Presenting the band Russian Telegraph reminds me of living in North Beach, fresh out of college and the optimism I had, which was tempered by the realities of a big world that is largely indifferent to us. But I have distinct memories of climbing the Vallejo Steps, peaking at the apex and then descending down towards a cup of cappuccino at Cafe Trieste, and the myriad types one would meet there and still do. And the vista as you would look out from Telegraph Hill towards Russian Hill.
And the bowl it seemed to form, and the thought that there was a microcosm of the world formed in that bowl, maybe 5,000 people from all over the world. Various walks of life: investment bankers, ad slicks, panhandlers, merchants, students, tourists, Asians, Blacks, Latinos, bourgeois Jews like me who wanted to write a modern version of being 99.4 percent pure -pure what?
I’m tempted to invite the Russian ambassador, Michael McFaul to our concert Saturday at the Palo Alto Arts Center. Maybe he will read this post It is doubtful. He has more pressing matters, such as his fond hope against an indifferent world that something he can say or do saves lives in Ukraine and Russia, and to end a war. The only reason, the only possible reason, McFaul would respond to this message in a bottle –these lights, these ones 1s and zeros0000 is because I did once go to a concert with him.
It was 1982, me and him and our respective two friends went to see the Grateful Dead at the Greek Theater, which also, if not a bowl, at least forms an amphitheater, and people like Beth and David and Jerry and Bobby and Chris and Keith, and Phil and Billy and Kjell channel consciousness turned into vibrations, which are simultaneously amplified and dampened when 100 or 1000 or 10 thousand bodies are in the mix. But I’ll be honest: at Saturday’s concert it’ll be more like 50 people who wake up to decide that We Are The Eyes Of The World. However few or many, we appreciate your presence, brown, pink, and otherwise. Will that do anything? How do we know anything does anything? Other than when you put your lips as an embouchure or form your fingers trained around the neck of not your lover, caressingly or firmly, but a guitar descendant from a lute descended from perhaps a diddly bow, not a bo-diddley beat, but a samba beat in some cases; not jazz, but pop.
Not apathy, but trying in our own way to pop the bubble of hate or at indifference, to pierce it, to appreciate the presence of our fellow humans and the miracle of sound and harmony and rhythm. I am with you in rock-land, a tua presença.
THE BELLE OF THE BALL
THIS IS WHERE I CAME IN
Is it okay that I published this?
Briefly: quickly: Jenny; 456; pies; shirtless sax guy; Johnny A at Lytton Plaza by Randy Lutge; yours truly, my hound, a pair of twins in grad school who are future diplomats; Trish or Tina who hit the high notes in “What is Hip?”; scrimmage ND v SU; guitars at Gryphon; mazel tov to Molly Tuttle and Ketch; George Packer Emergency; Packer and Eggers at Kepler’s; Terry and I and an unknown bombing Yuman; **** review for Dayna and Ethans’ Monk’d; Silvana Estrada Sabre Olividar with 94,339 plays on Shazam; Ebuku Kotorie; football by Theo Bill Brown circa 1957; Katseye; Marylin Monroe ornament at Stanford Theatre; Matt and Bill at The Lyt; Thai Bui; Laufey on tv; candy dude.
to post a quick item about the occurrence of colorful garments in today’s times I don’t know why the blog wanted to link it to my concert Saturday, but if it sells a few tickets, that’s great
I was reading about the war crimes committed in our name, in The New York Times, when a banner came acorns1 the page regarding a concert in Mexico featuring the rock band Goose. I had to look it up to see if that was the band I saw at Stanford’s Frost Amphitheater2 a year ago September.
Suddenly a light has gone on! I really dig this band!3 Or however much if it I can take in an hour. Four hour live concert album as MSG. A cover of Shama Lama Ding Dong from the movie “animal house”4.
The Washington Post had an article about a (different) band named Geese. There is a third new band with a geese reference in its name.
Thanks Chris Richard of the Post for saying he would read my post about Goose, Geese and That Other Band named Not Geese or Goose but Something Goose-like.
There’s an Adrienne Rich poem I still don’t understand that I wrote about in Thomas Sleigh’s class at Dartmouth — it might be “Fact of a Door Frame” that references the Goose Girl (It also reference Makeba and I had no idea who was Makeba).
I like Goose “Hungersite”. Goose is the new Vulfpeck and the new Cory Wong.
I loved Grateful Shred at the Fillmore. I am doing my best to bring them to Palo Alto this summer. I also liked their opening act, Holly Bowling who does The Bad Plus on Dead songs and Phish songs. I don’t really like Phish. I went to an early show, at the Warfield, by myself and got there late and kept getting ushered out of a chalked off area near the sound board and got the box office –maybe Teal Good – to give me a refund. Why do I remember the box office person was named Teal Good?
Thanks Ted Gioia for writing something I misinterpret as giving me license5 to write like this.
And thinks to Ethan Iverson both for writing brilliantly about all things music and film but also for sometimes printing my comments (I was banned from his column once for saying something outrageous and not kind, about his mother in law).
I should practice writing the name Rick Mitarotonda. Rick Mitarotonda. Rick Mitarotonda.
Not to digress but Yahoo mail has locked me out of my handheld. Or as John, Paul or Ringo would have said, I want to handhold your
speaking of acorns, it reminds me that at Stanford near the Oval near the Church Mem Chu near the Rodin Burghers of Calais is a plaque that says a professor planted two Palo Altos which I think was a subtle argument against the claim that the tall tree we call El Palo Alto was the actual El Palo Alto that Portola wrote about in 1769.
I hate it when people say Frost is in Palo Alto or that concerts performed there are in Palo Alto. If Frost were in Palo Alto we’d be collecting a tax to underwrite a music series in the parks of Palo Alto, where I am vowing to bring The Grateful Shred – which features Dan Horne on bass who grew up here.
I tend not to use the bang, unless I am discussing Lester Bangs. I posted something on Gioia’s column about meeting a young woman who was reading Strunk and White and then AI said that she had been “turned out”. It said she was drunk and white. She was neither, neighbor.
Animal House which the AI wants to call Animal Hose like an elephant’s trunk. No, I made that bit up.
I do sometimes worry that you need a license to write like this or that I will be punished for my writings. Beyond the waste of my time and yours.
And I:
Shoot out to Phil Klay of Dartmouth for his op ed.
And And:
Richards, Chris
From:chris.richards@washpost.com
To:mark weiss
Tue, Nov 25 at 8:39 AM
I will try to read it.
Right, I don’t participate in critic’s polls.
Much to look forward to!
Peace!
—
Chris Richards
Pop music critic
The Washington Post
1301 K Street N.W.
Washington D.C. 20071
From: mark weiss <earwopa@yahoo.com> Sent: Monday, November 24, 2025 9:55 AM To: Richards, Chris <chris.richards@washpost.com> Subject: Brother Ah >>mother goose
1) I’m working on a blog post called “Geese, Goose, Goofy Geese” on “Plastic Alto” wordpress;
2) I noticed you’re NOT on a list of 114 critics who voted in Downbeat poll.
3) fyi: my upcoming — may include Abe Mamet later in season
earthwise winter
spring 2025-2026
dec 13 Russian Telegraph P
Jan 4 Johnny A P
Jan 28 29 30 Corey Harris M
Feb 22 Jim Campilongo Adam Levy Duo P
Feb 28 Edward Simon Trio, Stephan Crump P
March 17 Edu Ribeiro Noah Garabedian Vinicius Gomes trio, Murray Low M
Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em Robots versus manga Joe No Tomorrow
ahem:
Ashita no Joe (Japanese: あしたのジョー, Hepburn: Ashita no Jō; “Tomorrow’s Joe”), also known as Ashita no Joe: Fighting for Tomorrow, is a Japanese boxingmanga series written by Asao Takamori and illustrated by Tetsuya Chiba. It follows drifter Joe Yabuki, who discovers a passion for boxing in a juvenile prison, and his rise through Japan’s and the global boxing scene.
Plastic Alto with Mark Weiss 