderz
--------------------------------------------------------------------------Led Zeppelin opened with
The Song Remains The Same at the 'rained out' concert at Tampa Stadium in 1977.
I was there with a band-mate, guitarist Rick Wynn from the WT Band; a black cloud appeared over the stadium after
three songs, and it began to rain on the stage. Robert Plant announced that
water was getting on the stage and that they were concerned about their safety.
They never returned to the stage. We left and we found out later that a riot
had ensued. I've heard that a group of Christians had gathered outside of the
stadium and prayed for something to happen to stop this concert...even to the
extent of praying for Jimmy Page's electrocution! I had the ticket-stub for
years. I could have returned it for a the ten dollar refund. I wish I had it
now! There were no more concerts at Tampa Stadium until The Who played there in the summer of 1989.
FORWARD I was the kid who sat in the back of the classroom, my textbook propped up in front of me in an attempt to hide what I was doing. I was working on my latest masterpiece -- a song, a play, or a short story. One day I will write symphonies, movies, and novels! When the teacher caught me, she would confiscate my masterpiece, crumple it up, throw it in the garbage, and send a note to my parents. By the time I had reached the tenth grade, I was discouraged by the intimidation from my teachers and classmates, so I dropped out. I took the state exam and received my high school diploma. Thirty years later, I enrolled in Hillsborough Community College where English professor Dr. Janice-Anne Sumner-Kenefick was teaching a creative writing class. I was fascinated by her! Her zeal, her confidence, and her command of her craft inspired me. I felt that I could trust her to unlock something in me and enhance my creativity. Dr.Kenefick’s course emphasized memoir writing. This was difficult for me at first because some things are better left forgotten. For the first time in my life I had a teacher who was encouraging me to be honest, even brutally, without fear of chastisement. I felt like I should have felt when I was sitting in the back of the classroom in grammar school. Dr. Kenefick was leading me to the path that would take me on a journey through my memories to meet my inner-writer. My enthusiasm for writing had been rekindled, and the techniques that I learned from Dr. Kenefick helped me to earn As on all of my papers for my other classes. Working as an English tutor and writing coach enabled me to share these techniques with other students who were suffering from writer’s block or had no idea how to write a paper. Dr. Kenefick once told me that her students enjoyed working with me and that they were doing well in her classes. She told me that she thought I was a wonderful writer and encouraged me to have my work published. I was offered a humor column for The Hawkeye, our college newspaper, and I won first place in a state community college newspaper competition. Nine of my pieces were selected and published in The Triad and The Galeria, the two literary magazines that are produced by the HCC Media Club where Dr. Kenefick served as a faculty advisor. I received a trip to a media conference at the Marriott Marquis in Manhattan and two scholarships for my participation in the publications. I have explored newspaper reporting, copy editing, and newspaper and magazine production. Dr. Kenefick’s encouragement has helped me to find my niche. Dr. Kenefick is my miracle worker.
This is an assignment for my creative writing class. We were given a half an hour to write a story using elements from five well-known books. Can you guess which books I chose?
The Academy
The large blue sign over the archway of
the wrought iron gate that serves as the entrance to the Academy suggest images
of rippling creeks and quiet meadows; a serene environment of contemplation and
study. One can almost hear in the distance, the sounds of a friendly game of
tag or monkey in the middle. The sign reads The Oliver Canton Academy for the
Social Reform and Rehabilitation of Wayward Young Men.
After obtaining clearance with the
Academy Security Force, we were greeted by a very polite, yet quite serious
young man of about ten years of age. I thought it rather odd that this little
fellow was wearing a bowler cap. Who wears bowler caps anymore anyway? We
followed the boy as he led us through the apple orchards, into a large
courtyard that was bustling with activity, and into a gated complex of
buildings that reminded one of the Pentagon, that symbol of nationalist might
that we had read about in school. It had been destroyed during The War of the
Atonement, the turning point in our history when war and injustice was finally
outlawed by The Council of Mentors who would oversee our safety and
re-education during The Great Reconstruction.
To ensure against any future
conflicts, The Council of Mentors established academies around the globe which
trained and monitored young men who were perceived as potential threats in
later life. They were taught a trade and instructed in good citizenship under
the watchful eyes of The Mentors. Every word, every thought, and every deed was
recorded to be used as evidence against offenders during The Judgments which
were carried out swiftly and severely.
The administration was headed by the
grandson of the Academy's founder for whom it is named. Oliver Canton III was
only eight years old when he was appointed by the council, and he had already
served two years as its Executive Administrator when Little Tommy Major was
brought in by the authorities on charges of Theft for the Sheer Amusement of
It. It was a serious charge, and he was sentenced to hard labor in the Academy's
Boot Factory. It was in the factory where most of the boys began their
re-education. It was very hot at 104 degrees, and the boys had to wear
specially designed masks that reconstituted the hellish fumes from the melting
rubber into breathable oxygen.
Often after the day's work, some of the boys would meet under the
old sewage pipe that led to a barren crevice that was once known as a river,
out of the sight of the Mentors, and shoot craps while they drank liquor that
had been stolen from the derelicts from the city's skid row. The liquor was
supplied by a brave group of boys who had discovered a way to go AWOL without
being detected by the Mentors. They would trudge through the mud fields that
separated the Academy from the nearest town and relieve the unconscious drunks
of their next morning's supply of happy juice.
Tommy was the new kid. He was very
gullible, and he was easily lured into this young group of mischief mongers.
Tommy also bore an uncanny resemblance to Oliver Canton, and it did not go unnoticed
by the young administrator. Canton had heard rumors of the nocturnal escapades
of this group of miscreants and became determined to learn for himself how they
managed to evade the watchful eyes of the Mentors. Using his likeness to the
Major boy, Oliver gained his trust by suggesting that Tommy may be a relative
of his and may be entitled by birth to certain rights and privileges,but
it must be kept secret since accusations of favoritism could arise.
Several months had passed since
Tommy's arrival at the Academy when one day, Oliver decided to implement a plan
he had been devising to unearth the truth of the renegade boys' methods of
escaping detection by the Mentors. After all, Oliver was a ten year old boy
just like Tommy and the rest of the boys at the Academy. Oliver’s life had
become dull and mundane. Everyday since his appointment, Oliver has had to
answer to the council, and although he was the Executive Administrator, it was
a puppet position which held very little power or importance. His title was
merely dynastic, and he was used by the mentors to foster empathy from the
boys. Oliver was a role model; a kind of poster child exemplifying what the
boys could become with hard work and total obedience to the Mentors.
Oliver summoned Tommy to his office
and disclosed his plan. They would trade places. For one week Tommy would act
as Executive Administrator, and Oliver would go out among the other boys to
observe the methods by which they were able to elude the watchful eyes of the
Mentors. He worked with them in the Boot Factory, ate with them in the mess
hall, and journeyed with them to the old sewage pipe. He trudged through the
mud fields to the city with the liquor bandits, and as beginner's luck would
have it, he won a few rounds of craps.
The floodlights temporarily blinded
the boys at the old sewage pipe. They were arrested and sent to The Judgment
Camp for the Impossibly Untrainable.
Meanwhile, Little Tommy Major was becoming quite accustomed to his
comfortable new life. No one, not even his closest aids, or even the Mentors
suspected that a switch had taken place. He happily oversaw the operation of
the Boot Factory and reported to the Mentors all that he observed at the
Academy.
Prelude So I'm writing a book! Yep, it's a book about me. It is not an autobiography - that would either bore you or disgust you. It is a 'partial memoir' since I am writing only about the events that took place during certain periods of my life in which my involvement in music has had the most impact on my life and on the lives of those around me who were involved in some capacity...and only those events and people that I can actually remember. I am not famous. One doesn't have to be famous to be interesting enough to read about. Interesting to whom one might ask. Why should anyone be interested, in these tough economic times when time must be treated as an asset, in spending any of their valuable time reading about me? The biggest challenge that I face with this memoir is not the potential lack of readership, but being courageous enough to be honest and to share my honesty. There will be sex, drugs and rock and roll in my saga. If you are offended by this type of subject matter you can either stop reading now, or you can continue with me through the good, bad, hilarious, sometimes twisted and creative times in the once crazy life of Ray Galindo...and my friends. I am going to tell it as it was as much as I can remember it I will save my creative license for songs, poetry and fiction.
Matt
I met Mattthrough a schoolmate named Scott in the Fall of 1973 when I was just 14 years old and a ninth-grade student at Madison Junior High School. He was one year older than me, and at 15, he seemed much older. I had just smoked my first joint around the beginning of the semester. I was so freaked out that I knew that I wouldn't be able to make it through the day in a classroom, an environment where for most of my school-age years, I had found intimidating. One day, I asked Scott where we can get something to smoke. He said he would introduce me to Matt...he would know where. Matt lived near the school, so we proceeded to walk in the direction of his house.
The Yborhemians In 1976, when I was 16, I met a short-haired rock guitarist named Richard Ferrera. At first, I found it difficult to take him seriously until I later found out that he was the guitarist for one of Tampa's leading New Wave bands, Zenith Nadir. Back then, hair was as important as talent. Reverend Ralph In 1979, I met Rev. Ralph in
Ybor City. The next eight years were probably the most creative years in all of
my years as a musician. I was writing a lot of songs and recording constantly
with Ralph and with other musicians. It was a wonderfully mad time!
The Ybor City News Experimental Music Ensemble
In the 1970's and 80's, Ybor City had a very lively and rich music and art scene. Piano player and showman extraordinaire, Rev. Ralph was playing music by The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Billy Joel, and Leon Russell on a small stage that was built specifically for him and his baby grand above the entrance door at Carmine's Restaurant. Cosmic Dave was going around with his 3-string guitar living vicariously through Bob Dylan and Keith Richard. Other notables included Rocky Kester, the neighborhood potter, tile artist Richard Sorrentino, Ron Britt who was conducting the Saturday Night Jam in his storefront on 7th Avenue, and the Playmakers who occupied the historic Cuban Club, presented musicals like Jesus Christ Superstar, Company, and Promenade as well as comedy and drama in the Cuban Club's theater. Zenith Nadir was the top punk band in the city, and White Witch wound down their career after two amazing albums. Steve Martin, the singer from The Left Banke who had a hit with Walk Away Renee in the 1960's, moved into town.Poetess Gayle Natale was running Strangers in Hyde Park, a hangout for the poets and performance artists in the area, and ARTS ALIVE! was the place to go if you wanted to perform your original music or display some of your bag or foam art. Magical inspiration was in the air, and the artists and musicians who inhabited the storefronts along 7th Avenue envisioned Ybor City as a creative arts community on par with Bourbon Street, Greenwich Village, or Liverpool. Sometime in the 1990's, someone had the brilliant idea to turn Ybor City into an alcohol district. The artists and musicians were driven out of Ybor by special interest groups, developers, and politicians who were determined to 'revitalize' the historic quarter. Consequently, rents increased, and storefronts and buildings became prime real estate for nightclubs, tattoo shops, and retail outlets that had the backing and the resources to set up shop.
Reverend Ralphwas an incredibly talented and creative individual. He was four years older than me, and when I first met him when I was 19, I was in awe of him. He played a baby grand piano, wore a top hat when he performed, knew tons of Beatles songs and wrote his own. The first original song he played for me was called, "Claudia" at Tony Miranda's house. At that time, they were in a band called The Kordz. I met him again a few months later when he dragged his piano out of the El Pasaje Hotel onto the street and played with a number of friends for passersby. It was amazing...such energy! I was hooked. For the next ten years, I was with Ralph just about every other day with my guitar trying to learn his songs, singing harmony with him, and getting involved in various projects with him. Sometimes we just sat around in his storefronts for hours drinking coffee, talking about Krishna, music, recording on occasion, listening to Bach and Beethoven. We would often go to the Slide Inn and have hamburgers and Ham's beer. They had an amazing jukebox that was loaded with old blues and gospel records by the likes of Lightnin' Hopkins and Rev. Julius Cheeks. I received my classical, blues and gospel education from Ralph. He taught me to sing to the person at the back of the room without a mic. He viewed me as naïve but talented - he liked my high tenor voice and my melodies, a young man that he could mold into a performer on par with him. It never happened. I could never be what he was. No one can...he was one of a kind! Reverend Ralph wasn't an ordained reverend, nor was he reverent. He was a boogie woogie piano player whose raucous gospel revival style rock and blues show made one feel as though one was about to be slain in the Holy Spirit. Wearing his Cuban heeled Beatle boots, pomade plastered pompadour and always black too-tight clothes, he entertained night after night in the sandwich shops and small beer and wine joints that lined 7th Avenue which was the main drag in good old Ybor City In the 1980s,Ybor City...the historic Latin Quarter in Tampa was fast becoming the Greenwich Village of Florida. Ralph lived in storefronts, and many nights were spent in these storefronts, drinking Cuban coffee and recording some song I had written and presented to the "reverend" for his scrutiny and approval. If we were recording it...he liked it
Football
Mister! What are those men doing out there dressed in green?
Are they playing football? Why aren't you playing too?
Mister! Why is that lady crying? Is her dolly sick? I've got a dolly too
Oh Mama, why hasn't daddy been around to tell me Happy Birthday?
Is he playing football?
Can anybody tell me why I can't play with the little boy next door?
I don't even know his name, and why isn't our skin the same?
Mister! Why are the people in that plane throwing all those footballs?
I don't think I like that game...I don't like football!
Gloria S. Holloway: I always thoroughly enjoyed Rev Ralph.. even enjoyed the time that his gig didn't work out all that well. i went to see him somewhere in Ybor one time when there was a mix-up & the venue had booked Ralph & somebody else too. Ralph's piano was in the venue - but when he was informed that the other person was gonna play instead of him, he proceeded to dismantle his piano right in front of our eyes & haul it away. I'm chuckling right now as I recall that incident. ah.. Rev Ralph. I miss him."
Jennifer In 1984, I met and fell in love with a wonderful woman named Jennifer MacDuffee. She is a classically trained pianist with whom I wrote a number of songs. The first time I saw her was during the auditions for the Playmakers' production of Company for which she was the accompanist. I was watching through the window and I thought that she resembled Christine McVee of Fleetwood Mac. I was immediately fascinated by her and I couldn't stop thinking about her. I finally met her in the lobby of the Theater at The Cuban Club where she was playing for the house on the opening night of of PS Your Cat is Dead. I was ready for her. I bought the most beautiful bouquet that I could find and placed it on the piano before she arrived. I had a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket in my room one block away. Jennifer beamed when she saw the flowers and began to scan the crowd for a clue of who the sender might be. I was standing by the box office about twenty feet away watching her. Our eyes met a couple of times. She smiled and continued her scan for the elusive clue. Well it was time for her to continue with her duty as house pianist.
I had just whispered in her ear asking if she likes the flowers. Without missing a beat, Jennifer looked up at me with her big beautiful doe-like green eyes full of surprise and smiled. I gave her a kiss on the top of her head and continued about my business in the lobby as the evening's assistant House Manager.
During her next break, I asked her if she would like to spend a little time over a coffee or a drink at Rough Riders after the show. I had an idea that they might be closed after the show. I don't know why they would close when a show is letting out around the corner, but I must have known something because I had the wine chilling.
"Hmmm ... it looks like they're closed" I muttered as if surprised.
I suggested that we go up to my place. She stayed the entire night.We lived together for four years. There was always a piano in the apartment and I wrote mostly on the piano. I wrote some of my most adventurous music at that time. I was just learning how to play the piano, and I was using it as a writing tool as I was learning.
My little book was a present to me My little book is my permission to be free My little book is a treasure in my hand I like to look in my little book My little book one day may be a best seller When I am dead and buried in the cellar What will you say ...oh what will you tell her My little book will hold it all together My girl really loved me when she gave me this book I was all above myself and I just had to look I learned a lot that Christmas Day, I even learned to cook I like to look in My Little Book
Ankle Bone Blues I have broken my right ankle twice.
Meeting Steve Martin-Caro Onebeautiful evening in 1985 in Hyde Park, Tampa, and Jennifer and I decided to take a walk. We found ourselves on Kennedy Blvd where we ran into Rev. Ralph. He was hanging out with Steve and his wife Heather. They had just landed at Tampa International Airport from Ohio a couple of days prior. Ralph introduced Steve to me as the guy who had sung the 60's hit, Walk Away Renee by The Left Banke. Steve seemed displeased with the way he was introduced to me and reacted by saying, "Aw, Ralph, I told you not to tell anybody!" Steve seemed a bit anxious and all that he really wanted was to smoke a joint. We became good friends and he spent a lot of time at our house. He had become disillusioned with the music business, but he had fun with me and Jennifer. We ran a lot of tape.
The Story of 115 Hyde Park Avenue with (VIDEO)
This is the story of the song, 115 Hyde Park Avenue
A card table covered with a clean white cloth in a storefront in Hyde Park where the great young minds of Tampa gathered to discuss Beethoven and Krishna Consciousness down the street from the university and about a mile across the bridge from the County Jail in downtown Tampa.
Ybor City Piano Man, Rev Ralph, former Left Banke singer, Steve Martin-Caro, the surrealist painter, Raphael Diaz, Cosmic Dave who was just cosmic, the author of The Final Spin, The Great Waybon John Hearing and tunesmith Ray Galindo. poring over volumes of Machiavelli, Poe and the Life of Bach. Feasting on Greek Wine, goat cheese and Irish Soda Bread AND the Bösendorfer Baby Grand standing like a monument in the middle of the room.
115 Hyde Park Avenue ... A ritzy address to say the least!
115 Hyde Park Avenue
Here is a breakdown of the lyrics
'I live at 115 Hyde Park Avenue" This is the address of one of the many storefronts that Ralph Ferrera rented in the mid-1980s. The last time I checked, it was a hemp products store. They continued the tradition! "a ritzy address to say the least"When I told Ralph that I was writing a song about his storefront, and I read to him some lines that I had, he added this line."Right down the street stands the university"115 Hyde Park Avenue is down the street from the University of Tampa. I had written the line, 'where I got my degree', which wasn't true. Ralph changed the line to..."from which I was released"More satire from Ralph
"I hang out with my pals on Hyde Park Avenue planning tomorrows for today"
Ybor City Piano Man, Rev Ralph, former Left Banke singer, Steve Martin-Caro, the surrealist painter, Raphael Diaz, Cosmic Dave who was just cosmic, the author of The Final Spin, the Great Waybon John Hearing and tunesmith Ray Galindo always talking about things we were going to accomplish and never did. "Right up the road stands the penitentiary" The Hillsborough County Jail on Tampa Street"where I got my degree" Another witty line from Ralph
"Early morning...I rise shining...On the Bayshore" Jennifer (MacDuffee), who was my girlfriend at the time, and I used to get up early on some mornings and take a walk, and sometimes jog on Bayshore Boulevard.
"I wouldn't be surprised if I saw you there...ooh hoo" Directed to the listener
"I live at one-fifteen Hyde Park Avenue a ritzy address to say the least"
And again, This was Ralph's address. I did not reside there, but I did a lot of living there. "Up on the hill lives the aristocracy"Bayshore Boulevard is lined with mansions and estates including the historic home once known as the mysterious 'House of Many Colors and Billy Carter's (Jimmy's brother) home. "where I got my disease" Yet another witty line from the ever clever Ralph
Early morning...I rise shining...On the Bayshore I wouldn't be surprised if I saw you there...ooh hoo
All you learn is there on Hyde Park Avenue What you earn is there on Hyde Park Avenue All you earn is there on Hyde Park Avenue
You wouldn't give a blind pig an acorn You wouldn't give a crippled crab a crutch You wouldn't give a blind pig an acorn Ah oo hoo You wouldn't give a crippled crab a crutch Baby with your foodstamps you ain't so such a much
Baby you know I make me a point I bet it's a well-made point I'm bettin' two to one tonight There ain't a cherry in the whole damned joint
Mama, you wouldn't give a blind pig an acorn You wouldn't give a crippled crab a crutch Baby with your foodstamps you ain't so such a much
(Piano improv)
Oh baby, come join me one more time Oh baby, come join me one more time You know baby since I moved to Waybonard Meadows I been overcome by the slime Yay I got the Waybon Blues yo oh
Well you know you know I said they call him Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon they called Waybon
I knew a man named Waybon lost about fifty-four pounds He worked as a waiter every night he made his rounds One night Waybon was walkin' he was walkin' way home When he was stopped by another waiter they called his name Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon Waybon
John (Waybon) Hearing
Today at 3 pm, my friend, the late great Rev. Ralph Ferrera will be honored by his family, friends and fans at a memorial service in Tampa, Fl. I knew Ralph for 35 years. I have a lot of great memories and some not so great, but that's how friendships can be. ..I will be spending the day remembering Ralph, listening to his music and posting here as the memories enter my head...but for now, more coffee! Here's to you Ralphie boy!
ARTS ALIVE! I had this wild idea that I wanted to rent a storefront and open a little beatnik type coffeehouse and call it Arts Alive! I told Jennifer about my idea. "How are you going to that?" she asked. "You only have eighty dollars in your pocket."
BANDS! BANDS! BANDS! NEED REHEARSAL SPACE? WE GOT IT CHEAP! CALL 813- ___- ____
Ieventually
left the nice comfortable 'apartment on the river' life I'd been living with my
girlfriend for the last four years to rent my own storefront so I could live my bohemian musician lifestyle. I rented it out as a rehearsal space to local bands
during the week and opened it as a coffee house on the weekends to raise the
rent which was never paid. Hey!...I was in business and I was a bachelor!
I christened it ARTS ALIVE!, and it caught on quickly. It was voted 'Hip Pick
of the Week' on the cover of Creative Loafing...a local entertainment and
lifestyle weekly newspaper. All these old hippies started showing up with their
wooden flutes; neo-beatniks brought their cosmic- subversive poetry.,
sculptures, paintings - things were hanging and growing out of the
walls...spinning in the window...skinheads and ghetto blacks on the same stage
pounding out some kind of insane Punk/Blues/Rap that was fueled by lots of
reefer and beer. It was an experiment. People as the tool by which creative
expression; planned or spontaneous through different mediums can be presented
simultaneously to an audience who are also a component in the final unveiling
of a living Objet d'art
I acquired my first 4-Track cassette deck in 1987. Before that all recording was done with whatever was available at the time - Walkmans, old reel to reels and cassette decks...with a couple of trips into a recording studio. I have hours of recordings and I am editing and compiling them chronologically into a comprehensive document of that eight year period beginning in Ybor City, continuing in Hyde Park and culminating in my return to Ybor City when I founded ARTS ALIVE!.115 Hyde Park Avenue was Ralph's address at that time, and It was a magical time! Tom Dowen RIP - Dance Like You Love Me from Hyde Park Avenue Album
Marty Sheyer was a
chubby and very lovable Jewish guy who showed up at ARTS ALIVE! one day armed
with a guitar and a head full of ideas. He had played King Herod in a
travelling production of Jesus Christ Superstar. Rap was a new medium and Marty
wanted to write and stage the world's first Rap Opera. He called it a
Rappera and he wanted me to help him record it
Knock
knock..."Wha?"...BANG BANG BANG!...it's the front door. Sounds like
the cops!. Bang Bang Bang!!…I get up still feeling the effects of last night's
over-indulgences...
"Ohh...my head"...The first thing I see is a large
McDonald's bag with a large round belly as its backdrop. It's 7:00 am and
there's Marty with a big smile.
"Ready to record?"
"Marty...it's
7:00 am!"
"I know...I brought you some breakfast!"
I was a
vegetarian at the time having just read Bhaktivedanta Swami Sri
Prabupadha's
The Higher Taste...so I wasn't too impressed..BUT!...it was
free food.
At 4:00
every Friday the Hare Krishnas would show up with Prsadm which was Holy
Food prepared for Krishna who would then give us the leftovers which was
usually more than enough for the old Hippies and Neo-Beatniks who had no money
for food and were looking for a Spirit of the Sixties Maharishi type of
experience to colour their otherwise drab work a day ordinary lives. I was told
that even if the Holy Food was poisoned, it would be rendered harmless by
Krishna's mercy. We called it The Love Feast. I'd play an Evening Raga by Ravi
Shankar as the Temple Priest floated to the stage which appeared to be
throbbing from the combination of make-shift stage lights and fans and sat down
on a large cushion covered with saffron cloth. After much chanting,
proselytizing and feasting,. our bald headed friends would load their
empty pots into their van and fly away on their Karma free cloud satisfied
that they had fed and won a few converts go to bother Reverend Ralph.
ENTER THE
POETS!!!...The poets were the life blood of ARTS ALIVE!. They' usually went on
when I was opening for the weekend. ARTS ALIVE! wasn't open for the evening. It was open for the weekend.5:00 pm Friday until 8:00 Monday morning when the
Travel Agency next door opened. Everyone would shower in the sprinkler system
in the parking lot for the bank across the street unless there was a nice warm
rain. Skip was The Beach Poet Freeze-dried Doggie. Mike Moore was The Hectic Eclectic and Norman
Bie was The Devious Deviant and The Rockapella Poet. What a cast! The poets
never balked at the $2.00 donation and were always happy to exceed it ten fold.
They wanted a place where they could hear themselves over the monitor system.
Poets love to hear their own voices. I noticed that people didn't usually stick
around for poets so ...
One afternoon, a bus
pulls up. "Hey man ,we're The Neo-Bohemian
Society. You said we could do our thing here.". "I
did?" "Yeah. We talked on the
phone three months ago." "Oh yeah...come on in." "We're not allowed to play anywhere ... we always get thrown
out!" "Well come in!!"' They proceeded to unload from the bus
the instruments of their craft - oil drums, chainsaws, slide projectors and a
fat guy who could scream like Yoko Ono.
He Yokoed for at least 30 minutes and
didn't clear the room. Amazing!
Herman Dudley - The Count Bloodthirsty Show
Boolsheet, Trava, Pivo ~ The Czechs Czech Mike - Dreadlocks, played guitar and harmonica, likes reggae music Mike plays the harmonica on The Proposal from Streetsong. Describe the time when Mike DJ'd Rev Ralph's show at The Masquerade and Ralph fired him for not being on cue to play the opening notes of Mozart's Jupiter Symphony for Ralph's entrance. How could he fire me when he didn't hire me?
Tony Martinek - Guitarist on The World Revolves who kind of resembled Pete Townsend. Describe incident when he played bass with Rev Ralph at The Masquerade. Tony died of Multiple Myeloma at the age of 57 at St. Vincent's Hospital, NYC
Peter Marek - Surrealist artist and musician. Peter plays the harmonica on Song for a South Carolina Girl/Dancing Daughter (Lyrics by Skip Harris)
Peter Kroutl - NicknamedRasputin by Tony.
Viktor Jira - Guitarist on The World Revolves(Lyrics by Skip Harris) How you doin', Peter? Ebdeebody goot! I heard that Viktor committed suicide, but it was never corroborated.
Pavel Matiach - Sidewalk art book seller on St. Mark Place. "Don't gif me boolsheet!"
Steam Rax - Killed by a truck in Prague
The Lu Brothers - Big Lu and Little Lu
Pino - Looked like Billy Idol
Trava - Czech slang for marijuana
Pivo - Beer
New York City 1989 - 2006
Nineteen Eighty-Nine
I left no friends and family in nineteen eighty-nine I had a quarter in my pocket when I came to New York City in nineteen eighty-nine
I was standing on a corner with a friend of a butcher who was no friend of mine
He fileted a ballerina and he made a soup in nineteen eighty-nine
This dude was selling a cannabis plant it must've been five feet high
Where I'd just come from one can get ten to life just for standing nearby
I thought Oh my God what am I doin' here I'm only twenty-nine I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine
Nineteen Eighty-Nine Nineteen Eighty-Nine I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine
I met David Peel on Max Yasgur’s Farm in nineteen eighty-nine I made love with Luna on a hill under the moon she was like the finest of wines
I had a pad on St Mark it was right by the park in nineteen eighty nine
I was makin’ a record on the Lower East Side in nineteen eighty-nine
Campfires were blazin in the park where I was sleepin’ in nineteen eighty-nine The losers and the winners and the nomads and the sinners all seemed like pretty nice guys
I wasn't gonna join 'em I was havin’ a good time livin’ my life in my prime I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine
I met a junky on the street on Avenue B he was busy wasting time He told me a story a horror story about how he had to wait in line The dealers in the doorways they were peddlin’ murder for a nickel and a dime
I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine
Nineteen Eighty-Nine Nineteen Eighty-Nine I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine
I met a woman she was begging for change in nineteen eighty-nine I told her I was hungry and I didn’t have a dime so she asked me if I had some time
Her name was Maggie and she sat me down and fed me it was a mighty fine dine
It blew my mind how she could be so kind in nineteen eighty-nine
I didn’t care I was havin’ a good time livin’ my life in my prime I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine
(VERSE SOLO)
Without a care I was havin’ a good time livin’ my life in my prime I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine Nineteen Eighty-Nine Nineteen Eighty-Nine I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine I was gonna live forever in nineteen eighty-nine
Nineteen Eighty-Nine
Words and Music by Ray Galindo
From Songs In The Key Of Covid
Woodstock '89
David Peel
The Bookstore I began selling books on the sidewalks of New York City in the Spring of 1990.When I was a sidewalk bookseller in NYC, sometimes I would get a 'real job' for awhile just to take a break. I didn't care if I quit or was fired. I would just go back to bookselling. During my time as a sidewalk bookseller, I blew more money in two hours than any job could have paid me for a week of humiliation.
The Bookstore was aptly named - I could have called it something pretentious like Greenwich Village Bookshop, but that reputation had not yet been established. I removed the air conditioner that had been installed above the entrance and replaced it with a color TV facing the sidewalk on which I was playing VHS tapes of classic rock concerts, rock and roll films and occasionally, some horror flicks. Within the first three months since its opening, The Bookstore was quickly becoming a neighborhood institution. It became the 'go to' place for musicians, potheads who needed a place to have a quick toke and generally, people with nothing better to do. Writers and small independent magazine publishers were coming in almost daily asking to have their works displayed and sold at the store. Rex suggested that I sell coffee for a dollar a cup. I bought all that was needed and set it up on the counter. Rex drank free coffee all day and I never sold one cup. That idea was quickly scrapped.
I just returned from the corner store. I am befuddled and dumbfounded. The woman in front of me spent 25.00 on lottery tickets. I told her that if she has nothing better to do with her 25.00, that I could put it to good use. She turned to me, her face beaming and said, "I spent six dollars yesterday and won two dollars, so I didn't lose!" What kind of mush do these people have for brains? They get their welfare checks or work for minimum wage, and then blow it on lottery tickets. I knew a woman in New York who became homeless because of her addiction to lottery tickets. It was pitiful. I remember seeing her on the corner of Bleecker and Thompson begging for spare change. As soon as she had enough, she would run across the street to the pharmacy and buy a lottery ticket. I will never understand this addiction.
With Snottra Franks at Nightingales LES
2000s New York CityDarryl Thompson RIP - Choking Smokers at Beatlefest
20 covers I can sing and feel like I am not lying to you:
I can imagine all the people living life in peace
I went to a fortune teller to have my fortune read
I love you in a place where there's no space and time
There's nothing you can do that can't be done. All you need is love!
Why don't we sing this song all together; open our hearts...
Teach your children well
Smile on your brother (and sister) everybody get together; try to love one another right now
There are 50 ways to leave your lover
Power to the people!
All we are saying is give peace a chance!
It's more than a feeling when I hear that old song play
Let the good times roll!
I'm here alone now and I'm singin' this song for you
We got to get together sooner or later because the revolution's here
I want candy
It's so nice to be stoned
Life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting my friend. We can work it out.
Good day sunshine
Lean on me when you're not strong, and I'll be your friend
We all shine on like the moon and the stars and the sun
But I won't. I would rather tell you these things in my own words with my own melodies, so don't ask. Thanks.
Back in Ybor 2006
WMNF
There are no jobs, but there is a college down the street So here I am at 4:30 am going through old flashdrives from college and digging up old assignments. My midterms and finals were always a chance for me to get creative. I wasn't about to turn in some drab intellectual over-stated report on what we discussed during the term. This was an opportunity for some Classroom Theater! Luckily, HCC's Ybor City campus was the arts campus and I was able to get away with my shenanigans. I always aced the class...probably because my professor was entertained, and I am almost certain that throughout their career, no student has ever summed up the lesson with a poem or prose, a song or a short one-act. I chose my classes - only two per semester, to work together ie English/Creative Writing, Music Fundamentals/Class Piano, Philosophy/Psychology etc This worked very well for me. It kept my head in one direction.
Another creative writing assignment.We were to combine the personalities of two of the strangest people we knew. I only knew strange people, but these two stood out.
Arthur is running for mayor again this week, so I thought I'd stop and congratulate him. Arthur is about six foot four, rail thin, and bears an uncanny resemblance to Groucho Marx. He is wearing his trademark train conductor's cap. Go Farthur with Arthur! is spray painted on the back of his tattered, sleeveless denim jacket. This evening he is sitting behind a small folding table in front of the Chinese restaurant enjoying a pot of tea. He has very long fingers, and it is fun to watch him drinking the tea from the small cup with his pinky sticking out.
On his little table in front of the teapot is stack of Xeroxed flyers and an assortment of stickers bearing his likeness and slogan. The flyers are free, but the stickers are one dollar. All of the money funds the Arthur for Mayor campaign.
After about an hour, Arthur, having finished his tea, begins gathering his flyers and stickers into a large worn black leather shoulder bag. I notice that the buckle is missing, but if I know Arthur, that buckle has to be somewhere on his person. I asked him why he never fixed the buckle. No answer. As he opens his bag, I see how incredibly organized he is. The bag has little compartments in which Arthur neatly stores all of his campaign paraphernalia: magic markers in a variety of sizes and colors, a roll of cellophane tape-the heavy kind that's used to pack boxes, cardboard in different sizes arranged neatly according to size in the area where the bag meets his back, and a couple of cans of black and silver spray paint. I don't see the buckle, but I figure it is in some secret compartment. He never shows it to anyone, but everyone knows he has it.
Sometimes Arthur can be seen pushing a baby carriage around town. The first time I saw him with the carriage, I wanted to make funny faces at the baby, but as I approached to see the baby, Arthur stopped me. He held his hand out like a traffic cop, and he looked as if he was about eight feet away from me; his
arms are so long. He didn't let me look inside, but somehow I had the feeling that it was not a baby. I didn't pursue the issue. I thought it must be something very personal since he was so protective of the carriage.
I remember one winter night, I saw Arthur pulling a child's sled with a big box tied to it with telephone wire. I thought it was rather odd that he would be pulling a box on a sled through the deserted snow covered city streets at 11:00 p.m. I stopped to say hello, and I asked him what he had in the box. He told me that he had some very important calls to make to some very important people in Washington. His leather shoulder bag was covered with snow. There was snow on his conductor's cap and snow on the box.
The snow on the sled was piled up about two feet thick. He hadn't even bothered to brush it off. That's a lot of snow to carry around. It had to weigh at least ten pounds. Including the contents of his bag, you could probably add another five to seven pounds. I wondered how much the box weighed. The table and the chair probably added another ten pounds. I thought about the buckle for a moment and wondered how much it might weigh. Was it a flimsy little tin buckle that weighed a gram or so, or was it a big, gaudy brass buckle that weighed maybe three or four ounces?
A policeman pulled his patrol car up next to Arthur and asked how he was doing. Arthur told him that he was running for mayor again this week, and he asked the officer if he could count on his vote. The cop told him that not only did he have his vote, but he would tell the boys at the precinct to vote for him as well. The constable reached into the back seat and handed Arthur some leftover doughnuts, wished him luck with the campaign, and drove off. Arthur offered me half of the doughnuts. The box of doughnuts weighed at least five pounds. I didn't feel like carrying them since I had to take three trains to get home.
"Give them away" he told me. "You'll find someone to give them to on your way home."
I thanked him, and as I started to leave, a gust of wind tipped the box on his sled, and all of its contents fell out onto the icy street.
I'd never seen such a variety of telephones. I offered to help him re-pack the box, but again he held out his hand as he had done with the baby carriage. He mumbled something about President Truman and began answering the phones as if they were actually ringing.
"Yeah, Harry how's Hillary?...yes...I have the buckle...Right...yes...tell General Grant that I'll have his buckle to him by the morning...yes...I know it's been over a century...uh huh...the bag too...yeah...listen...tell him the bag has been very useful...yes...I took very good care of the buckle...don't worry...say hi to Nancy."
The telephones must have weighed about fifty pounds. Maybe more. There were cell phones, princess phones, pay phones; there were even play phones like the ones that are made for children by
Fischer Price. Arthur picked up a nice yellow and red one that rattled when he picked up the receiver, and had a very nice conversation with The Shah of Iran who was offering half of his kingdom for the buckle. This must be a very special buckle, but I have yet to see it.
I remembered the baby carriage. Maybe it was filled with old telephones. That many telephones would be hard to carry around without the aid of a carriage or a sled. And when you're running for mayor, you don't want to be seen hauling all that stuff around without some kind of wheeled assistance.
People might think you're some kind of a nut.
Rev. Ralph Again
Classroom Theater
Rest in Peace, Mr. Corpse
~A Eulogy~
Dear friends, I did not know Mr. Corpse. I do not know any of you, nor do I care to. I am just a humble funeral director, and I am charging a substantial sum of money to feed you a huge line of bullshit, so open wide my friends; your hearts that is.
Yesterday, Mr. Corpse concluded his human experience. He considered this world to be a bizarre world in which he felt displaced. His life was a quest for knowledge, self-fulfillment, and self-actualization.
This is just a sample of the bullshit that I am being paid well to deliver.
Mr. Corpse was baptized into the Catholic faith against his will. He never adhered to its doctrines of resurrection, heaven, sin, and eternal damnation. He believed that the only way that the soul can achieve perfection is through reincarnation. If he was right, it would probably benefit mankind if the church reconsidered its stance against abortion.
Mr. Corpse's affections were always misdirected toward the wrong women, and he was never able to find the one who would love him totally and unconditionally. He was always nice to them, and he was always a perfect gentleman. Unfortunately, they always punished him with the contempt that he deserved for being a good human being.
He was generous with his time and resources, and he was sensitive to the needs of others. He wasnever late for an appointment, he always returned phone calls, and he was prompt in the payment of his debts. However, all of this was solely his responsibility and no one else ever felt obligated to return these courtesies, so they didn't.
Mr. Corpse created many great works that the world never got to see, read, or hear, and they will be discarded with the trash by his survivors who never recognized his genius. Mr. Corpse's valued
possessions will be donated to the Goodwill. After all, those useless items create a fire hazard, and they occupy very valuable and highly rentable space.
Mr. Corpse spent his last days struggling to be happy in the moment as he was constantly haunted by his memories. Although a few may, the world itself will not miss Mr. Corpse. The sun will shine, the rain will fall, and the world will continue to revolve without Mr. Corpse.
Here today, at his very expensive funeral, Mr. Corpse's friends and loved ones will finally have the chance to relieve their consciences and pay him the respect that they never afforded him in life.
Mr. Corpse is survived by the living. Mr. Corpse had no children, no life insurance, and he did not leave a will, so his survivors will have to begrudgingly pay for his funeral expenses since it is illegal to throw his body out in the trash with his legacy. Because of this, for the rest of their lives they will curse the name of Mr. Corpse
Dear friends, dry your tears. Today, Mr. Corpse is getting even!
Another piece from MINDFIELD. Probably a response to a lecture on dreams.
I Had A Dream
I was in a place where I had never been doing things I would never do with people I had never seen.
I talked about things I knew nothing about with those who knew less about it than I did.
I felt emotions that were not appropriate to the situation, and I reacted in ways that were contrary to how I would have normally reacted.
I felt happy and sad when I should have felt nothing at all.
When I awoke, I thought about it.
I had been to this place before, and done these things, and had these conversations with some of these people, but they were someone else, and we were somewhere else.
I have experienced some of these emotions, and I have reacted differently somewhere else with someone else.
Sometimes when this happens, I wake up relieved, upset, confused, or exhausted.
Sleeping can certainly be a lot of work!
Crucified
I
felt
I
w
a
s
crucified I expressed I was crucified
I
r
e
a
c
h
e
d
o
u
t
I
w
a
s
crucified
Becoming Jaded
It's Your Problem!
Your mother died when you were young; Your father was a drunk.
Your sister is a prostitute; Your girlfriend left you.
You've been fired from your job; Your account is overdrawn.
Your roommate is a slob.
Your kid is in jail and you don't have the bail
You've been evicted and you have nowhere to go
It's twenty below and you don't have a coat
You're up shit creek and you don't have a boat
You look in the mirror and you're filled with hate.
You can't even find someone to give you AIDS.
They call you paranoid, and they call you a liar,
when you want a little justice cause you've been unfairly fired.
I don't care if your essay is due.
I don't care if you have no money for books.
I don't care if you have no money to get to work or school.
I don't care if you are depressed.
I don't care if you need someone to talk to.
I don't care if you are starving to death.
I don't care if you need a fix.
I don't care if you are sick.
The last time I cared, it was used against me;
I was ignored, insulted and slandered.
You said I had ulterior motives, and you called me a stalker!
I don't care anymore!
It's your problem!
Impressions
I am not impressed by...
Athletes, rock stars, movie stars, politicians, landlords, lawyers, and employers
Bald heads, long hair, straight teeth, muscles, nice figures, and tattoos
IPods, brand names, cell-phones, video games, big houses
Badges, rank, degrees, awards, memberships, and affiliations
Large vocabularies, intellectualism, your philosophy
Ethno-centricity, cultural, national, and racial pride
Loud and aggressive people, tough guys
Ambition, power, status, self-importance
Noisy motorcycles, cars without mufflers
Nine dollar an hour jobs, rich people
Gods and their servants, dogma
Sex-appeal, good sex, perfume
Parades, holidays
Critics, experts
Money
Favors
Do you know what impresses me?
Friendship, helpfulness, forgiveness, mindfulness, gratitude, communication
I love your paper. My day is not complete without it. Regarding Margaret Kelly's comment, you say you are a proud American? You can take pride in an achievement. Did you do something to become an American? Maybe you can read the Constitution. That's a good first step. Here's a tip, begin with the First Amendment. TBT, you forgot the the hooves and tail! The only apology you owe this reader is for not being more detail oriented. It's great to live in a country where we can satirize our leaders in the press without fear of arrest and persecution. There! You can be proud of that! Or better yet...grateful. Ray Galindo, Tampa, Fl.
New York City 2012
The Ballad of Rew and Who?
I miss Rew and Who It was the one cool thing I could do I'd spend the day brushing my jacket, I'd spend the day slickin' my hair I gotta make sure that my guitar is tuned My fingernails are neatly polished and pruned I gotta make a good impression I got a fifteen minute session I'll be famous to the people in the room I gotta make sure I don't forget the words Maybe not the most profound that you ever heard I'm gonna get me some self-expression I got a fifteen minute session I'll be famous to the people in the room
I miss Rew and Who It was the coolest thing to do This is the day This is the day This is the day To make a good impression I got a fifteen minute session I'll be famous to the people in the room
God Save The Gun
With Lola Avana
With Bahama Kin
The Offenderz
I just woke up from a most unusual dream. I was walking with my friend, Jism, the singer for the NYC punk band Ism. As we passed by a barber shop, I looked in and saw my late friend, Rev. Ralph's father sitting alone. I asked Jism to wait a moment while I went inside to talk to Ralph Sr. I asked him if he remembered me. He said that he did not. I told him that I had gone to his house as a young man with his son on a number of occasions and that he had once given me a haircut at his home. His eyes were teary, but he smiled and 'pretended' to remember me. I told him that his son was a good friend of mine and that he had been a huge influence on my life - as a musician and as a man. I guess I wanted him to know that someone still remembered and cared about his son, and I wanted to reassure him that Ralph was someone who had left a lasting impression on someone else's life. I shook his hand and told him that one day I may come in for a haircut. Ralph Ferrera Sr. was a barber by trade. He passed away in 2008. His son, Rev Ralph was a fine musician and a great entertainer. He passed away in 2014. RIP gentlemen!
My mom died in November and Ralph in February. They were the two most important people in my life. Ralph has been in my life since I was eighteen. I don't know an existence without them and it is very weird...surreal living on this planet without their presence. My mother has not come to me in my dreams. Ralph has. I spent more time in my life with Ralph than I did with my own mother. Ralph was five years older than me, so I looked up to him as an older brother. Basically, between mom and Ralph, I am who and what I am because of their influence. Looking back, Ralph really taught me many of the values that I would have adopted from my father if I had had one in my life. Of course, he got it from his Pop. So, I guess in a way your Pop was my Pop too!
Beatle's shit. You're too obsessive. Told ya before, John Lennon himself would tell you to give it a rest Sure, Pat. My internet bill is 80.00 a month. Where should I send it?
What do the Beatles have to do with your fuckin internet debt? Have we both gone soft, Ray?
There is no such thing as Beatles SHIT. I am a life-long fan. I enjoy posting them on MY page. I have many Beatles pages on Facebook. I can do or post whatever I wish on my page and in my life. Whoever doesn't like it, can keep scrolling. I offer no apologies.
Ouch. Glad you're not into Barbies. The pink would be too much.
Cool...maybe that's why you remember it I remember the piano lick and the bass line. "Tell me how you manage to make ends meeee-eeeetahhhh". Gayle n Company called Ralph, Richard, n Jack "The Fetid Ones". You called 'em "pals". I did too. THAT I remember....
Linda Grimm was probably the best sex I EVER HAD. Can't find her on FB. Hope she didn't kill herself. God knows she tried enough.
Actually, the 'pals' in the song are Rev Ralph, Ralph Diaz, Steve Martin-Caro, Cosmic Dave, John Hearing and you.
Diaz lived across the street after Robin and I gotta place together. Hyde Park.
We had a fire place in the BEDROOM! Saw Steve and hung with him for a few months (years after our time) in Clearwater. Doin' phone room shit and living with a mud ugly Jerry Springer lookin' broad. He would always say " How can a coupl'a guys like us make it in this Brave New World." Gayle always bitched about how childish he was. "Get over it and move ON" was her mantra.
When she got breast cancer, I was poleaxed. Suzie moved to Ithaca NY with her and....she died. No more Courvoisier! I think Suzie's lost her mind. She was always tilted in that direction. A shame. Such a gentle spirit. You, the guys from that era, were the fellows I had the best time with. I get wistful for it with my liver spots n my cirrhosis.
Of course you remember my girlfriend at the time, Jennifer MacDuffee
You were cattin on the streets of Ybor when you were with me. Hence, the STD black chick. I met Robin at Rough Riders. Lee and Paul Wilborn introduced me. I settled into domestic life for the next 4 YEARS. All the shit goin' down at Arts Alive was AFTER my time. That's when I started drinking with Jack Herbert on the reg.. Although Jack and Ralph and me went through a case of champagne years earlier when he divorced Rue. Remember when Ralph had the store front next to a breakfast joint on Kennedy?
Wasn't that 115 Hyde Park Avenue?
No. Some pancake n eggs joint on Kennedy. Near the intersection of Howard Ave
I have always been hated for being a musician. I wonder why that is. I'm not sure if that's it...maybe because I'm a songwriter. Yeah! That's it! They hate my songs!
Sorry guys , l wasnt trying to insult anyone , it was just an attempt at humor, sorry if anybody was offended ...but if you dont appreciate off the cuff responses like mine, ya really shouldnt post absurd statments onto my notification board .... I just thought it was an attempt at self deficateing humor and was playing along
Thanx for vouching for my motives Ray ...l really thought l'd just get a chuckle , l never meant no harm guys ,reall ,like you said Martin , l dont even know you and l apologize for overstpping my bounds
I post those things to illustrate how musicians get all the shit dumped on them by people like her, like we re all show offs and bad people. Musicians work hard. We never master the music ever. It's hard.
I was away on location on a job doing a lot of hours on a film ,l must have missed it ...sorry ,i usually respond to messages ,especially from names l recognize
Look at all this time and energy that was wasted. I posted a bunch of my videos. Maybe we could have spent time on that...or am I the only one who checks out my friends' work? Don't believe me? Check out My Friends Rock
The only reason that I post this stuff is to make it permanent before it all falls off of the tapes and before I croak. Maybe someone will give a shit then. It is always my hope that some musicians will take an interest in my work and help me get it onto the stage...but it will never happen because, as I said, everyone hates me for being a songwriter...maybe I should regress to playing Jimmy Buffett songs. How many were there...two?
I don't perform anymore. I've never really enjoyed it. I am a songwriter who enjoys recording. The studio is my venue. I don't like to entertain people. I don't think I have the ability to energize or inspire my audience. I might remember a handful of times when anyone has ever expressed to me that they enjoyed my performance.
Kanye was rude to Taylor Swift when she was basking in her moment of victory, Justin thinks he can drive his car at 100 mph in a zone where children live and then threaten to kill the father of one of his fans, and Jay-Z calls Paul McCartney some old white guy who can rock! Idiots...all of them! Is anybody whistling their tunes? And why was Kanye wearing a skirt at the 12/12/12 concert? Why was he even there?
Ray Galindo & Friends Through The Decades
Guitars1970s Tampa, Florida Ray Galindo David Carbonell Valentino * Jimmy Belote - Pegasus* Terry Cagle - Broadway Star; Battle of the Bands at Papa's Dream, St. Petersburg, Florida * Curt Smith Rick Wynn - WT Band* Tony Miranda - WT Band*
1980sTampa, FloridaRay Galindo Gary Rexroad - The Ybor City News Experimental Music Ensemble*Nolan Canova - Ray Galindo & Friends: Hyde Park Avenue Album Eric Walters RIP - Ray Galindo & FriendsCosmic Dave Reid - 115 Hyde Park Avenuefrom Hyde Park Avenue Album Tom Dowen RIP - Dance Like You Love Me from Hyde Park Avenue Album Herman Dudley - The Count Bloodthirsty Show*
1990s New York City Tony Martinek RIP - The International Subliminal Feedback Society Viktor Jira RIP - The International Subliminal Feedback Society Daniel 'Narayan' Ramos - Godson Thomas Realm - Snottra Franks Mike Smith - The New Millennium Martian Band *2000s New York City Darryl Thompson RIP - Choking Smokers *2000s Tampa, FloridaDevon Ramos - Performance at Hillsborough Community College * John Shea - Galindo Cerrato & Shea 2010s New York CityTommy Galione Jack McLean Bahama Kin - Ray Galindo & Friends Sid Moskowitz - The Offenderz Don Black Cat - Nine Lives Album
Bass1970s Tampa, FloridaTim Burke - Broadway Star; Battle of the Bands at Papa's Dream, St. Petersburg, Florida* Dennis Nails RIP - WT Band * 1980sTampa, FloridaScott Van Sickle - Ray Galindo & Friends: Hyde Park Avenue from Hyde Park Avenue Album Nolan Canova - You And Me from Hyde Park Avenue Album 1990s New York CityRay Galindo Marc West - She Fell Off A Bridge from The Bookstore Sessions 2010s New York CityTommy Galione Clift Arden Dave U Hall - The Offenderz 2020s Jersey City Nicola Stemmer - Nine Lives Album
Piano, Organ, Keyboards Ray Galindo Ralph Ferrera RIP Jennifer MacDuffee - Hyde Park Avenue Album Jim Christie - Facts Of Life Stefan Paolini - Nine Lives Album
Drums Matt Cerrato Chris Thurow - Broadway Star; Battle of the Bands at Papa's Dream, St. Petersburg, Florida * Steve Martin-Caro RIP - 115 Hyde Park Avenue Lu Badura - The International Subliminal Feedback Society Tommy Galione Charlie Sub - The Offenderz Paul Mirto RIP - The Offenderz George Morales - The Offenderz Bree Plaza - The Offenderz Mick Oakleaf - The Offenderz, Nine Lives Album
Trumpets and TrombonesDaryl Wren - The Ybor City News Experimental Music Ensemble * Mark Wren - The Ybor City News Experimental Music Ensemble * Mac Gollehon - Nine Lives Album
Saxophone Seaton Hancock - Nine Lives Album: Thousands Of Years
Violins, Violas and Cellos Susan Mitchell - Nine Lives Album
* No recordings exist
Bands with guitars and drums are on the way out You can't have a string quartet or a sitar in a pop song You can't put a symphony orchestra tuning up in the middle of a song You can't release a double album with a plain white cover You can't record a song that's longer than 2 1/2 minutes You can't sing a song expressing sympathy for the devil You can't have two drummers in a band There is no such thing as a rock opera So please don't tell me that I can't have a harpsichord on my recording!
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