Knicks Nostalgia

 

Everyone is talking about 1973, the last time the Knicks won an NBA championship. But what about the first championship? That was even more of a landmark. From 1969 to 1973, Ann and I followed the Knicks intensely, going to games whenever we could. To us, 1970 was the greatest year of all: their first championship and a playoff series never to be forgotten, with Willis Reed squaring off against Wilt Chamberlain and the Finals going the full seven games.

 

I don't follow professional basketball that closely anymore. Three-pointers galore, replay challenges on the floor, strobe lights and music introducing the players, even the constantly changing uniform styles (hate the knee length shorts). Give me old-time basketball, even a set shot here and there or some underhand foul shooting. Maybe today's teams would wipe the floor with those of yesteryear, but the games of my youth were played with pure heart.

 

Victor Wembanyama's 7'4", 235-pound frame, to me, though, pales beside Chamberlain's 7'1", 280 pounds. Imagine Reed trying to box Chamberlain out at 6'11". Yet Reed more than held his own in the series until he tore a thigh muscle and missed Game 6, allowing Chamberlain to erupt for 45 points and 27 rebounds. Reed's courageous appearance in the opening minutes of Game 7, despite the injury, helped inspire the Knicks to their first championship. His symbolic presence seemed to galvanize the entire team.

 

But I'm getting into details that could go on forever. This entry is pure nostalgia. As I wrote in an earlier blog post, we were married in 1970, on the eve of those historic playoffs:

 

"The ceremony itself was what one would expect from a humanist minister. A substantial part of the service captured our enthusiasm for the then victorious New York Knicks, with names such as Bill Bradley, Dave DeBusschere, Walt Frazier, and Willis Reed sprinkled throughout our wedding vows."

So for me, this feels a little like Halley's Comet arriving ahead of schedule. We were married 56 years ago when the Knicks won their first NBA championship, and now, on the eve of another possible championship, those memories come flooding back. The fact that the occasion may be sullied by the attendance of a man whose presence tends to make every event about himself will not sit well with many Knicks fans.

 

So from many years ago, I present the opening pages of a 1970–71 Knicks program, probably from the last game I attended in person. It captures much of the excitement of those years, and I'm glad I held on to it all this time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Christmas Memories

  

Above, a Florida version of Christmas, when we lived near the Intracoastal and had a boat at our dock.  Although no longer in boating and no longer living on the water, we remain in Florida but it has made little difference in my attitude that the Florida version is still a humbug!

 

Christmas was part of my upbringing in NYC.  When we were married, Ann carried on a tradition which was not her own, the best Christmas hostess ever!  It was never a real religious holiday for me.

 

And when we raised our family of two boys in Connecticut, we tried to make the holiday a special moment in their lives as well. Alas, with our aging and their leaving to pursue their own lives, we no longer put up a tree or do anything more than visit friends who still carry on the tradition.

 

Also, at this point in our lives, we are on the agnostic/atheism spectrum. I never criticize believers, as I, in return, do not expect them to proselytize. In our country today, though, the Christian right has been given permission to run amok, which has resulted in a severe case of Christougenniatikophobia for us.

 

Nonetheless, the Christmases of my past loom in memory.

 

One of my earliest was when I was maybe six or seven. My father had returned from WW II and had bought a small house in south Richmond Hill, Queens—two stories—and I had my own small bedroom adjacent to the home's one bathroom at the top of the stairs. 

 

It was Christmas Eve, and I later learned that a neighbor traditionally dressed up as Santa Claus and made the rounds in the neighborhood to wish everyone good cheer and to take a nip of any eggnog or other libation that might be served at that particular household. Although it was late at night when he visited, I was still awake in anticipation of Christmas morning. Suddenly I heard the doorbell and then a bellowing "Ho-ho!" and I ran to the top of the stairs to peek and was stunned to not only see Santa Claus but realize he saw me! I stepped back into the shadows and heard him say, "Is that you, Bobby? Good boys should be asleep by now!" I was nonplussed. Did that mean I wouldn't get any presents? So I answered, "No, it's not Bobby," running back into my bedroom and quietly closing the door. 

 

I guess that night I struggled over my stupidity, but at the time, maybe I just hoped he took whomever answered at his word. Silly, I know, but remembered.

 

Better remembrances were of our adult lives, raising our kids in Connecticut. One tradition was to go to a Christmas tree farm, ride in a horse-drawn wagon, and cut our own tree. But I'll mark the holiday with this brief entry without venturing further into memory, other than posting some photos, including a video.

 

The above was our family Christmas portrait in 1977.

 

I loved the snow when it first began to fall, and although this is not a Christmas snow photo, it was one of those winters where we had a lot.

 

 

Early Christmas morning, the kids up before Mom, anticipating the day. I had bought a train set the year before and each Christmas set it up during the holiday.

 

Finally, Christmas meant music, a time when I would play those songs on the piano, at home and at our yearly office Christmas party. My favorite Christmas song is "I'll Be Home for Christmas." I explained the reason why in an article I wrote seven years ago, "If Only in My Dreams."

 

Although I embed a video of playing that song in my entry, it is best listened to on YouTube at this link

 

And so to all a good night!

 

If Only In My Dreams

And so the classic song "I'll Be Home For Christmas" ends with that memorable line “if only in my dreams.”

And that is sort of the way I feel at this stage of my life.  Christmases are now dreams of the past, anticipating the holiday as a child and then the pleasures Ann and I had in creating memorable holiday moments for our children as they grew up.  The classic song itself is particularly evocative of the distant past popularized by Bing Crosby and so many others, first recorded at the peak of WW II. 

Undoubtedly it was played frequently by my mother and my grandparents with whom we lived while my father was in Germany at the conclusion of the War, wanting to get home, but he was part of the occupying force and didn’t make it home until right after Christmas 1945.  "I'll Be Home For Christmas" is probably implanted in the recesses in my mind as every time I hear it I feel a sudden melancholy. 

When my father came home he brought a wooden replica of the Jeep he drove in Germany for me.  I don’t remember his return, or getting the Jeep, but somehow that 70 year old Jeep has accompanied me to wherever I lived.  Sometimes when I look at it, I can hear "I'll Be Home For Christmas."

In some past blog entries I’ve posted videos of other Christmas songs I like to play, in particular the following:  “It's Love -- It's Christmas,”  a seldom performed Christmas song, written by none other than the great jazz pianist Bill Evans. And, then, “Christmas Time Is Here” is by Vince Guaraldi, a great jazz musician too but his music will always be associated with the Peanuts Christmas specials.

Finally, there is “Christmas Lullaby,” probably the most unknown Christmas song. It was written for Cary Grant by none other than Peggy Lee (Lyrics) and Cy Coleman (Music). It is the simplest of tunes and lyrics but therein is its beauty.

So, on the eve of this Christmas I post my piano rendition of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” with fond memories of my Dad and Christmases past.

"I'll Be Home For Christmas"

I'll be home for Christmas;

You can plan on me.

Please have snow and mis-tle-toe

And presents on the tree.

Christmas eve will find me

Where the love light gleams.

I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams.

I'll be home for Christmas;

You can plan on me.

Please have snow and mis-tle-toe

And presents on the tree.

Christmas eve will find me

Where the love light gleams.

I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams

Musical Notations

My former self speaks to me…….

It sometimes laments not committing more effort into improving my piano skills over the years.  Not that I am gifted, but I am teachable.  Not that I even had the time to pursue more intense lessons being involved my entire adult life in a publishing career that was all consuming.  But I still have regrets about not developing what talent I do have into a higher degree of proficiency at the piano.

I am most envious of those gifted musicians, who can hear a song and then play it, improvise it, embellish it, all without reading a musical score.  It is an extraordinary gift and most of the prominent musicians have that ability. 

Irving Berlin’s story is intriguing.  He couldn’t write or read music.  He never had a lesson although Victor Herbert briefly instructed Berlin, who was already established as a major composer of popular songs.  In fact, he abandoned the effort knowing he didn’t really need those lessons to further his career.

As a youngster Berlin taught himself to play the tunes he heard in his head using the F# scale, thus playing mostly on the black keys.  He found it simpler to just learn them to express his musical ideas (why bother with the white keys : - ).  Remarkable.  As any musician will tell you, it’s a heck of lot easier to compose and play in C Major. 

As he never studied music, and wasn’t a great pianist, he couldn’t transpose.  Most gifted musicians can transpose to another key “on the fly.”  I can’t.  I have to work it out.  Berlin couldn’t so when he wanted to change keys in a song he relied on a mechanical instrument that changed keys for him.  He would write that section of the song in F# and the mechanical transposer changed it to whatever key he wanted.  He also asked musicians to transcribe his music.

Even professional musicians are confounded by Berlin’s abilities and lack of ability.  But the point is he could play without music, music he couldn’t read.  In that regard, he played strictly by ear.

Classical performance completely relies on the ability to read musical notation.  Of course there is still room for a performer’s interpretation of the composer’s score.  Many concert performances by pianists, with or without the orchestra will be performed without the pianist consulting the musical notation, or just having it there for a passing glance to be in synch with the orchestra.  These are remarkable pianists being able to internally assimilate large and complicated works.  It’s really the ability to “see” the score or to sight-read “silently.”  They simply hear it in their heads.

There are also jazz pianists who can not only play by ear, but have been trained classically, and can thus sight read such as Bill Evans and Oscar Peterson.  They were double threats at the keyboard, using their incredible knowledge of musical theory, voicing, and virtuoso technical training to interpret a song.  Both Evans and Peterson were comfortable playing solo or with a jazz group, without having to read music for any performance.  To them, playing was like speaking a language they were born with and then studied to know the entire vocabulary and usage.  A gift few have.

Hearing it in one’s head is the most salient characteristic of a jazz performer, particularly one performing in a “jazz jam” with other jazz performers without any rehearsal, maybe never having played with the other.  Jazz performers who are playing a piece they are not familiar with use a lead sheet and/or a chord chart.  Lead sheets consist of the melody line in the treble clef and the accompanying chord for the bass and for “filling in.”  I can read a lead sheet or “fake book” music, they’re usually synonymous. 

I have “fake books” for most of the Great American Songbook, a favorite repository from which jazz artists take their pieces.  But just having the melody line and the chords does not make one “jazz jam worthy.”  Jazz artists can take a chord chart which corresponds to the lead sheet and improvise using the song structure, usually returning to the melody itself at the end of the jam. 

In order to do so, the jazz artist must be able to follow the melody in his or her head, as well as follow the rhythm.  Jazz jam artists “hand off” solos to one another.  The music can become very abstract, but all participants in a jam are speaking the same language.

I have put to rest the fantasy of jamming, although I could do some.  It would just be too anxiety producing for me.  I now accept the fact that I’m an inveterate soloist; just enjoy playing as I do, not at a professional level, but simply for the joy of revisiting the classics of the Great American songbook and play them for myself or for others as part of a structured program.  My playing adheres mostly to the melody, improvising mostly for the bass based on the chords. 

I started this entry about my distant self talking to me in the present.  Rick Moore, the very gifted jazz keyboardist who is the founder of the Jupiter Jazz Society (an “organization committed to presenting ’live’ improvised music and promoting Jazz education throughout the Palm Beaches”), wrote a piece he calls “Song for Cherie,”  a song for his wife.  She is really the organizer of the Jupiter Jazz Society.  I was struck by the piece as it reminded me in some ways of Bill Evans’ original work, my favorite jazz artist.  Rick’s work has clockwork simplicity to it, and although a waltz (Evans wrote many), a beautiful jazz feel to it, particularly the B section.

I asked him whether he would share the lead sheet with me which he was kind enough to do, so I could have the enjoyment of playing it.  You can hear the composer himself play the piece at this link. 

He’s composed many pieces over the years and will be issuing a CD of them in the future.  It is something to look forward to.

It made me think of my nascent songwriting efforts from decades before.  They are mostly uncompleted pieces, simply because I’ve never had any training either in theory or in composition.  Also, there was the time factor.

One of my finished pieces was called Annie’s Waltz.  Ironically, both Rick and I wrote songs to the women in our lives in 3 / 4 time.  I wrote a brief blog entry about my piece ten years ago but Google Pages pulled the link to my recorded version.  That entry makes reference to it being written the year we were married, 1970.  But I’ve found the original and it was written in Jan. 1969, just about the time we started dating seriously.  In a few months, that piece will be 50 years old.  50 years!!!  Here is a photo of what I wrote, warts and all given the passage of time and the worn edges of the music.  It’s a simple piece, but heartfelt for this mere amateur.

As I’ve had difficulty posting what I recorded, I have simply posted a You Tube version.  I’ve learned to accept less than perfection with my little digital camera and even reluctantly and nostalgically to accept the fact that I’m a soloist, not destined to be a jazz performer and I’m ok with that.  I just enjoy playing.  All the videos I’ve posted can be found here.