Sorry for the delayed follow-up. Amelia is perfectly fine, by the way, but here’s the rest of the story:

As I was saying… Alison was doing the responsible thing; trying to get information as to the protocol for treating a suspected raccoon bite or scratch. Of course, once the phone call became an official incident report the bureaucratic machinery of the US Department of Agriculture and the NY State Health Department started turning its wheels. By the time the report had passed from one agency to another the story had escalated from ‘mother raccoon defending her babies’ to, ‘rabid raccoon attacks monkey, unprovoked’.

There was talk of the Board of Health conducting a house raid, confiscating Amelia, then putting her down, as the only means of determining whether she had contracted rabies. After several rounds of frantic phone calls, it was finally determined that Amelia could stay with us, but under house arrest. Because of exposure to a potentially rabid raccoon, Amelia was put under official quarantine by the US Dept. of Agriculture and Board of Health.

According to the protocols for quarantine that means that Amelia has to spend six months in a secure facility (our bedroom) in order to determine that she is completely rabies-free. An official from the board of health comes to visit once a month to monitor Amelia’s health (She is fit as a fiddle).

And that’s the tale. Amelia remains under official quarantine until November when we plan to have an out-of-quarantine party and toast Amelia’s good health. As I’ve said, Amelia is perfectly fine. As is the mother raccoon and her three babies who made a temporary home inside my Sneaker Car which is housed in our shed, under the deck. By the end of the summer, they finally left their mobile home for a more permanent abode in the forest.

A happy ending for all.

[NOTE: Picture of Hannah with Amelia taken around 1990.]

It all started when Amelia, our 35+ year old capuchin monkey, went out to sun herself on our deck. There was a bloodcurdling scream and Alison ran out to the deck to discover Amelia locked arm in paw with a raccoon twice her size.

Amelia has lived with us longer than both of our human children and we do tend to consider her as just another - albeit hairy and very short - kid. So, Alison did what any mom would do under the circumstances: ignoring her own personal safety, she faced off against the raccoon, grabbed Amelia, and with a few swift kicks, yanked Amelia away from the furious tussle. The raccoon retreated into the bushes adjacent to the deck.

At first, Amelia appeared physically unscathed, though clearly emotionally traumatized by the encounter.

(Imagine yourself sunning lazily on your deck - never having actually seen even a picture of a raccoon - and then being attacked by such a creature, more than twice your size.)

Once we noticed that the attacking raccoon was actually a young mother defending her three babies - actually three wriggling balls of fluff, cozily ensconced inside a 5gallon planter - we were somewhat reassured as to her motive for the attack. Given that raccoons are nocturnal creatures, an aggressive raccoon launching a midday attack is almost guaranteed to be rabid - this raccoon, on the other hand, appeared to be a perfectly healthy mom, in the act of defending her young, as any typical mom would do. Of course, you can never tell for sure.
It was only when, upon closer inspection, Alison discovered what appeared to be a tiny bite mark or scratch on Amelia’s leg, that there was renewed cause for concern.

A certified veterinary technician and a registered nurse, Alison did what one would consider to be the responsible thing to do - she called the US Department of Agriculture to ask for advice on the protocol for a post-bite prophylactic vaccine for small primates.

Wrong move.
(To be continued…)

In one of cinema’s classic lines, Gene Hackman, playing Detective ‘Popeye’ Doyle, in 1971’s film, ‘French Connection’, harrasses a local hood with the nonsensical query, ‘Ever pick your feet in Poughkeepsie?’ The scene is memorable, but not as memorable, for me at least, as Eric Johnson’s gig last night at The Chance in Poughkeepsie, NY, featuring bassist Roscoe Beck and drummer Tommy Taylor.

I went with my 16 year old, Sam, driving up a winding Rt. 9, in my rusted out Dodge Caravan, north past Garrison and Coldspring, underneath #84, straight up alongside the Hudson River to Poughkeepsie, or Po’ town, as it’s know to local denizens.

We parked on the main street, up the block from this venerable music venue. Walking inside, eyeing the music-hall layout, high stage, close balcony, I flashed back to a gig I played there, almost 30 years ago, standing alone on the stage, picking my D-35 acoustic, blinded by stage lights, but able to hear and feel the audience tucked tightly around me in an intimate semi-circle. It was, and still is, a real music venue, and we’d come to hear some real music. But first, let me take you back a few decades…

Sometime around 1979, following on the heels of the success of my 2nd album in the UK, I flew out to L.A. to meet with prospective producers for what was to be my 3rd album. I met with Roy Halee, Paul Simon’s producer, and Henry Lewy, who’d produced Joni Mitchell’s albums. Roy was cordial and frank in his criticisms of the production values of my first two albums, none of which I could argue. Henry Lewy was something else, entirely.

He welcomed me into a plush studio control room, where he was in the midst of producing Leonard Cohen’s latest album. I was introduced to some of the young band members who’d been cutting tracks, and the gruff voiced poet, himself, who drifted in and out of the control room like a ghost. With the day’s session winding up, the studio gradually started to empty and when only Lewy and I remained, he turned and asked, ‘Would you like to hear a track from Joni’s new album?’ As if I’d answer anything but, damn, yes. It was her collaboration with the legendary jazz musician, Charles Mingus, which she’d just recorded with a freeform fusion group which included players like Jaco Pastorius, Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock. He threaded the 1/4″ master, offered me a toke of a particularly pungent joint and dimmed the studio lights as the music flowed out of the speakers in what seemed like technicolor waves of sound. To say it was a heady experience, hardly expresses how I felt, listening to my musical idols, in full creative flow, in the very studio they’d recorded the work, just days before.

After listening to a few tracks, and seeing me appropriately awestruck, Lewy graciously took his leave, but, in parting, made mention of the young band, going by the name, Passenger, that had been playing tracks on the Leonard Cohen album, some of whom I’d just met. They were performing a college gig somewhere in L.A. and Lewy suggested I check them out. Which I did.

I suspect he was aware of the jazz fusion harmonic elements in some of my own writing and thought I might have an affinity for the group. And he was right. They were a tight, energetic fusion band in the spirit of Weather Report, with a set of cool original instrumentals, featuring an incredible fretless bass player, by the name of Roscoe Beck. It made an impression.

I flew back to New York City, somewhat dazed, definitely overwhelmed, but thrilled to have been exposed, even tangentially, to some of my biggest musical influences and to have gotten a glimpse of such an exciting music scene. Who knows what might have happened had I returned to the west coast? But awe inspiring as the experience was, I was a New York musician. And odd as it may seem, there were, and are, dramatic differences between the coasts and their musical styles. In addition to the west coast option, I also had chance to work in a new NY recording studio named, Rosebud, owned by top percussionist, Ralph McDonald. As it happened my brother, Aram, an audio/video engineer had helped build the studio and introduced me to Ralph and the studio engineer, Richard Alderson. It was a hot new NY studio, frequented by top NY producers and session players like Quincy Jones, Will Lee, and Chris Parker. And it had a decidedly New York vibe. More uptempo. Not so laid back, L.A.

It was a tough decision, but I’d recorded both previous albums in NYC, loved the city and its sound, and even the intoxicating allure of the west coast and the possibility of getting to meet Joni, weren’t enough to send me cross country.

I opted for New York and booked sessions at Rosebud. Richard Alderson would engineer and I would co-produce with Rob Stevens who’d produced the first two albums. I started putting together a band consisting of Don Sarlin, an excellent guitar player, who’d toured with me following a stint with Van Morrison, and played on my 2nd album; Bette Sussman, a superb keyboard player, who toured with Whitney Houston and had done a brief UK tour with me, Chris Parker, a top NY studio player who’d recorded with Steeley Dan and was a member of the cool-funk band, Stuff. I still needed a bass player and placed a call to the amazing fretless player I’d heard out in L.A., Roscoe Beck, inviting him to NY for a few weeks to record basics.

To my delight, he agreed, and a few weeks later I started sessions for what would have been my third album. The band sounded great and they provided a polish and maturity that enhanced my new tunes, which included, among others, Saturday Fathers, Under a Canopy and No One Knows.

It was turning into a special album, when two weeks into the sessions, Rob Stevens, my co-producer, announced that he was quitting. He apparently had a problem with my production style or approach on the project, but my opinion is, simply, that he was unable to handle having to relinquish some of the decision making process. And so Lifesong Records pulled the plug.

That was 26 odd years ago and the last time I saw Roscoe. Fortunately, the aborted sessions didn’t slow Roscoe down. In the interim, from his home base in Austin, TX (though, funilly enough, he actually grew up in Poughkeepsie, NY) he produced Jennifer Warnes’ million selling album, ‘Famous Blue Raincoat’, toured with the Dixie Chicks, became a founding member of Robben Ford and the Blue Line and has become so highly regarded a musician’s musician that Fender guitar has released, not one, but two Roscoe Beck signature bass guitars - a four and a five string. Not bad for a skinny kid from Poughkeepsie. But it was always a deep regret of mine, not having been able to complete those sessions, with musicians I so admired. But such is the music business.

And yet, it was as if no time had passed, when Eric Johnson’s trio walked on stage and charged into their spirited set, driven by Eric’s virtuoso guitar playing, Tommy Taylor’s emphatic drumming and underpinned by the stunning lyricism, subtle articulation and raw power of Roscoe Beck on bass.

The music doesn’t fit into any fixed genre. It’s an eclectic hybrid of southern rock, blues, and jazz fusion with a sprinkling of progressive rock. They played with both intense feel and exhilarating precision and the head-on impact of their power-trio made them seem like a Texas ‘Cream’. Labels aside, they made great, inspiring music. And the packed Chance audience, Sam and I included, were completely blown away by their two hour set.

So, I know this is not so much a gig review as it is a long-winded reminiscence, but that’s how I wound up in downtown Poughkeepsie a few nights ago, psyched to hear one of my favorite musicians making great music. So, if you ever happen to see Roscoe or his cohorts playing in your town, be sure and check ‘em out. I promise the evening will be memorable.

Deano

Dean & Roscoe at The Chance in Poughkeepsie Aug. 24, ‘06

Roscoe Beck Website

Eric Johnson Website

Hmmmm… I think I might be gettin’ the hang of all this blog and stylesheet stuff. Have to push everything live pretty soon, now. Weather’s too nice to be inside, though. See ya, later.

Been spending odd moments trying to figure out how this blog stuff works. The last thing I planned on doing this summer was learning about CSS style sheets, but with some helpful input from Ron and Andrea who designed the pre-modified Sticky Notes theme, I’m slowly getting the hang of it. Ah, the wonders of the internet.

Here it is, my first ever WordPress blog attempt. Feeling like a technical virgin about to get literal. Creeping into the neighboring cabin, getting up to mischief. Shhhhh…, don’t wake the counselors.