My Dog Jack: Ramblings from Ken Owen
Lately
the sun
seems tired
on most mornings
it can barely
produce enough energy
to clear the horizon
and start the day
yet as it struggles
to begin its journey
we rise together ready in
our quest for inspiration knowing
that quiet reflection and dreaming
will deliver the plans to
help us seize the day.
Ken Owen February 2023
©Van Niddy Press
After much
deliberation
I have decided
that if
one day
by simply taking
a few minutes
to fill out
a short internet survey
I become eligible
and win
a free limited time gift
of a generator
or a power drill
or a $50 gift certificate
or an unlocked iPhone
or a brand new crock pot
I will plan to donate
my prize to the
honorable but unfortunate
men and women
who have served in
our country’s military interest
while drinking
the water
at Camp LeJeune
as a way
to honor their
strength and perseverance
which are the very attributes
I now lack after many months
of unsubscribing from mailing lists
all the while knowing
that the unsubscribe ritual
doesn’t seem to do anything
but ruin the enjoyment
of my first two cups
of morning coffee
and reaffirm my suspicion that
these websites aren’t the least bit
sorry to see me go
Ken Owen December 2022
Van Niddy Press
I have read recent posts from musicians remarking about poorly attended local music shows, and knowing all too well the time and preparation it takes to provide a live performance, I understand their frustration. There was no mention in these posts about the current (finally!) rainy weather that we have been experiencing, the fact that we had started the holiday season where many social commitments do battle for our time, and that perhaps many folks, after a brief summer respite, might be concerned about attending events at the start of the new “Covid, Cold, and Flu Season.” Let’s hope these working musicians are just bumping into a seasonal slow down and a bit of extra caution before the holiday parties start.
I offer my utmost respect to the musicians who told stories of performing to extremely small crowds and then having those few patrons tell how much they appreciated their music. These musicians (and those who responded with comments in kind) remarked on how they consider it their “job” to bring music to the world, and I am proud to have worked with many of these good people who think of me as their musical peer and a friend.
But here’s the thing for me: music is no longer my job.
I recently opted out of one night of a residence gig (a repeating monthly show that schedules many months in advance). Though I realize there is no exact science in pre-determining a gig’s attendance unless tickets are sold in advance (which is not usually the case in bar gigs), I anticipated that because of where the date and time landed on the calendar for that month, the gig stood a good chance of being poorly attended. I canceled my participation 5 weeks in advance and said I would play if the band could not find a sub (they did), and I offered my apology for not reviewing my calendar sooner in regards to the date. As you might imagine and I’m sure many will share the same feeling, the band leader was less than pleased at my reasons for canceling.
I believe that if we spend time in personal reflection, we can find a life lesson in all of our experiences. The strong feelings that prompted my decision to back out of a gig have shown me that my priorities are shifting as I get older, and it’s time for me to rethink the value of all my time commitments, not just live performances. So going forward, my “job” will be to make sure my time is used to achieve the greatest benefit, artistic and otherwise, for myself and others, while also using this scenario as reminder of something to be aware of when doing my calendar management.
I am sure there will be many rebuttals to my logic for canceling, with one of them being that music performance as a business needs a following to be built/established; it doesn’t come fully baked with a packed house. I have been a part of many groups over the years that have worked hard at getting people to come to shows to build a “scene” for a club and a following for the band; I have played on the residence gig in question for 5+ years. I have put in countless hours at various gigs that were well attended, and many gigs that included 5 band members and a bar tender doing inventory. I understand this comes with the territory. I have never needed the adulation of a full house in order to feel like it was a successful gig—with a small audience, at the very least, I was honing my craft—but I will be 65 years old at the end of this month, and if living through 3 years of a deadly plague has taught me anything, it is that 1) our time here is a very precious and limited commodity that should be highly valued, and 2) there are many ways I can be creative and giving besides performing live music.
So with the time I have left, I am going to prioritize and balance my time across many possibilities: writing a song, a poem, an essay, letters to friends or loved ones; documenting my family history, playing my guitar, reading a book, studying a documentary, spending quality time with friends and family, as well as performing live music. I am not retiring from live performances, but gigs are going to have to make a stronger case now for their place on my list of things to accomplish.
I realize I am in a very fortunate position that might not be an available option for some of my working musician friends, but I hope they can understand my change in attitude and availability, and know that I look forward to the possibility of many challenging and rewarding collaborations with all my talented friends in the years to come.
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| First AIDS Memorial Grove offering by Audrey DeChadenedes, 9/30/2022 |
Quiet now
yet their voices louder here
than when they walked among us
with cries unheard.
Peaceful now
yet alive in eternal remembrance
with the unconditional acceptance
they sought in life.
Gone now
yet their unique images reflected
in our tears that fall and bind them
to the circle of our shared grief.
 |
| Photograph by Brian Castagne |
Dark.
Damp smells
of fermenting respite
linger: bake for 12 hours
then cool with street air and Muni smoke
before serving.
Booths and high tables wiped clean
walls coated thick with sound
and a dance floor polished smooth
by 30 years of swing.
Clean and ready for
3 afternoon street irregulars (not clean but ready)
and a confused tourist
with a map on his phone.
***
The calm before your shift
downstairs - STAFF ONLY
a kitchen - long cold
with a small booth and table
and toy bongos from the 60s
PLEASE KEEP THIS AREA CLEAN!
Mystery closets
dark like grandma’s basement
mic stands and cords
dumped in a hurried heap
the house drum kit
sleeps here.
***
Mournful troubadours
practice the ancient folk art
crafting songs that skip like
stones across your drink only to
sink and stare back at you
from the bottom of your glass
get one free beer and tip jar change
to go searching for yerba buena and make way
for the rising tide.
***
Fog from Ocean Beach begins its climb
over rock-a-billy surf rocks on its way
across the handle through the buena vista
chilling the cosmopolitan swingers and cottontails
at the street scene to be seen where
the Gentleman Door Man - long overcoat
parts the sea of alley cats and skillet lickers
rhumba bums and jukebox charlies
so musicians can go to work where
“all proceeds go to the musicians.”
***
Soul Church
where parishioners howl divine
uncountable
how much B3 salvation
was cooked here (1 million served?!)
how many demons exorcised
how many souls saved
with music of the world
in this americano social club
a communal place of
sacraments and psalms
love, sweat, and beer
when the service ends
“You don’t have to go home
but you can’t stay here!”
***
Haight Street claims the fog
a wilde wind that thanks
all hepcat singles and royal deuces
for coming with a sobering kiss
as they wait for gig workers
to shuttle them home
to bed, where the music in their ears
will play them to sleep
the soundtrack to a sad reality,
eventually
all things must go
Dark.
-Dedicated with appreciation to Sarah Wilde and the staff of Club Deluxe, San Francisco
Note: I am happy to report that last minute negotiations between the club owner and the landlord were successful in keeping the Club Deluxe open for business.
Ken Owen Van Niddy Press
August 2022
 |
| Ken Owen at Club Deluxe, San Francisco, photograph by Sarah Wilde |
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| Sail Boat by Violet Leitner, Photograph by Audrey DeChadenedes |
It matters not
the size or makings
of your craft
or which horizons
you choose to explore,
all that matters
with eyes to the horizon
is that you sail.
Ken Owen Van Niddy Press
August 2022
 |
| Photograph by Audrey DeChadenedes |
Each second a vision
Each minute a chance
Each hour a touch
Each day a kiss
Each week a promise
Each month a memory
Each year a blessing
Each life a treasure
Ken Owen July 2022
Van Niddy Press
