Then came the sadness

On Sunday Ereck and I took his Pilates instructor's advice and went to Overture Center to see Kanopy, the Madison dance troupe. Unfortunately, when we arrived, there was a throng of people easily twice the size of Promenade Hall's 200 capacity, so we were out of luck. That left us with some time to kill before the next event I was covering for the newspaper, a performance by Madison saxophonist Hanah Jon Taylor. It was a beautiful day, so we decided to stroll over to Monona Terrace for some lake breezes.

I had just read that a memorial to Otis Redding is on the terrace, which surprised me as I'd visited the place many times but had never seen this. (Redding died in 1967 at age 26 when, shortly before he was to play a show in Madison, his plane crashed into Lake Monona.) We searched, and I had all but given up when, as we approached the terrace's northwest corner, Ereck spotted the memorial, a bronze plaque and a semicircle of marble benches whose legs are sturdy, stylized R's with inset circles that look like O's: O.R.

We sat and read the inscription, which among other things has a joke to the effect that it was the only gig Redding ever missed. Then I looked out at the lake and thought about Redding and the other musicians the plaque mentions: Aretha Franklin, Sam Cooke, Ray Charles. I grieved. I thought about "Pain in My Heart" and "Try a Little Tenderness," and I wondered why Redding had to die so young--why anyone has to die so young.

Then I thought about Lawrence Olivier as Zeus in Clash of the Titans. The gods sure can be capricious.

Only as I sat to write this did it occur to me why the Redding memorial is a place to sit: because his most famous song is "(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay." As always, I'm a little slow on the uptake.

Good word

"Satire doesn't have to be fair to be funny."

--Pauline Kael

Whew

I just banged out a piece about the two full days I spent taking in opening weekend at Overture Center, the gleaming new arts facility downtown. I also saw Broom Street Theatre's new play, Flowers for Dubya, on Friday, which means that if I consume much more local culture in the next few hours, my heart will explode.

Read all about both events in this week's Isthmus.

You oughta know...

...that the fabulous rockabilly legend Sleepy LaBeef will be at the Crystal Corner Bar on Sunday, Sept. 26. Sleepy is one of my very favorite artists, and he has influenced my music hugely with his long sets and breathtakingly huge repertoire and, surtout, his tremendous baritone.

And I'll be opening! The Cash Box Kings' White Ass Joe put this show together, and he brilliantly proposed that he, several Cash Box Kings and I join forces to create an exciting new roots-music band: the White Mule Country Blues Band. A few days ago we played a show at the Slipper Club that went swimmingly, and we'll do our best to warm up the Crystal crowd for a Sleepy extravaganza.

Showtime is 7:30; admission is $10. The Crystal Corner is at 1302 Williamson St. in Madison.

And just look at the great poster that Madison designer David Michael Miller made for us!

Good word

"But I say when people bring music into the world, it's a gift. It's a spiritual gift, regardless of who sings it."

--Brian Wilson

Splitsville

About a year ago I was reading about divorce. I've never really understood my parents' divorce, and although I'm past the point of blaming my problems on it, except at certain dark moments, I got curious about how other kids experienced the big D. I turned up some so-so self-help books and made a few notes. The other day I found one of these notes, which referred to the John Updike story "Separating," about a married couple who tell their kids they're splitting up.

So this week I dug up the story--it's in Updike's collection Too Far to Go: The Maples Stories--and read it. It's sad and gently funny and not much like my family's story. But I was struck by this passage:

Years ago the Maples had observed how often, among their friends, divorce followed a dramatic home improvement, as if the marriage were making one last strong effort to live.

This is eerie, because just before my folks split up in 1980, they enlarged our house with an addition that included a big master bedroom for them to share. After Dad moved out, I remember standing in the new rooms and thinking, "So why did we build this?"

Must be love

I just noticed that in this montage I created some weeks back, a photographer seems to be making eye contact with Beach Boy Al Jardine.