Sorry
for the revised send of this thread. The academic server rejected my posts
during the holiday because of profanity. This is the PG-13 version. - d.
---------------------------
Thanks,
Greg. Can't remember the last time I wrote more than my usual 200
paragraphs about anything. Like a lot of things abandoned, if I
picked up the accordion today - I wouldn't know how play it! But I
still have that blasted trophy as proof of a mastery over an albatross
my Dad was sure would transform me into the Van Cliburn of accordions.
It just ain't an instrument that can be integrated seamlessly with
rock. Oh sure, fans will sometimes yell, "More cowbell!" - but you'll never
hear 'em yell, "More accordion!" - d.
Subject: Re: And what about 2015? (Warning: Not PC.)
From: Greg Douglass <[email protected]>
Date: Thu, 1 Jan 2015 16:35:34 -0800
CC: [email protected]; [email protected]
To: [email protected]
David,
for you to have the balls to carry an accordion in public at that age
gives me even more respect for you as a human being than I already had.
But to actually EXCEL at this wretched instrument? That ain’t easy. I’m
actually kind offload the guitar thing didn’t work out; sounds like you
would have been frighteningly good, and hence…competition. Any civility
between us would, of course, be impossible.
Great story, DK, beautifully written, as always.Greg Douglass
Date: Fri, 2 Jan 2015 17:19:20 -0800
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: And what about 2015? (Warning: Not PC.)
To: [email protected]
* True story about my tortured feelings toward the "accordion" - featured in
this pic I posted the other day. (This is a PG-13 re-send - I think the
academic list server rejected it because I used too many profanities, so I
stripped out a few letters.)
*
Picture a Nipponese-kid, a.k.a. I don't mean to offend, but history
shouldn't be whitewashed, as I was a true "Nip" born in Japan, son of a
tough talking U.S. Navy man who forced a 7-year old kid (me) to take
accordion lessons - who, like all kids in the 1960s, preferred the
guitar because in my view, the '60s was the best decade for music - and
the Beatles were (and still are) my favorite band. Folks, we're talking
about a boxy instrument weighing almost 20 pounds, with piano keys on
right side and 120 buttons on the left, strapped onto a kid (me) who was
no more than 4-6 tall - whose head barely creeped over the top edge.
The accordion I carried looked similar to this:
*
When Dad's drunken buddies came over our house, my Dad would say, "hey
you sonsofb*tches, my kid plays a mean accordion." "Everyone laughed,"
as they used to say in the ad copy back then - "until I began to play."
My Dad would yell out, "hey David, get your puny ass out here and play
"Beer Barrel Polka" for the guys." I said no way and he said, "do it or
I'll hit you so hard that you won't be able to stand up."
* Now
picture this - a living room filled with a bunch of servicemen, watching
a little nipper kid glumly playing "Beer Barrel Polka," "Lady of Spain"
and other tiresome accordion "standards." It was like scene out of a
bad movie, you know, a little Asian kid playing a big accordion - in
front of a bunch of soused G.I.s. Pretty much as incongruous as an
Asian doing Gene Autry or Elvis Presley. Everyone howled and
applauded. The only thing missing was cheap strippers with mustaches.
*
After a few of these episodes, my accordion instructor - (yeah, Dad
paid for him too) - told me I was good enough to compete. So in 1968,
when I was 11, one month after RFK was murdered, I trekked up to the
same Ambassador Hotel in L.A. and entered the Western U.S. According
Festival. I was the first kid out of around 30 in my age group to play. I
played "Waltz of the Sirens." Again, you have to picture a pip-squeak
Nipper kid struggling with a gigantic accordion, playing a tune that who
knows, could've been performed for the Nazis before they went into
battle. I left the performance room and hung around the hotel for about
2 hours. We then went into a huge ballroom and visited the results
table. The festival staff looked up my name and one of them told the
guy who drove me to L.A., "hey, that Oriental kid you brought won first
prize." I got a trophy. The trophy was only about a foot tall and
probably cost no more than $5, but sh*t, a trophy is still a trophy and a
big deal for an 11-year old. For a fleeting moment, I was OK being an
accordion player.
* When I got home, I put the trophy on the
kitchen counter and told my Dad - "I'm done. I'm the best in the
Western U.S. at this and I want to play the guitar." My Dad said,
"fine, but I'm not buying you a goddam guitar." I retorted, "but the
accordion was your f**king idea! I never wanted it in the first place.
It's an instrument for Italians, the French and Nazis!" My Dad smirked
and said, "watch your mouth you little son of a b*tch. OK, no
accordion, you did get a prize, but I'm not paying a f**king dime for
you to learn that rock and roll sh*t."
* I then went out and
got a right-handed acoustic guitar from a thrift store - but because I'm
left handed, I struggled. After being unable to master the "easy"
first notes of "Down on the Corner" by Creedence, I gave up and poured
all of my energies into school, resigned to being a nerd - while
confirming the stereotype that Asians are good at academics but lousy
drivers. My
Dad was tough and said, "you better not f**k
up school or you're outta here. I'm not supporting no dead beat. But
I'll pay you $5 for every "A" you get on your goddam report card." And
he did. Despite his rough talk, he was proud of his little Nip.
(Ironically, he was a full-blooded Nip too, but born in Whitefish,
Montana, near Glacier Park. He just never seemed Asian to me because he
had no accent, spoke perfect sailor English and told great jokes.)
*
Fast forward 40 years later. I miss my old man - the way he was before
Alzheimer's erased him. He's still among the living, but he's
basically gone. He took the belt after me a few times when I cussed
like a sailor right back at him, but he left no scars. How he treated
me might be considered by some today as child abuse. Not to me. -d.
-----Original Message-----
Date: Wed, 31 Dec 2014 16:37:06 -0800
From: Greg Douglass <[email protected]>
Subject: Re: And what about 2015?
To: [email protected]
David, just seeing an accordion has made me lose hope of seeing in 2015 with
anything approaching positivity.
Very disturbing.
And a vun, a two, and a three,
Happy New Year, my paper-addicted brethren!
Greg Douglass
--
Greg Douglass
Guitarist-
Lessons, Live Shows, Touring,
& Studio Work
(760) 212-3648
-----Original Message-----
Date: Wed, 31 Dec 2014 21:07:38 +0000
Subject: Re: [MOPO] And what about 2015?
From: Simon Oram <[email protected]>
To: [email protected]; [email protected]
Are u suggesting David, that we are over prescribed? You may have a point but
then ignorance is bliss..
Happy New Year
Simon
Sent from my
BlackBerry 10 smartphone.
Date: Wed, 31 Dec 2014 12:54:45 -0800
From: [email protected]
Subject: And what about 2015?
To: [email protected]
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