When the massage therapist who was working on my back muscles asked me what I did and when I said I’m a musician and when she asked me if I liked the music that was playing in the background, the horrible electronic one note generated wash of chords that made crescendos and dissolves slowly, over an over and over – I said yes it’s great because I didn’t want to risk insulting the person who is giving me so much relief. Lying was the right thing to do and then she said, I love it too.
There is a cruel musician joke about drummer Buddy Rich who despite great musical reputation was equally known for throwing hissy fits at the musicians he employed. I think about that in light of the Ontario Conservative leaders resigning for sexual assault accusations because I keep re-watching the news footage, and enjoying it.
buddy rich’s house after he died. telephone rings. widow answers.
is buddy there?
no i’m sorry Buddy died.
moments later, phone rings
hi is Buddy there?
I just told you Buddy died.
Ya, I just like to hear it.
I always knew the Harry Belafonte song Matilda started off Matilda! Matilda! But I didn’t realize the next line was “she take me money and run (to) Venezuela”. That’s the trouble with ripping off a songwriter.