Saturday, May 18, 2013

May 19th

Paul's birthday, May 19, 1948....



I just stumbled upon 2 big files full of Paul photos I've never seen these before. I'm thinking they are from mid 70s, must check w/Sachiko on that. 

*

This business of grieving and also gettin' on with one's life is challenging. You still got ta work, you still must have a social life, you still got to pay bills. 

And what about that list everyone refers to, the stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. I'm not sure if I'm in anything different now than I ever was. However, I do catch myself suddenly, now and then, quite unexpectedly and rather like a sunny-day-down-pour, crying my eyes out. 

It happened two weeks ago while driving up to Los Angeles. I was listening to a song on Stew's album The Naked Dutch Painter, I think the song is called Angel Dust. At any rate, some songs-at the right time-hit a funny bone and -boom- there I was sobbing my eyes out passing the controversial San Onofre Nuclear Power Plant, and wondering if I could drive through the crying or if I'd have to pull over. Then as sudden and surprising as it started, it ended, and I drove on, safely arriving at my destination. 

I don't know how it's supposed to work, but nothing about my experience with my own emotions has ever been about rules. They are mysterious, unavailable alot of the time, need a little time and coaxing, and are not predictable. And if there is a difference in the way men and women experience feelings, I don't really see it. I have seen both men and women use their emotions to manipulate or get certain reactions from others. I've seen stonewalling. But I think we are all in the same soup of trying-to-figure-our-own-selves-out together. 

Vaughan Bell, a psychologist at King's College London says research shows that "we all grieve in our own way."

[P]sychologists have a sad tradition of seeing loss through their own cultural blinders and inventing supposedly "universal" theories. Even more regrettably, many have been at the forefront of encouraging people to think of their grief as having to conform to certain stages, feelings or phases to be considered "normal". Mourning has been framed as a problem, pain as something to be cured.
The idea that grief has specific stages is a popular belief and was given its most professional gloss by the Swiss psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, who is often cited as suggesting that mourners pass through stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Not being able to "work through" a stage was considered a sign of psychological difficulty and therapists were encouraged to help people pass through each of the "phases". The fact that Kübler-Ross was talking about adjusting to your own impending death, not to the death of someone else, didn't seem to dull anyone's enthusiasm and her theories became wildly over-applied. But regardless of how accurately her ideas were used, the evidence for these stages evaporates under scrutiny — perhaps unsurprising considering they were based on little more than casual observation and creative thinking.
In contrast, psychologist George Bonanno has studied the course of grief by following people from before they were bereaved to months and even years afterwards. It turns out that there is little evidence for a progression through specific stages of adjustment, and even the belief that most people are plunged into despair and gradually "get better" turns out to be little more than cliché. This is not to say that sadness isn't a common response to loss, but an experience of deep debilitating anguish tends to be the exception rather than the rule. In fact, two-thirds of people are resilient in the face of losing a loved one — in other words, they are sorrowful but they are neither depressed nor disabled by their experience.
It is worth noting, however, that about 10% of people do suffer what is sometimes called "complicated" or "prolonged" grief, where the feelings of loss are intense, long-lasting and cause significant impairment, potentially needing help from mental health professionals. But in terms of the traditional concept of grief, most people experience their loss differently, something both important and liberating, in a sombre sort of way. We are left to wonder how many people have been stigmatised as being "in denial" because they are not experiencing what stereotype expects, or worse, have had their affection for their loved-one questioned due to their normal and non-catastrophic reactions.
 excerpted from Bell’s article on the Observer's website 



Wednesday, May 15, 2013

San Diego Concert For Paul Williams


Gary Warth called me about a month ago and said he wanted to help with the expenses of Paul's memorial and funeral, so he called upon some San Diego music friends and put together last weekends benefit
Lots of folks showed up. I had no idea what it might be like on Mothers Day afternoon, in a bar for 6 hours, but it was a fun! 
Me with Jared Whitlock of the Coast News, and Randy Hoffman

The smooth and demented stylings of Jose Sinatra, singing the lyrics to Elvis' Houndog to the music of Sounds of Silence

Jose (seen here in predator mode), Kent and Liz Abbott from the SD Troubadour
My pal Nena Andersen bailed me out of some trouble when I locked my keys in my trunk...she had AAA

Playing Ring of Fire w/Randy Hoffman, me, Nena and, Keli Ross-Ma'u playing a solo on steel drum
The true beauty and sonic stylings of the Hoffman *cardboard box* can not be explained by mere words. One must experience it live. 

The inimitable, Mojo Nixon... proclaiming Elvis is Everywhere and why one must Tie a Pecker To Mah Leg
Photographer Dennis Andersen photograph by Dan Chusid


Great music, great friends, lots of laughs and heartfelt words about Paul Williams' contribution to pop culture and music criticism. And then after the music was done, Gary Warth made me take the spoils of the benefit home with me, a total of $1600.00. 
Wow. Thank you San Diego, I'm proud to call you my home.




Tuesday, May 14, 2013

1994



Paul joined me on the second half of a 1994 tour. We drove from New York City to Chicago where I had a show at Schuba's. Before the show we met with a few friends and one, Yael Routtenberg, took our photograph. Paul had just moved to Encinitas around this time, I had just released Garage Orchestra and all was good in the world. 

Thursday, May 9, 2013

PaulStock

'PaulStock'-article on benefit in UTSanDiego

Here's a link to an article on this weekends 'PaulStock'...which is a benefit concert organized by the good people of the San Diego music community. This is great, gonna be fun, and will help me pay for the funerary costs and memorial. 

Thank you to Gary Warth, George Varga and everyone that is playing the show Sunday. I will see you there...

This Sunday May 12th 2pm
Winston's
1921 Bacon St.
Ocean Beach, CA

With: Mojo Nixon, Jose Sinatra & Miff Laracy, Bart Mendoza’s True Stories, Cindy Lee Berryhill, Berkley Hart, Ric Kaestner, Jon Kanis & Listening to Rocks, The Jive Bombers

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

And Still More: Reflections on Paul Williams



  • Jim Fouratt
    a long time friend of Paul's, active in the entertainment industry and gay rights

    In these days of marriage-obsessed-media, little attention is paid to the vow of: being there in sickness and in health'. Cindy Lee Berryhills devotion to Paul Williams in “good times/bad times” is about the best example since the plague years of AIDS that I can look to, to tell people “This is what marriage means at it's core". Mutual caring and love... something that I don't think legal paper needs, or is necessary to make honorable. I know how she struggled to “be there “ as this beautiful, smart-mind, entered a dark cave of confusion and memory loss.. I also know how difficult a person with Alzheimer can be to the person they most love. She has been silent on just how hard it is in the day-to-day struggle to be present. But many of us know first hand in this kind of situation, just what unconditional love actually means. The thought of her playing him a Dylan tape in the last days and he telling her to “shut up” brought a smile to my face and a sad sigh of letting go. Cindy, your friends are here to hug and hold you and to encourage you to pick up the guitar when ready.

    My memories of Paul go all the way back to the time when I was the Editor of the Communication Company/NY, a daily news sheet put out to organize 'hippies” to the political realities of life in 1967, including the WAR. I met Paul at some show and he would drop in at my loft at 26 Bond Street and I would always make sure there were a stack of Communication Com. pay sheets at the Crawdaddy office above Sing Out magazine's office on Sixth Avenue and West Third St. 

    Paul asked me to write for him. He was amazingly kind, and editorially helpful to this dyslectic writer, as the words spilled out onto the page. .. remember, he was also editing Richard Meltzer and Sandy Pearlman at the time too. Think of those aesthetics. Ray Caviano, who later invented the disco genre, was Crawdaddy's first ad salesman. I introduced Paul to Don McNeil, a young writer at the Village Voice who became his best friend, (McNeil's writings on the late '60s youth politics and culture are so much better than Todd Gillan's). 

    When I decided to organize a New York Be In I asked Paul to join me. He and Susan Hartnet, of Robert Raushenberg's EAT (Experiments in Art and Technology), and Chilian artist and political ex-pat Claudio Badel were the anonymous team who produced the Be In, an indelible cultural happening. While others tried to take credit, it was we four that actually organized it.

    Paul moved to California after Don's accidental acid drowning in a beautiful lake, and began his career of writing and publishing meta-physical and culture critique books always rooted in music. We would meet often as our roads crossed and recognized each other as soul brothers without having to say it. I knew Cindy as a smart singer songwriter of merit . When he told me he was smitten I remember telling him "she can keep up with both your intelligence and critical love of music". And she did.

    Today I am both sad and relieved that he has finally move on . His legacy is our collective task to keep alive...and to be there when Cindy and Alexander need our support. Being an artist in these days of piracy, and now a single mom, means being poor in pocket but rich in memory and creativity
    Good bye Paul. I loved you.
    Jim Fouratt

    ---------------------------------------------------------



    Stephen Kalinich
    poet 
    and writer of Beach Boys lyrics 

    Paul Williams: 
    One of the sweetest men I knew, especially in this business.
    He wrote the first articles about California Feeling when I was barely beginning.
    Always a kind soul and way ahead of the curve.
    He has a lovely wife Cindy who has stood by him through it all and she has great compassion.
    Here is a guy that was blessed and helped a lot of people.
    “I wear these clothes
    of flesh
    so loosely
    for a time
    i surrender
    my nakedness
    for a garment
    of light.
    As these bones
    dissolve
    evaporate
    as i fall
    into
    differentiating bliss
    lose memory
    of mortality
    for it is only mine
    for a brief beautiful
    season.
    with hands
    it is hard
    to touch the soul.
    Let me enjoy
    these days
    I walk within
    find
    whatever is possible.”
    sjkalinich












    Stephen Kalinich, Jackson Browne, CLB, Paul Williams 2007
    Photo credit: Jill Jarrett

    -------------------------------------------------------

    And a very expansive piece on Paul written by Jon Kanis, as the cover story for San Diego's favorite music newspaper:
    San Diego Troubadour

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Adams Ave. Street Festival

Adams-Avenue-Unplugged
 Music Festival
This Saturday April 27th
CLB @The Kensington Cafe
2:00-3pm

 w/Randy Hoffman on percussion
and Paula Luber on vibraphone

There's a lot of good stuff going down at this festival, if I were you I'd make a day of it. Right after my set and on the Kensington-Library stage next-door is legendary Boston folk-musicians Geoff Muldaur and Jim Kweskin. And later on Gregory Page, Nena Andersen, Steve Harris, Sara Petite and lots of other great songwriters and musicians 
And, it's free...


Wednesday, April 17, 2013

The Midnight Hour

"The midnight hour is the timeless place, where man and woman meet (enemies in the daylight), where dreams take form, the soil, the source, the land of passion and possibility. All friendship has its roots there. In the midnight hour you can talk to presidents and kings, Bob Dylan, Beethoven, Amelia Earhart is there, everyone will take you for what you are, there are no barriers. This is a real place everyone has been to many times.  I'm going to hold you in my arms in the midnight hour."
-Paul Williams, Rock and Roll: The 100 Best Singles


Rodin (of course)

On the morning of March 27th Alexander and I woke up in Brooklyn in the home of Stew (Passing Strange, The Negro Problem) my pal for many years. We'd been there for several days already and I made plans over the phone with Lenny Kaye for us to move to his place late afternoon. So, out of Brooklyn, a lovely place to stay right on Prospect Park. The night before we'd met Stew at Barbes' a cool and arty music venue just below Park Slope and saw the very melodic and soul expanding Marika Hughes play cello, sing, with her band of friends. We came out to the rising of the nearly full moon.


That night after the concert I got a call from Paul's dear and longtime friend Judith Bragar, it was she that came to us during Paul's hospital stay in February and suggested we look into, just consider, hospice. And she happened to work for hospice. She and Paul met when they were teenagers, school mates, he at Browne and Nichols (and she at it's sister-school for girls) in Cambridge. They were friends and later lovers and then friends again. Now she was his hospice friend. That night she called and said she'd been with Paul for several hours and it looked to her like he may be "transitioning". That meant his breathing had changed. I'd read about that in the hospice pamphlet and online. 

Alexander was already asleep so I waited to talk to him in the morning. "Your dad is getting close now.    We could try to get a flight back this morning... What would you like to do?" He told me he was afraid of seeing his dad like that. I understood. He'd already seen so much, day after day, the deterioration of his dads health. Well, really for years...We walked across the park, me in a daze, what should I do? I talked to Paul's oldest son, Kenta, who lives in the Bay Area (not far from his slightly younger brother Taiyo. Their mother is Sachiko Kenanobu). He thought he could get a flight that morning and get down to Encinitas around noon. 



Alexander and I ate breakfast, then we caught the train into Manhattan and did the thing we had planned to do. We met my actor friend Ken Jacowitz at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He led us in. It was all a terrible blur to me at this point. Ken offered to take Alexander around the different floors and rooms of art. I sat on a bench between Greek and Roman statues, texting family members, waiting to hear if Kenta had arrived at Paul's side and talking to Paul's nurse about how he was fairing. It was odd, surreal and timeless, this place with the marble, the statues and the heart-ache. Ken was a a very good friend through all this, entertaining an 11 year old whose father was dying three thousand miles away.




Finally I got a call from Lenny Kaye, he'd arrived in the city and we met up with him downtown, hopped in his car and took a ride over the bridge and back into Brooklyn to pick up our bags and food and stuff. I gave him the update on Paul, by now Kenta was by his side, keeping me posted by text. Lenny pointed out the old building on Flatbush Ave. that used to be the home of Murray the K, (a radio personality that helped usher in Beatlemania), passing through some neighborhoods of his youth. We got our stuff and rode back into Manhattan, it was dark by now. Lenny, Alexander and I heaved the bags upstairs and made a bee-line to the local BBQ joint. 


What can I say, Lenny was the perfect person to be with on such a night as this. I already knew Lenny when I met Paul (he'd produced my second Rhino album) and I still remember telling him, "I've met this great guy Paul Williams from CRAWDADDY! and I think I'm in love" and Lenny said "I can't think of two people I like more and now you're together, that's great".  Lenny would get me and Paul into Patti Smith shows over the years (he's the guitarist), and Patti was always so respectful and kind and warm to Paul. 

I thought I wouldn't be able to eat, I was pretty much a mess. I just needed a shoulder to lean on and cry on. Lenny ordered me what he got and somehow my appetite came back. Time was moving in strange ways, sometimes it was going fast in a blur, and other moments seemed to stretch really long. Someone was being loud and drunk at the table near us, it seemed forever for them to go.

Lenny's place was stocked with anything Alexander and I would need to feel comfortable and at home for several days. Alexander watched some TV and I was on the phone. Somewhere in there, maybe an hour and a half before Paul passed, Kenta and I tried a Facetime, with our iPhones, so that Alexander and I could talk to Paul. It worked, we saw him, and heard the rapid scary breathing. It had only been 4 and a half days since I'd seen him last and he looked very different, emaciated. Kenta said Paul had not moved all day. Alexander said hello and we told Paul how much we loved him and how beautiful the exhibit of his work had been a few days earlier at the Boo-Hooray Gallery in Soho. How thoughtfully the curator Johan Kugleberg had put the books and the papers and the letters altogether, how lovingly. And how many visitors at the show were astounded by how much Paul had written (and the exhibit didn't show it all). The other news I had for Paul was that two very impressive libraries were interested in taking his books and papers, thanks to the shows curator. A single tear came from Paul's eye, Kenta remarked, and I knew then that Paul understood his life's work would be cared for, that it was now in safe hands, in a place accessible to the readers of the future. 

Finally Kenta said that Paul's breathing had changed. The rest of this is Kenta's story with his father. By  1:35am eastern standard time I received a text from Kenta that Paul had taken his last breath.  Alexander had fallen asleep mere moments before, so I waited to tell him the next morning. The moon was at it's fullness, it shown crazy bright, through the filmy curtains, moving gently . I lit a candle. I said a prayer. I felt his presence. I didn't sleep til dawn.


Alexander wasn't surprised his dad had passed, we talked about it over breakfast. "Sometimes I thought he was faking it," he said. What do you mean, I asked? "I just thought that maybe he would get better, that maybe he was just pretending to be getting worse".  I said I sort of understood that feeling. And told him when my mom died of cancer, when I was eight, that I'd made up a story, that I'd believed for years, that she had been an archaeologist on a mission to dig up old bones and ruins and had contracted Valley Fever. 

We walked by the St. Marks Church and saw that their would be a ceremony that night for Maundy Thursday, the Thursday before Easter, the night of Passover dinner. So we went. This felt right. We were staying right around the corner from the church where Paul and I had played a show together back in 1993, he reading from Rock and Roll: The 100 Best Singles and me singing songs that he'd inspired. Not to mention that this had been the venue for one of Lenny and Patti's first shows together, or the place many beloved beat poets had read their poetry aloud to deep listening ears. I love this place, St. Marks Church. And in the nights ceremony we washed one another's feet and drank wine and broke bread and sang some melodies and uttered some words. And through it all I felt Paul's spirit, his energi, his unbound self, rise and lift and move from that limited encasement called the human body. 
Deo pro vobis

What do you want Paul?  "..want to go up in the sky"
What do you mean? "Good music goes up" 

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

McCabes w/Syd Straw

Last friday Alexander and I got invited up to the stage during, my pal, Syd Straws sold out show at McCabe's. I sang Brian Wilson's I Just Wasn't Made For These Times and Alexander joined me on the vocal counterpoint at the end. And sang a few of my own: I Like Cats You Like Dogs (with Syd and Robert Lloyd,Willie Aron and Severo Journacion) and a song for, inspired by, Paul called Readers of the Future. 

This musical hangout was just what the doctor ordered. And it has been a really stressful time. Please forgive me if you've written me and I haven't gotten back to you. 

Me and Severo  (photo: Lisa Nicoson)

Alexander sang great ..(these 2 photos: Keith Martin)

Syd and me. Thank you Syd... 

Here's a link to Mr. Morris' lovely soliloquy about the night
Chris Morris on Paul Williams and our moment w Syd


*
I hope to see some of you guys at Paul's memorial this Saturday in San Francisco...

April 13, 2013
2pm
open to all friends and family
The Episcopal Church of St. Mary the Virgin
2325 Union St.
(Park West of Fillmore)
San Francisco, CA 94123
Rev. Madison Shockley to officiate
(donations will be accepted to help pay for memorial)

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Memorial for Paul Williams of Crawdaddy

April 13, 2013
2pm
open to all friends and family
The Episcopal Church of St. Mary the Virgin
2325 Union St.
(Park West of Fillmore)
San Francisco, CA 94123
Rev. Madison Shockley to officiate
(donations will be accepted to help pay for memorial)
map


*

April 7, 2013
2-5pm
small service for local friends and family
Pilgrim United Church of Christ
2020 Chestnut Ave.
Carlsbad, CA 92008
Rev. Madison Shockley Pastor to Officiate
map

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

More Reflections


Van Dyke Parks

(This is excerpted from a letter to a San Diego journalist, Gary Warth)

Paul and I spent an enormous amount of time together. I introduced him to Brian Wilson and other musical movers and shakers---all to bring his forensic reportage to what had been a mindless adjunct to the record racket 

By the time Paul wrote of my debut album (in his 13th issue), he had helped validate the efforts of many who brought new emphasis on the song-form's political potency in their lyrics.

It's quite true that Paul precedes Jann Wenner in all of this. I remember Jann's coming to my office at WB, seeking advertising revenue. I lobbied to get him some accounts, by which WB weighed in first among such companies to invest in Rolling Stone's future. I remember speaking with Wenner about my regard for Paul, and cautioned Wenner: "...and in your next issue Jann....it'd be a good idea to staple your pages somehow...like Paul does...."

Gary----you just can't make up stuff like that.

So many owe a great gratitude to Paul for his pioneering work.
Yet, somehow, I doubt that will be reflected in the response to solicitations for donations to his surviving family. How Cindy Lee has raised their son during Paul's lengthy illness is a major testament to her courage, loyalty  and derring-do. I hope those of us who survived the record industry, and ended up as people of property---will respond to her discrete request for a donation, to make it possible for Paul's heirs to enjoy some benefits worthy of their potential similar invention. Tuitions loom, once the rents have been paid..

Thanks for opening the door for that to
happen.
Optimistic as ever,
Van Dyke

__________________________________________________________


Stan Ridgway

RIP Author Paul Williams -The great, passionate visionary writer, publisher, incisive critic, culture observer, art lover, and pioneer for the "rock scribe ". who wrote about music seriously as ART. And it was. A new and pioneering approach when his self published magazine Crawdaddy hit in the stands late 60's . He elevated the value of music and recorded work and made everybody think. - to a level that inspired.and gave it value. And gave us all, listeners, artists and music makers , a place to aspire to.

____________________________________________________________


Wayne Robins (A Brief History of Rock)

And a link to a piece by Wayne Robins (who read from Paul's book Outlaw Blues at the gallery exhibit for Paul's work in New York)
http://www.rocksbackpagesblogs.com/2013/03/listening-
to-paul-williams/

_____________________________________________________________________________

Michael Lydon (Ray Charles: Man and Music)


Just gotta say: Sunday was so good in every way!! Good to see you! Good to see Paul's work so beautifully, interestingly, and respectfully laid out. Good to see so many people who knew Paul in different ways and at different times. Good that you spoke, and that you and Lenny played and sang, and got everybody singing. Good that Ellen, and Wayne read. So good that you encouraged me to do my song. Good to mingle and chat--we met numerous very interesting people.

    You were a great hostess, but in a nutty way I felt that Paul was throwing the party, and he would have loved it, the low key but affectionate feeling, the way we all enjoyed each other, and I think that, modest as he is, he would have been pleased to feel all the admiration and interest in his work and his self.

    Then Sunday night at the Treehouse, you sounded great, so many different colors in your guitar playing and voice, such good songs. You and Lenny make a sympathetic duo, and Alexander piped in just right. I'm sure the whole day added to his sense of what a fine man his Dad is.

    My father was stricken with Parkinsonism when I was about four or five, and for the rest of his life, his mobility and his voice were always, slowly getting worse. Perhaps toughest of all, his stiffened face lost its  ability to show much emotion, so we all often had little idea what he was thinking and feeling.

    Yet I always, and today more than ever, love and admire my Dad, and I got from him everything a young fellow needs to get from a father. I bet this Sunday was an important day for Alander to know how all kinds of people respect and admire and love his father (and his Mom!!).