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globalFEST 2011: An Amazing World Of Sound

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Get your Must Kulunda on!

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Choice And Chance

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One doesn’t really know if the choices one makes are always the right ones, but there’s something to be said for making a difficult one, i.e., taking the road less traveled.  Don’t know if that’s necessarily good, or right, or best, or even has that proverbial pot of gold at the end of it.  Perhaps with hindsight, one can call it one way or the other.  But, in the present moment, all one can do is make a choice.  And of course, chance will do her thing, come what may.


So, may it be that we find the courage to seize the day, nay, to seize the moment, and take a good look at that fork in the road, and if it is the road less traveled that appeals to you, well, then take it.  Otherwise, take the other one.  Regardless, make your choice!  With daring and conviction.  You can always look back and dissect your decision later. 

 

And as for Chance, well, I’ve heard that she favors the bold.

 

 The Road Not Taken

– Robert Frost


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both 

And be one traveler, long I stood 

And looked down one as far as I could 

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair 

And having perhaps the better claim, 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear; 

Though as for that, the passing there 

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay 

In leaves no step had trodden black 

Oh, I kept the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh 

Somewhere ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I 

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference.

 

First published on Monday, November 3, 2008 in my private blog. 

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John Cohen's Passionate Pursuit, From Kentucky To Peru : NPR

From left, poet Gregory Corso (1930-2001), painter and musician Larry  Rivers  (1923-2002), writer Jack Kerouac (1922-1967), and musician and   photographer John Cohen (in mirror) in New York, late 1950s.

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From left, poet Gregory Corso (1930-2001), painter and musician Larry Rivers (1923-2002), writer Jack Kerouac (1922-1967), and musician and photographer John Cohen (in mirror) in New York, late 1950s.

From left, poet Gregory Corso (1930-2001), painter and musician Larry  Rivers  (1923-2002), writer Jack Kerouac (1922-1967), and musician and   photographer John Cohen (in mirror) in New York, late 1950s.
John Cohen/Getty Images

From left, poet Gregory Corso (1930-2001), painter and musician Larry Rivers (1923-2002), writer Jack Kerouac (1922-1967), and musician and photographer John Cohen (in mirror) in New York, late 1950s.

January 23, 2011

For more than half a century, John Cohen has been taking photographs, making films, recording rural musicians and creating his own music. He’s a co-founder of The New Lost City Ramblers, a string band that set the standard for authenticity in the 1950s’ “folk boom,” and at the age of 78, Cohen is still at it.

A seminal figure in the folk revival of the 1950s, Cohen grew up in New York City. Now he lives in a snug, wood-heated home, about an hour north of the city.

“I live up here in Putnam County on an old farm, like I’m supposed to,” Cohen says, as he shuffles toward an old staircase. “This apparently was an old smoke house and now it’s my music library.”

It’s here, in what Cohen calls his “inner sanctum,” that he keeps the relics and results of his more than 50 years of exploring the stories and lives of others, as a still photographer, filmmaker and sound recorder.

In 1954, while still a student at Yale, Cohen went to Peru, knowing only two words of Quechua. Three years later, he headed for Kentucky, where he met banjoist and singer Roscoe Holcomb.

Holcomb became the subject of a classic Cohen film, The High Lonesome Sound. Sometime after he finished it, Cohen took the film back to the village of Daisy, Ky.

“I was anxious to hear the comments,” he says, “[Then someone said,] ‘Look, Aunt Jane painted her porch!’ That’s all I got from all that political correctness.”

Between visits to Kentucky and Peru, Cohen lived in a downtown New York City apartment, next door to photographer Robert Frank. When Frank shot the iconic beat film, Pull My Daisy, Cohen took the still photographs. When young Bob Dylan came to Greenwich Village, Cohen took photos of him, too, on the roof of the building.

There’s a famous shot of Woody Guthrie, curly hair sprouting from the top of his narrow head, framed by the hulking backs of two acoustic guitarists. That picture was the image used for a show of Cohen’s still photos, films and music at the Corcoran Gallery in Washington, D.C., in 1997.

Cohen was a musician himself. A banjo player since high school, he began learning the music of the old-timers while he was at Yale, and soon after, he formed the New Lost City Ramblers.

“In the very first notes I wrote for the very first New Lost City Ramblers album, I said there’s a side of ourselves that goes out trying to change the world to our own image, and there’s another side of ourselves trying to find our image in the outside world,” he says. “I think it’s that second one that’s forced me to become who I am.”

It’s through the Ramblers that Tom Rankin, director of the Center for Documentary Studies at Duke University, was first exposed to Cohen’s multifaceted work.

“One of the things you can really see from John Cohen is that you don’t have to pigeonhole yourself,” Rankin says. “You can follow that naive passion of interest, be a participant and be an observer.”

Cohen says, “I’m an artist rather than a documentarian.”

But back in his barn a few years ago, Cohen put the lie to that. Rummaging around, he found footage for his most recent film, a follow-up on Roscoe Holcomb.

“About 20 years ago I made my last film in Peru, and I said I’ve done 15 films, that’s enough. Then I remembered, out in the barn I had all of this footage that didn’t make it into my first film,” he says. “I found some beautiful music and devastating stories from Roscoe, and that what gave me the impetus to make the new movie.”

That film, Roscoe Holcomb From Daisy, Kentucky, has just come out on DVD, along with the original Holcomb documentary. Also out are John Cohen, Past, Present, Peru: A Collection of CDs, DVDs, Photos and Text and a new book about The New Lost City Ramblers.

“I’m 78 years old and I didn’t expect to have this much attention come to my work,” Cohen says. “I’m very happy it’s happening and I’d like people to see it, because it should be seen.”

 

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Norwich, England, a Book-Lover’s Town

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Three's Company

Three bottles of ghee / A routine labor of love / For the ones I love.

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Note on picture:  My latest batch of homemade ghee sitting on my kitchen counter.

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The Choice (And Decision) Is Yours!

This post was first published on Monday, October 27, 2008 in my private blog.  It is being reproduced here in its entirety because the topic of this post qualifies it to be housed here.  It is an account of an event attended and enjoyed, and to freshen it up a bit, I am attaching an audio clip of this post verbatim.  For your reading, listening, and viewing pleasure!  Special thanks to Scott and Beth Trossen for inviting us to the Phil Keaggy concert.

Pascal

Click here for an audio recording of this post:

Isn’t that great to know?  Or, I should say, comforting to know.  In the broadest possible sense of that title, isn’t it absolutely liberating to know that you – and you alone – have that right of choice.

And in a more narrow and specific sense, isn’t it also great to know that the choice to believe or not to believe – in a God who loves me so much that he came down to earth to take upon himself the entire human condition, and then offered himself up as a sacrifice – for the perfect atonement – in order that I might simply believe in this supreme act of love and thereby receive the gift of forgiveness and eternal life, is a choice that is solely mine?

And furthermore, to also believe that this God would do all this had I been the only one on the face of this Earth.  And that this God knows that I could not save myself, or else he would have certainly laid out a to-do list for me. (And BTW, no, those ten commandments didn’t work out, which is why God went to Plan B which meant coming down to Earth in the flesh!). 

And that this God expects from me only two things in return:  to believe in this plan to save me, i.e., my soul, and to love him back.  Nothing else.  Plain and simple.  Call it the 1-2-3 plan:  1-God loves me.  2-He wants me to be reconciled with him.  3-He has a plan for this.  But the choice to believe this or not is mine alone.

And so I choose to believe.  Call me a “Jesus-Lover” if you wish.  I won’t wince.  I’ll claim, instead, the title with pride and joy.  Seriously.

And in line with this whole notion of choice, and more importantly, the choice to believe in Jesus Christ as the one and only way to eternal life, and also to the very meaning of terrestrial life,  I found it very refreshing the other day to be in the midst of a very large crowd that felt the same way.  It was at a concert of this mind-blowing guitarist of a guy by the name of Phil Keaggy.   I could wax poetic about his impossible guitar-playing skills and his melodious voice (see:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phil_Keaggy), but what was most impressive to me was his unabashed declaration of his personal faith.

His repertoire for the evening included a rendition of the Beatles’ famous Here Comes The Sun which carried the alternate meaning of Son, as in Jesus, the Son of God.

And Phil Keaggy said something else that caught in the cobwebs of my mind that evening:  he said, to paraphrase loosely: someone by the name of George MacDonald (apparently a big influencer on the writer, thinker and theologian, C.S. Lewis) was known to have said:  God is the perfect gentleman; he would never force you to spend an eternity with him! 

Meaning, of course, that the choice is yours:  to believe and accept God’s free gift, no strings attached, or not to believe.  God doesn’t force you one way or the other.  He presents himself to you, and then allows you to make up your mind about him. 

Perhaps the simplicity of this offering is what is baffling to many:  how could it be that nothing else is required – you mean, there’s no pilgrimage to be made, no alms to be given, no set of rules to live by?  Yeah, you got that right.  There’s nothing.  Because once you choose to believe in this gracious God who’s giving you everything for free, you do what you do (or don’t do) out of love, not out of fear. 

Not because you are trying hard to earn your salvation and therefore trying to get as many brownie-points as possible, but because you believe that it is the least that you can do in return to show your love for him!  Nothing convoluted about that concept really – no arm-twisting at play here to get you to love your neighbor – you now do it because you want to! 

I’d been thinking of this and matters such as these when a friend said to me recently something about believing in a pantheon of gods since they’re all one and the same anyway, aren’t they?  And I said to him in as gentle but firm a voice as possible that I didn’t think so.  No, I didn’t think so, because I don’t believe so.  I then went on to say something about having the courage of my convictions to believe in what I did. 

I also shared another thing that actually ties into this whole concept of choice.  I told him about the renowned mathematician Blaise Pascal’s famous “wager” that essentially states that you have nothing to lose by virtue of believing in the existence of God. 

Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.  And bet on God.  Because you’ve got nothing to lose. 

Pascal writes:  Belief is a wise wager. Granted that faith cannot be proved, what harm will come to you if you gamble on its truth and it proves false?  If you gain, you gain all; if you lose, you lose nothing. Wager, then, without hesitation, that He exists.  

For more on this, see:  http://www.peterkreeft.com/topics/pascals-wager.htm 

So!  May it be that we exercise our power to choose.  And may it be that we might be able to put aside Reason for a while – our able and wily consort (she won’t let up otherwise!) – in order to consider instead the simplicity as well as the magnitude of concepts such as Grace and Love.  

Because the choice to do so is ours and ours alone. 

Phil_keaggy_011

[P.S.:  About these pictures:  the one without the guitar is Pascal; Keaggy’s the one with the beret!]

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American Fast Food In India

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I remember the McAloo Tikki I had in a McDonald’s in Bangalore too! Plus, priceless dialogue from Pulp Fiction on the Royale With Cheese.

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From Achie In Oz

Scarves woven with love / Come to me across oceans / To hug and warm me!

Scarves

Note on picture:  scarves made by my loving mother-in-law in Australia that arrived in a parcel today.