Weather Report

John Watt

Member
no longer waiting for the sun.

Ils ne bon, mon ami. We talk duality, and it strikes out at me. While online interest in my patentable guitar grows, so does the criminality of Welland against me. People come to this house, misrepresenting themselves. My friends dog was poisoned and died. I have bought a new domain from Bell to secure consistent email. When corporations offer help, you are suffering on the street. I've been told by provincial authorities I probably won't be collecting my inheritance. People say what I say makes my life suffer, and now that I've got a digital camera, taking pictures can get me killed.

People I was arrested as a mayoral candidate for calling a secret society of crime, are now getting convicted as Hell's Angels under the first application of gang membership laws. The assistant crown attorney, son of the crown attorney who tried to jail me, has been arrested twice with a judge and criminal family member for money laundering and cocaine. Outside enforcement finds it too easy to walk in Welland and observe and arrest. Of course, there is only me to blame.

All those all day, all day and night bike-hikes I leave on are gone. I've lost my sense of needing nature. Now it's a part of me. What great gift that has been, later in life, finding all the seasons outdoors, especially at night. That's a new world, and more active with animals and birds. I can see how they avoid humans. The Niagara Peninsula is my backyard. I can wade far out in The Niagara River and look over the edge, after the guards are gone.

I'm tapping and rapping my fingers, practicing patterns, working on speed, getting ready to play. A friend from south of Calgary, out west, just emailed saying his local radio station had a special on Welland, saying the province should issue an advisory for the youth to leave. It's been three years since my father passed away, and I can't collect a penny of my inheritance, or else I'd be catching a laptop message sitting in the shade beside you.

This drives me. I'm going to act out publicly again. I'm going to the police station and nail a statement to the wall. Yes, a Lutheran influence, not Straus or Wagner, but what is made known to be public and shown to the public is my only defense. I was born a musician, but I have to strive to walk like a man. I think I'm going to put on some of my parents albums tonight. "Victory at Sea" by The Frank Chacksfield Orchestra, "The House of Blue Lights", "What Did He Say (The Mumble Song) and those muted and wah-wah trumpet jive records my mother loved.

I shall visit your site, sunwaiter. Thank you for the personal invitation. It may be taking me out of this domain, something I didn't want to do, wanting to respect the privilege, but with my own musical domain now online, as temporary as this generic format choice is, I now am pulled between two orbiting worlds of words of music, and you have caught me in between.
I dread this sense of finality. It is my life I see ending.
 

sunwaiter

New member
John Watt'

i can feel the toughness. i'm going through weird times too, and not the most enjoyable of all, but it seems i can't envy yours. i hope it's not as bad as to make you lose the essential. this inheritage thing is terrible, and always a source of troubles, unfortunately. but at least there is one thing they can't take from you.

i'm not really ever waiting for the sun, i mean, it's the sun that always catches me in a moment of oblivion. we always find what we are not looking for, so i wish the best to whom may read this.
 

John Watt

Member
Sunwaiter! So you are catching fresh rays of the sun and serving us so light. I wonder where that moment of oblivion comes from. You know what I do to answer nasty email? I just got my first camera two weeks ago, digital, from a computer store sign customer. Being a guitarist with stretched fingers, and a used to be very thin six feet tall, I took a picture of my hand in front of me against a wall, delicately holding the smallest Fender pick pointed out, with my fingers fanned out bent at all the joints, all fingers visible. I say take a look, do my hands look like they're shaking.

Losing the essential sounds deeper than having a hard time being patient enough to make signs or build my guitar when I'm angry or my brain is bent. Surprising enough, I'm starting to cry again. I used to always get tears watching Touched by an Angel with my parents, or missionary videos. Sure, I was used by some congregations, my tall presence and reputation, sitting quietly in a strangers' residence, tears falling from my eyes.

What finds me when I'm not looking for it is always Amazing Grace. With my family, it's only sung at funerals. Having that added as a hymn may be a nice touch for Ministers when I'm there, but I've never been able to make it through the second verse without crying. Standing at the back, to be observant, I can't not sing with all my heart, and my Gaelic ululating (Yule-you-late-ting) always makes my voice occupy empty spaces, and when I start breaking up people turn to look. My Parisien ami, you might not find that word in your dictionary. But may those shining eyes of son waiting love meet your eyes another day.

And sunwaiter, I am purposefully losing the toughness. Going on bike-hikes to get away from my home town, still paying for two vans vandalized beyond repair, evolved into all day and day and a half journeys, the Niagara Peninsula becoming my back yard, and the night becoming an enchanting place to be. But my fingers tightened with handlebar grip. I stopped riding six weeks ago, soaking in as many hot baths as I can take, working my fingers, and my hands are softer and for the first time in years I can pop each joint and move them independently again. That only started this last week. Not only crying again, I'm tapping and rapping patterns to my own beat and grooving along with tunes walking down the street. The world is opening up to me, for my whole love to see. That same sun, and that same pale reflection, are shining on us both today, and tomorrow.
Il fait le neige, et il est froid, mais ton stylo est chaud.
 
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uno_musicjunkie

New member
I like Sofistifunk and I think that it's their grooviest song :)

- Ryan

Read insightful and entertaining articles plus free music reviews for music fans, by music fans. Visit the site for all music junkies.
 
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garethbarnes

New member
Weather Report are my favourite band of all time - at least the version with Jaco in it. I first saw them in October 10 1978 at the Oxford New Theatre as it was called then. I got my sister to smuggle in a mono cassette recorder and so have a precious tape of Jaco at his peak. He was an unbelievable performer. I saw him a few more times with WR and then with his own Word of Mouth band at the Hammersmith Odeon.

Just to put a point straight from an earlier post, it wasn't the drink and drugs which killed him, although they contributed of course. He was actually beaten up and put in a coma by a martial arts bouncer outside a nightclub. Jaco's life support machine was switched off two weeks later. You can google the name and the 'punishment.'

WR were an incredible mix of amazingly talented musicians.
Jaco and Joe together were tremendous and unparalleled in music.
:eek:
 

John Watt

Member
Yeah, I'm missing the night I saw Weather Report,
when my girlfriend was an oboeist in The Ottawa Symphony.
I wish I could get this photo from then up here.
 
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