My brother and I sit and watch the fire late into the night. Put a stick in and watch the smoke unfurl, wrap around our fingers, float to the moon. The wood sings, clicks, crackles, squeals, and pings. We like the song too.
Mostly we sit quietly but eventually we pontificate on the pleasures of fire… the feeling of safety and warmth… the endless variations of smoke, flame, ember, and sound… and our ancient friendship.
I am reminded of something my friend said a few months ago, he said “there’s a reason an orange tastes sweet to me, and a reason I can look at a waterfall for hours, it’s because we grew up together.” My brother agreed it was a beautiful way of saying it. So the world is relationships, some old, some newer. Our relationship with fire certainly qualifies as ancient.
An almost full moon, high in the early morning, lights up our camp completely. Mars is closer this night to me and the planet than it has been since man named it and began to follow its movements. “Close” but still very very far, just a big white spot. Despite the distance Mars and I grew up together too.
Though Mar’s song is subtle and his dance much slower than the fire, people have watched and listened. Even though I must seem absurdly fast, tiny, and brief, Mars sees me too. Old friends talking again.
Today would have been the 70th birthday of Robbie Basho, composer, guitarist, pianist, singer, sage. In memoriam I wrote this piece about him last year, and am re-posting it, with some of my favorite songs in toe.
This was also the FIRST post ever on Majik Dudes, in 2009, so today is our birthday too!
“Basho as Imagined” by Fletcher Tucker
7 feet tall and 29 pounds, Robbie Basho was created on August 31st 1940. His enormous stature was attributed (by many) to his father, the Mountain, conversely his feathery weight was bestowed upon him by his mother, Fresh Fallen Snow. With hands as broad as an alpine stream during spring thaw, Basho was made to play the 12-string guitar… some find it a daunting instrument… the breadth of its neck, and the delicate placement of the strings challenge most, but nourished Basho. Channeling old and modern magic through his instrument Basho set out to create a new form of music, the American Raga. As gifted as any beast can be with an instrument, or composition, he was equally gifted as a singer. Basho had a voice like an old Viking king and a range of highest vibratos and rumbling, lamenting moans; his remarkable vocal power was no doubt a bi-product of lungs comparably sized to that of a bull moose. His lyrics were a refined visionary beam, casting light on mythos and mystery from the ancient America, mystic Persia, ascetic Hindu, and feudal Japan. Warrior-artist Basho, armed with voice, words, wood (body), steel (strings), and sight, is one of our greatest illuminators… little known shaman of America the Beautiful… bringer of song from beyond the veil.
Songs: "Green River Suite" from Visions of the Country --- "Wounded Knee Soliloquy" from The Voice of the Eagle --- "Khalil Gibran" from Zarthus
