O'DOCHERTY SLEEPS . . .

This morning’s Boston Globe included the sad news of the death, last month, of Boston-based Irish-born painter and musician David O’Docherty. Reading his obituary, I was transported first of all back to my earliest days in Boston, in 1984—specifically to my first visit to The Black Rose, a landmark Irish pub near Faneuil Hall/Quincy Market. One of the distinctive features of the pub at that time was a large painting (probably 4’ x 7’) of faces and profiles all blended together into a sort of Chagall-esque expressionistic dreamscape. The painting, by O’Docherty, was titled Finnegan’s Sleep , an obvious allusion to James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake—that “lingerous longerous book of the dark”—and featured many recognizable figures with literary associations in particular: Joyce, his character Leopold Bloom from Ulysses, W. B. Yeats, Samuel Beckett, Sean O’Casey, Seamus Heaney. . . . Needless to say, I found the painting both eye-catching and intriguing . . . and I was prompted to arrange for O’Docherty to have a show of his paintings at the Harbor Gallery at UMass Boston. A quarter-century later, most of the details of that event have faded from my memory, but I do know that the show included Finnegan’s Sleep. I bought a poster of that piece and it has hung in my office ever since. . . .

But I was also transported back to some point in the past decade when I happened to be in the vicinity of Downtown Crossing and my ear was drawn to the sound of an Irish jig being played on a tin whistle. I had not seen David O’Docherty since the mid-1980s, but I immediately recognized him as the man behind the music. I am quite sure that he was not busking —he was just playing his whistle for the joy of playing and for the joy that his playing gave to others. After a few minutes we made eye contact and then we had a nice chat: he was a gentle and generous spirit. Reading his obituary this morning, I remember with happiness that chance meeting by way of his musical talent so many years after we first crossed paths by way of his talent as a painter.

DISRAELI GEARS

I’m sitting in Cakes right now, a coffee and baked goods shop located a block or so from my house. My trusty steed is tethered to a signpost outside the window—the same signpost I tied it to a week or so ago when the chain slipped off its teeth and got jammed in the rear sprockets. I was on my way to the gym and didn’t feel like taking time to fix the bike’s problem, so I simply dismounted, locked it up, and walked the rest of the way. When I got to the gym I texted my wife to let her know what happened: I worried that she might drive by the coffee shop and notice my bike there and think that I was “cheating”—stopping in for a cupcake instead of burning off last night’s cupcakes (metaphorical) on the treadmill.

A couple of days ago, the Tour de France bicycle race was scandalized by a similar situation. No, not a rider being falsely accused of stopping for a cupcake (ou peut-être une crêpe?) . . . but the leader, the guy in the yellow jersey, having his chain slip off its sprocket, which allowed another rider to pass him and ultimately win that stage of the race and thus get to wear the yellow jersey the next day. Apparently this was a violation of bike-racing etiquette. Sacre bleu! That’s a very nuanced notion of fair play . . .

Anyway . . . all of this reminds me of that fine album released by the supergroup/power trio known as Cream—Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Ginger Baker—back in 1967. Just for the sake of Clapton’s utterly sculpted guitar solo on “Sunshine of Your Love,” Disraeli Gears could be a desert island essential. Cream trivialogists will know that the album’s title derives not from the name of 19th-century British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli but from a roadie’s mispronunciation of the word “derailleur” when he chipped in to Clapton’s chatting about buying a racing bicycle with that so-named gear mechanism. Those same trivialogists will also know that “Badge,” another song recorded by Cream (on the album Goodbye), derives its title from Clapton’s misreading of the word “bridge” (as inscribed by song co-writer, Beatle George Harrison) on a sheet of paper with lyrics and chords. How random. Speaking of random . . . I wonder what the odds are that either of those songs would pop up on my iPod Shuffle when I’m on the treadmill at the gym thinking about eating cupcakes and watching Tour de France highlights on ESPN?

ON THE ROAD AGAIN . . .

I’m not sure how or when a trip to Annapolis, MD got on my calendar . . . but I can now add that quaint state capital to my list of been-there-done-that places. The temperature was pushing a withering 100 degrees during my evening/morning visit, but I still managed to walk the heart-of-downtown streets three times and mostly liked what I saw . . . including the Starbucks in the cellar of the Maryland Inn. It was a cool haven . . . with a cool vibe as it was once a happening jazz club called the King of France Tavern. The wall-hangings include photos and clippings of jazz greats who played there—Teddy Wilson, Chet Baker, Charlie Byrd . . . and my old friend Gene Bertoncini. In fact, a clipping from 1979 previewing Gene’s performance there with bassist Michael Moore prompted me to cue up their album Two in Time on my iPod as I sat there: time travel!

I wish that I could have been transported so easily on my drive down to Annapolis. Whenever I’m on a road trip—no matter where I am—I keep my eye out for Prince Edward Island license plates: it drives my wife crazy, but I always assume that I would know anyone from that small common ground. Well, this time I ended up getting a long close-up look at a PEI license plate while sitting behind a tractor-trailer for a full hour in virtually standstill traffic in the vicinity of Lyme, CT. I didn’t get a look at the driver, though: when the jam finally broke, I was off to the races . . .

My lucky wife had flown down to Annapolis on Monday, so she was spared that traffic. But the trip back to Boston was even worse—we lost easily two hours sitting in a bumper-to-bumper gridlock trying to get onto the George Washington Bridge in NYC. According to the car thermometer, the outside temperature was 108 degrees—so hot that the GPS device in the front window shut down . . . not that we needed it at the rate we were moving!

But the trip back from Annapolis did have an upside—an overnight in Philadelphia . . . a city I had never visited before, but would happily return to again. Mostly we just wandered the streets—no agenda beyond getting a feel for the place. We had a hotel room right in the center of the city—on the 27th floor looking out on City Hall. But the real highlight was our evening of random wandering that included first a fine pint at a fine pub called The Black Sheep and, much later, a terrific meal at Lolita, a Mexican restaurant on 13th Street. Like a number of restaurants we checked out, Lolita has a BYOB license—which we were not prepared for. So imagine our delight when our server said that she would see if anyone had left anything behind that we might enjoy . . . and sure enough, she showed up at our table with a fairly substantial quantity of Jose Cuervo tequila. The food itself was outstanding—but with tequila thrown into the mix (as it were), we ended the night truly in Margaritaville!

The next morning, before hitting the road back to Boston, we wandered around Philly both on foot and by car . . . for a couple of very hot but very pleasant hours. I found the heart of the city stunningly attractive—almost Parisian in the grand scale of its buildings (and of the architectural styles). I kept on thinking “Philadelphia, Here I Come!”—I hope to get back there sooner rather than later . . .

IN FULL SWING . . . JEAN McKENNA O'DONNELL

This morning’s tide of emails brought home all the usual flotsam and jetsam—notices of new releases on Amazon.com and on iTunes, various barely resistible offers for health products, the daily overtures from Nigerian scam artists addressing me as “Beloved one,” a reminder from my University bookstore that I had not yet placed by book order for the Fall semester. . . . But one message floated to the top of all those—news of an event that I’m going to try to squeeze onto the calendar for July 18th: a concert at Greenvale Vineyards in Portsmouth, RI featuring jazz vocalist Jean McKenna O’Donnell. The concert is scheduled for 1:00-4:00 p.m. and admission is free. The event also features wine tastings.

I first met Jean about 7 years ago and at the time she was a long-retired jazz chanteuse. Prodded by her proud husband, she confessed that “in her day” she could hold her own with a big band swinging behind her. I think that in the course of our chat it emerged that she has fine musical bloodlines—her brother is the legendary jazz pianist Dave McKenna (now departed). So fast-forward about 5 years to the first time I actually heard Jean sing . . . at a concert in Woonsocket, RI memorializing her late brother. That was in December of 2008. The concert itself was warm and poignant as it featured a number of New England jazz musicians who played with Dave McKenna during his lengthy career. But the concert also served notice that Jean was back on the scene! She had just released a CD—appropriately titled Full Circle, as indeed she had come full circle, returning to the bandstand quite a long while after first making a name for herself. It was great to see her performing in the tribute to her brother . . .

And so this morning when I got that email, I immediately spun the dial on my iPod and summoned up Full Circle for a good listen. Comprising mostly tunes from the Great American Songbook—“You Stepped Out of a Dream,” “Taking a Chance on Love,” “I’m Old Fashioned,” “I’ve Got a Crush on You”—it’s an altogether pleasing compilation. Supported by Mike Renzi on piano, Dick Johnson on alto sax and clarinet, Marshall Wood on bass, and Jon Wheatley on guitar, Jean is in fine company and in fine vocal form. The CD is a real treat!

No doubt Jean will be singing some of those gems on July 18th at Greenvale Vineyards, which is located on the Sakonnet River just five miles north of downtown Newport, RI. For more details, contact Greenvale Vineyards (582 Wapping Rd., Portsmouth, RI) at (401) 847-3777.

THE MONIKERS . . . MAKING A NAME FOR THEMSELVES

So last night I was out on a hot date . . . with my middle daughter. On her recommendation, we took in an evening of music at All Asia in Central Square in Cambridge that included—for us, featured—a rockin’ four-person band called The Monikers. A great name for a band! I had seen this foursome before—many times before . . . mostly sitting in our kitchen or in our family room, sometimes strumming guitars and singing Beatles tunes (one night the entirety of Abbey Road, word for word, chord for chord, note for note . . . until 2:00 in the morning). But I had never heard them perform under their official moniker . . .

Well now I have, and they are well worth catching “live and in person.” Not only do these self-styled “hipsters” look the part with their skinny-legged jeans and their moppish haircuts—they live up to their appearance with their playing and singing. And with their songwriting. And with their onstage performing. Hey, they’re not just making a name for themselves—they make a spectacle of themselves . . . led by Francis Anderson on guitar, keyboard, and lead vocal: he really creates a scene all by himself! And he’s backed up with real finesse by Peter Chinman on lead guitar and supporting vocal, by Tim Marchetta-Wood on room-thumpin’ bass, and by Erica Warner holding them all together with impressive work on the drum kit. They threw a few covers into their set—most notably a show-stopping arrangement of the Beatles’ iconic “Let It Be”—but mainly played catchy original tunes with titles like “Dressed Up in Yellow,” “That’s What She Said,” and “Catch a Little Rainbow.” (A nice touch: the band provided takeaway lyric sheets.)

I hear that The Monikers have a few more gigs lined up for the summer. Check out their website. And catch them if you can!