The Oppenheimer Report 4/27/15

Last Wednesday morning we received a cell phone call from the caregiver for Shauna’s mom that she had fallen. She implored us to call Mrs. Taylor because she was refusing to go to the hospital. I am writing this report in déjà vu mode, to remind all of you docile children of aging octogenarian, or in this case nonagenarian parents – common sense erodes with age. You must be prepared to be firm and take charge when a crisis arises. While the caregiver was down in the basement, Mom Taylor had tried to go downstairs to join her, became dizzy and slipped on the stairs. Our worst case scenario. What was particularly serious about the fall, apart from the fact she is ninety years old, was that she had hit her head and had a goose egg bruise. That was the red flag. We finally insisted on calling an ambulance. Within 10 minutes of their arrival, paramedics had put her in an immobilizing neck collar and rushed her to the hospital. A number of tests at the hospital confirmed that she had fractured her C1 and C2 vertebrae, and was in danger of complete paralysis. She was adamant that she was all right, yet she was possibly moments away from quadriplegia.

 

As I write this, I am sitting in the hospital with her, and while extremely agitated and in pain – those neck collars are not designed for comfort – she is, for now, safe. Based on her advanced years, doctors will not contemplate invasive spinal surgery unless absolutely necessary. We will know little for 4-6 weeks, but wherein quality-of-life is concerned, this is a quantum leap down for Shauna’s mom. I am reminded of the beginning of my journey into geriatric purgatory, when my father slipped and broke his hip about 11 or 12 years ago. What became apparent during that accident was that my mom was not reacting or behaving appropriately, and both my sister and I and our spouses had to remotely negotiate a ridiculously elaborate maze of bureaucratic nonsense in order to get my father back over the U.S. border and into a U.S. hospital (the accident occurred at our summer home in Canada). He almost died, and what unfolded soon thereafter was the gradual realization that my mom was in the beginning stages of a rare dementia known as Lewy Body Disease. Everything went south from there for both of them, and the next four years of my life were challenging to say the least. Coordinating health care professionals, doctors, insurance coverage, was hard enough, but arranging to make my parents’ handicapped unfriendly home into a small hospital was a minor nightmare. My point is this: one minute everything is ok, and the next, it isn’t.

 

Shauna’s dad passed on in 2013, but not before a serious of downward steps resulting from a series of strokes that were emotionally painful and completely unexpected. Now this latest journey into the world of geriatric worst case scenarios makes me wonder if my contemporaries have had the same rocky ride. We have tried to do everything we can to keep our independent parents safe and healthy, while at the same time maintaining their dignity, but sometimes things just go very wrong. Thanks to our house sitters for stepping in. We’ll be back as soon as we are able.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 4/20/15

I’ve spent a lot of time over the past few weeks poring through my music collection for songs that I might want to play on the radio show. I don’t know if anybody’s listening, and that’s one of the weird things about radio. There you are, alone with a mic, and you have no idea if three people or three thousand are listening in. I don’t expect a big audience, perhaps more when the summer residents arrive, but maybe I can reel in some new listeners by playing a little JethroTull, or a weird Aerosmith cover or, perhaps even some cover sung by Judy Garland. Regardless of how many people are listening, I’ve had a lot of fun learning more about the music I love, and I have had some great feedback from friends near and far. There are so many songs which over the years have influenced me, and every song is a whistle stop on my wild, winding journey. Whenever I hear a certain Led Zeppelin song from the Houses of the Holy album, it reminds me of a beach bar I used to spend a lot of time in during the summers of my ill spent youth. For me at least, songs are like auditory snapshots of the past, and they enhance my memories. Maybe that’s why I like to write songs; I hope one day one of my songs will live on as someone else’s mnemonic device.

 

The other night I was digitally converting a song from my collection for this week’s show, from an old Steppenwolf LP (At Your Birthday Party), and that song conjured up a vivid flashback. I heard the song “Rock Me” and the distinctive drum solo in the middle of that song transported me back to the early 70s and my childhood bedroom in our Buffalo home. I remember listening to that album on my sister’s old stereo, on a hot spring afternoon, and I recall looking out of my second story window at kids playing basketball in the nearby schoolyard of Public School 56. I can picture our verdant, big backyard full of old growth trees and flowers. Mom always had beautiful gardens. I listened to a lot of Steppenwolf back then, and probably had every album they ever made. That includes the last one, featuring a photo of the "penis-mobile" on the inside cover (a car designed to look like an erect penis on wheels). My tastes in music have evolved somewhat, and are considerably more eclectic than they were back then, but I still appreciate the music of Steppenwolf. I can picture myself in my off white,  whale corduroy, hip hugger bell bottoms from the Town Squire Boutique, and my ridiculously wide leather belt from the Soul Source on Elmwood Ave.  I was a boy obsessed with looking and being cool (and failing miserably at both). Years later, my friend Bob and I caught one of the last concerts at the Crystal Beach Ballroom in the now defunct Crystal Beach Amusement Park. On the bill that night were front man John Kay, with whatever band he was now calling Steppenwolf, as well as Alvin Lee and Ten Years After. Both bands put on a fantastic show.

 

Most people are focused in the star who brings a song to light, but I am just as interested in the writer of that song. So often the songwriters go unrecognized. Last Friday night, at the monthly open stage in Burk’s Falls, I saw local picker Merv Mulligan perform a few of his original songs. Merv is a veteran local bluegrass musician, and from what I heard last Friday night, he’s pretty a good songwriter. The country and bluegrass guys often tell great stories. I’ll be playing the recording I made of Merv’s performance on my show this week. Last Thursday night, on the “Live Drive” show before mine, I watched local blues singer Papa John Witterick perform a set at Hunter’s Bay Radio, and he was a pleasant surprise. This is what I love about doing this new radio show. I was concerned that I would not be able to keep presenting more songs I like, but between all the knowledgeable DJs at HBR and all my friends with interesting suggestions and requests, my musical universe is expanding quickly. There is so much under-recognized talent from which to draw. I am appreciative for the people at Hunter’s Bay Radio for giving a voice to obscure and/or local artists, and I hope to contribute to that effort. Singer Percy Sledge died last week of cancer at 74 years of age. Sledge is probably best known for his 1966 hit When a Man Loves a Woman, which he co-wrote with band mates Calvin Lewis and Andrew Wright. May he rest in peace. Another notable death: Last week marked the 150th anniversary of the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln at Ford’s Theatre in Washington DC.

 

Time flies when you’re having fun.

 

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 4/13/15

I think the winter of my discontent is finally on the wane. There may be a few surprises in store, because up here in the Almaguin Highlands it is April, not March, that comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Thankfully, the past few days have been warmer, and the sun has peeked through several times. I get serious cabin fever around this time of year. One would think that having grown up in a sunless city like Buffalo I’d have learned to pace myself for long winters, but I still get anxious around this time. Today, I saw some robins in the woods, and the wild perennials are beginning to poke their green sprouts through the newly thawed landscape.

This spring there has been an unusually large population of deer in our area, and several times I have had to be especially vigilant to avoid them when driving into Huntsville. There were five or six on our property last week, and as the snow melts, they are coming out of the woods to scrounge for whatever Jack Frost has left behind. This has in turn attracted predators. The other day, I woke up to a strange sight out on the frozen lake. About two hundred yards out in front of our house were two gray wolves, laboriously dragging the carcass of a freshly killed deer to the cover of the nearby shore. All around there were crows and I thought I also spotted a bald eagle circling above. This was a sobering reminder of the symbiosis of nature. I love seeing the wild animals, but up here we are constantly reminded of the harsh realities of nature. I never saw this kind of thing when I was a “citiot," as the locals call us city folk. I am reminded of “Marlin Perkins’ Wild Kingdom”, a show I used to watch with some regularity when I was a kid. It always amused me that Perkins would be narrating the video of some jungle cat taking down a gazelle or antelope, and then he’d  segue into a commercial for the sponsor of the show: Mutual of Omaha life insurance. Marlin would say something like: “On the African savannah, only the fastest antelope can out run their predators, but human beings can’t outrun mortality … they need life insurance for their survival. Mutual of Omaha life insurance is the protection you need.” Or, “Baboons mate for life, but who will take care of YOU if your husband is blown to pieces in a boiler explosion? Mutual of Omaha, that’s who.”

Indeed we are perhaps more cognizant of the laws of nature up here in the near north. At present I am anxiously monitoring the spring thaw because we are concerned about flooding. The past several years, flooding has been particularly severe, and we recently installed a sump pump to deal with the excessive volumes of water. Last Thursday night we had the first major thunderstorm of the season, melting much of the snowpack in the area. It was a sleepless night for me. If the power goes out, we do have generator power, but so far the sump is not tied in to the generator.

The radio show is becoming more enjoyable, as I find my stride. At first it was awkward talking into a mic with nobody around, but it is getting easier. I recognize my arrogance in hosting a show wherein I talk about song  writing, and while I am not a widely recognized songwriter, I have been writing songs for a long time. I believe I have something to offer, and I certainly have strong opinions about what I do and do not like. I’m hoping to revisit some of my favorite songs and perhaps all of us will learn something in the process. Much of what I have played so far is music from the past, and to those who suggest I play new artists, I am open to suggestions. I am constantly being exposed to new songs that move me, and when that happens, I will present them for your consideration. That said, there is a lot of music from the past that in my opinion never got the recognition it deserved, and simply does not get air time on the radio today. Good songs do not go out of fashion, and in the show last Thursday night, in no particular order, I included Sammy Davis Jr singing a Cole Porter song, two live cuts from a Humble Pie concert, and a tune by Toronto song writer Willie P. Bennett. In my show, there will be songs that are not for everyone, but almost every song I play is one that has meaning to me, and/or has influenced my songwriting in some way. As I said, I welcome requests, and I am always willing to learn something new. To those who have caught the show, either locally or on the internet, thanks for listening!

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The OppenheimerReport - 4/6/15

Friday night (Good Friday as it turns out) marked the Eve of Passover, a Jewish holiday celebrated by eating a lot of strange and sometimes unsavory foods. Every year, as a token gesture of my observance (somewhat hypocritical given the fact that I am not an “observant” Jew), I substitute matzo for leavened bread for the week of Passover. I do not like matzo; it constipates me, it tastes like cardboard, and has no redeeming nutritional value whatsoever. But I eat it for Passover, just because we Jews like to celebrate our suffering. To add insult to constipation, I can’t find matzo anywhere locally. This year I took the bull by the horns and made my own.

 Actually, it was my mother-in-law’s idea. Mom Taylor is a very clever woman. She co-wrote the song “Every Time I Look at You” with my wife Shauna, and that song was recorded by Vic Damone. She also came up with the brilliant idea for me to write a song around the phrase “Nothing Buttafuoco,” back when Joey Buttafuoco and Amy Fischer were the latest scandal. I could not resist writing that song, and while not one of my finest, it does have a certain edgy appeal. Anyhow, she convinced me to try making matzo.This kosher food business puzzles me. How is it that a cracker made out of flour and water can somehow be more valuable because some rabbi blessed it? To me, this is preposterous. How hard can it be to make matzo, right? Not all that hard as it turns out. It helps to have a pasta maker to roll out the dough, but then it’s just as simple as baking it in a hot oven for a few minutes. Once I got the hang of it, I was a regular matzo- making machine, cranking out homemade matzo for a third the price. And it’s much better than the expensive, store-bought, kosher beaver board commonly sold as Passover matzo. I actually like this homemade stuff, and will likely make it again. It’s a good alternative to regular crackers and chips, which often loaded with salt and preservatives. My mother-in-law had a great idea. Necessity is a mother, so I did some inventing.

 

I got a belly laugh at something I read last week, which is at once politically and religiously incorrect.  Jann Arden posted something on Good Friday wherein she referred to the holy day as the day when Jesus rose from his tomb, saw his shadow, and went back in. That’s pretty much what I’ve been doing as well this past month: laying low. I drove the ATV over to pick up the mail yesterday afternoon and almost froze my tuchus off. Seems I miscalculated the beginning of spring, again. I know it’s coming, but so is Christmas.

 

IF STATUTORY RAPE COMES NATURALLY

IF SCHTUPING AMY FISHER IS YOUR CUP OF TEA

IF YOUR WIFE GETS SHOT BY THIS CRAZY TEEN

LOOK HERE, YOU'RE NOTHING BUTTAFUOCO

 

cho:

YOU STUPID BUTTAFUOCO DON'T YOU SEE IT'S CLEAR

IF YOU SCREW PSYCHO TEENS YOU'RE GOING TO LIVE IN FEAR

THEY SAY THAT LOVE CAN BE A MANY SPLENDORED THING

BUT LUST CAN GET YOU THREE TO FIVE IN OLD SING SING

 

IF AUTOS AREN'T THE ONLY BODIES YOU WORK ON

AND IF YOU THINK YOU'RE MASTER OF THE WOMEN YOU CON

WELL HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN WITH A GUN

YOU'D BETTER RUN YOU STUPID BUTTAFUOCO.

 

                          -From “Nothing Buttafuoco”

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED