Dreams About Musicians (by Samm Bennett)
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It's a dark, gloomy night, and I'm walking down a street which seems entirely made of shadows.Up ahead, I can make out a vague silhouette. A pair of horns indicate some kind of animal, and I feel threatened, but the figure is soon revealed to be Moondog, wearing his Viking helmet and robe. He is holding an LP, whose label I try to read but am unable to make out. In a faraway voice, and with his unseeing eyes looking not toward me but toward the horizon, he says "the evidence speaks for itself". I feel a tap on my shoulder from behind, and I spin around. But I can't stop spinning. I'm spinning around and around so fast that my vision becomes blurred. Then I become aware that I am, myself, an LP, spinning on a turntable. I feel what must be the needle being dropped on me, and the grooves of my skin start to play a song. The song is "Shotgun" by Junior Walker and the All Stars. Just as the line "shoot him 'fore he run, now" is sung, I realize I've been shot. More than physical pain, though, I feel a strong wave of emotion: I feel betrayed by Junior Walker, and the sadness is overwhelming.
I look over to where Moondog had been standing, but he is gone, and in his place is an old-fashioned steam calliope, with its characteristic sound of air and that certain sort of out-of-tune quality that calliopes often have. It is repeating a sprightly melodic line
over and over, in a loop: toot toot toot, toodle-oo too-too-too toot. It's the little flute motif from "Tears of a Clown" by Smokey Robinson
and the Miracles. Non-stop. All the while I am losing blood from the gunshot wound, but somehow the pool of blood all around me is comforting, and warming. People pass by and greet me cheerfully, saying hello, nice to see you, and continuing on their way. Most of them are people I don't know, or only half know, from some hard-to-recall circumstance. But they all greet me pleasantly, and then move on. Through it all, the melody continues... toot toot toot, toodle-oo too-too-too toot.
I look over to where Moondog had been standing, but he is gone, and in his place is an old-fashioned steam calliope, with its characteristic sound of air and that certain sort of out-of-tune quality that calliopes often have. It is repeating a sprightly melodic line
over and over, in a loop: toot toot toot, toodle-oo too-too-too toot. It's the little flute motif from "Tears of a Clown" by Smokey Robinson
and the Miracles. Non-stop. All the while I am losing blood from the gunshot wound, but somehow the pool of blood all around me is comforting, and warming. People pass by and greet me cheerfully, saying hello, nice to see you, and continuing on their way. Most of them are people I don't know, or only half know, from some hard-to-recall circumstance. But they all greet me pleasantly, and then move on. Through it all, the melody continues... toot toot toot, toodle-oo too-too-too toot.
There is a board game underway, a game of Monopoly. The players are Jerry Lee Lewis, Nina Simone and myself. Nina is winning, with several pieces of high-rent property that Jerry Lee and I keep landing on. We are both almost out of money, when Jerry Lee lands on another one of Nina's properties: Boardwalk. He owes Nina 200 dollars, which he doesn't have. He pulls out a knife and screams "just TRY to make me pay, bitch! Just TRY!" Nina gives me a withering look of utter contempt and says "is this piece of spent white trash
a friend of yours?" I mutter something about how I like some of his music. Just then there is a sudden gust of wind that blows the Monopoly money all around the room. Each of the little bills makes a kind of whirring sound, and then the whirring comes together to sound like piano glissandos: the kind that Jerry Lee puts into almost every song he plays. The sound gets thicker and thicker, until it sounds like there are about 100 pianos playing. The money is still circling wildly around the room. Then I notice that Nina is gyrating ecstatically, as if in some state of possession. She is alternately smiling and grimacing, and her eyes seem fixed upon something no one else could see. She is singing "spo-dee-oh-dee! spo-dee-oh-dee!!" over and over.
Jerry Lee starts doing cartwheels: he does several around the room, then out the door and across the flat, barren plain that surrounds the room we'd been playing Monopoly in. I watch him from the window as he does cartwheels into the distance. He is very far away now, but I can still see his distant form as he cartwheels onto a railroad track and is struck by an oncoming train. At that very moment, the deafening piano swirl abruptly stops, and the room falls silent. Nina is sitting in a lotus position on the floor, in a state of utter calm. The silence is broken, finally, by the soft chuckling of John Cage, who had been sitting in a far corner of the room all along.
a friend of yours?" I mutter something about how I like some of his music. Just then there is a sudden gust of wind that blows the Monopoly money all around the room. Each of the little bills makes a kind of whirring sound, and then the whirring comes together to sound like piano glissandos: the kind that Jerry Lee puts into almost every song he plays. The sound gets thicker and thicker, until it sounds like there are about 100 pianos playing. The money is still circling wildly around the room. Then I notice that Nina is gyrating ecstatically, as if in some state of possession. She is alternately smiling and grimacing, and her eyes seem fixed upon something no one else could see. She is singing "spo-dee-oh-dee! spo-dee-oh-dee!!" over and over.
Jerry Lee starts doing cartwheels: he does several around the room, then out the door and across the flat, barren plain that surrounds the room we'd been playing Monopoly in. I watch him from the window as he does cartwheels into the distance. He is very far away now, but I can still see his distant form as he cartwheels onto a railroad track and is struck by an oncoming train. At that very moment, the deafening piano swirl abruptly stops, and the room falls silent. Nina is sitting in a lotus position on the floor, in a state of utter calm. The silence is broken, finally, by the soft chuckling of John Cage, who had been sitting in a far corner of the room all along.