San FranciscoSan Francisco, CA

by Ray Paczkowski

Salem. The Armory. The band played music like “The Who” meets “Cubanisimo.” Cubanisimo who? Jam rock blues non-standard electric rave jazz. But not.

Strange how we build a little world from night to night that exists for as long as the sound lasts, then poof. Someone once told me that music is a singular phenomenon in that it is created from thin air, and disappears completely. Magic. And when the sound is really smoking along, it’s impossible to predict where it might go. Feels like we’re heading to somewhere and WHAM. Left turn, up turn, no turn. When it works, it works, when it doesn’t, well…

Like the salmon races upstream, go, go, go, because he knows at the end of the swim is a fine lady fish with an eye for him; faster, faster, not thinking, over the rocks and through the pools, gotta get there first, and now the last stretch, clear water, full speed, when SMACK, he meets the immoveable object. Last thought as the river takes him back down to the sea,

“damn.”

Day off in San Francisco today, birthplace of the burrito. Not its only claim to fame; kind of depends on your priorities.