The Oppenheimer Report 11/16/20

Since I began to host the LYRICAL WORKERS show about five years ago, I have met or corresponded with many talented artists and songwriters. That interaction has in turn given me some insight into my own journey as a songwriter. I don’t think there are many radio shows which focus on the writers of songs, and the songwriters with whom I’ve been in touch seem to be more than willing to share their stories.  Every week, I learn about one or two new artists from songwriters I already know, and I try to relay their experiences in my show.

A few months ago, I received a Facebook message from an American songwriter named Scott Cook, who presently makes his home in Edmonton. I think he learned about my LYRICAL WORKERS show through our mutual friend Corin Raymond, a wonderful songwriter whom I met through my collaborations with Sean Cotton. Scott recently sent me his latest CD, entitled “A Tangle Of Souls”, which included a book comprised of all the lyrics for his CD, and the stories that inspired the songs. I’m only about halfway through the book, but I can very much relate to Scott’s journey. I know what it’s like to second guess my place in the field, to wonder if I’m good enough, and to question why I’m writing songs in the first place. As well, his candid discussion about his plunge down the rabbit hole of self-medication struck home. So many of us struggle with those same demons. Songwriting is my catharsis; it is my way to make sense of the world around me. I think it is the same for Scott. He became the wandering troubadour I never had the courage to be, and in so doing fell prey to the demons that plague those who spend their lives on the road. Vicariously, I learn from a fellow songwriter’s journey. The book is part political commentary and part tell all revelation about the struggles of an intelligent, flawed, sentient human being.  I see a little bit of me in every songwriter I encounter. We’re all telling our stories.

The other night Shauna and I watched the Netflix show entitled “Springsteen On Broadway”. While I was never a huge fan of Springsteen – I liked him better before he got so famous -- it is hard to deny his talent as a songwriter. Shauna and I saw him perform with the E. Street Band in Toronto years ago, and he is indeed a force of nature. Springsteen will always be “The Boss” because he surrounds himself with great musicians (always a good start), and he eloquently tells great stories, relatable to a wide audience. Watching that filmed Broadway performance, that intimate one on one with the artist, I came away with a newfound respect for the man. I also learned a lot about how some of his most successful songs came to be. Every good songwriter is just a few hit songs away from that kind of success.

For decades I wrote songs in a vacuum and never knew anyone who felt the way I do about songwriting. There are millions of people out there there writing songs, but only a small fraction do it really well. Sadly, the cream does not often rise to the top. I think most people want their story to have some meaning, and my mission is to present some of the under-recognized writers I appreciate.  Watching that Springsteen video, and reading Scott Cook’s book made me feel a little more connected to the craft. While the three of us live in different universes, we are united in our quest to tell our stories well in our songs. I may not be there yet, but my success is in my quest to improve.

Finally, reality is beginning to close in on America’s lamest duck. Hey Don, don’t let the screen door hit you on the way out.  Sadly, even his sore loser departure will at the expense of the American people. I trust the new administration will not be so cavalier and horribly irresponsible in its handling of the current pandemic; still, I fear it will be a long time before America can recover from the Rump hangover. 

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/9/20

Last week, I was going to reprise a report I wrote 11/2/92, the day before the U.S. elections, exactly 28 years ago last Monday. Ultimately, I decided not to post the report, because I simply didn’t feel like commenting on the imminent elections. As I began to write this report on Friday, the President Elect of The United States Of America had still not yet been determined. When I wrote the above-mentioned report in ‘92, the candidates were incumbent George H. Bush, running against Bill Clinton. Ross Perot had thrown his hat in the ring as an independent candidate, but quickly got chewed up by the press, melting down before he could pose a formidable threat. I think at the time, Perot appealed to many of the voters who ultimately became Trump supporters. He was the Washington outsider, who spoke “the truth” about American politics. He would take a sledgehammer to the status quo. Dana Carvey was still with SNL, and I remember his hilarious imitations of Perot (and Bush). The big scandals of the day involved allegations that Bush had had an affair with a co-worker and that Clinton admitted he had smoked pot, but that he but didn’t inhale. My, how far things have deteriorated since then!

I turned off the television last Tuesday night around midnight, upset, anxious, incredulous that the race was too close to call. I could not believe that, once again the supreme spewer of verbal diarrhea might be afforded another term to finally flush democracy down the toilet for good. With a record number of votes pouring in on both sides, the Orange Emperor was ahead in key battleground states. I could not bear to hear the bad news. I went to bed with the horrible feeling in my gut that Trump might very well take the presidency, and that we were all doomed to another four years of his ignorant, incompetent, chaotic, and corrosive madness. He made a joke of my country and I don’t think one single man in history has done so much to erode the sense of well-being of so many. We suffered a four-year train wreck, and watched helplessly as that poorly coifed buffoon dismantled what was left of American credibility. To the rest of the world America was the drunk uncle at Thanksgiving dinner, throwing up on Aunt Edna. I believe history (and facts) will prove that, by his incompetence, the Twitter-In-Chief unnecessarily sentenced hundreds of thousands of Americans to unnecessary death by his mishandling of the COVID-19 virus. I hope history judges the man harshly, but what is done cannot be undone.

I read an interesting article the other day entitled The Unraveling Of America (https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/political-commentary/covid-19-end-of-american-era-wade-davis-1038206/?fbclid=IwAR1aazQxG6Ad1uMVs9C3CKDUFGCMSuSq6drSRCPaTAg5MnbnJYma3DN1jRI). It was sent to me by one of my old friends from Alberta, and it clearly and eloquently traces my country’s gradual decline in status on the world stage. After I read it, I felt a little better apprised of how we got to the place we now find ourselves. It is so easy to mock Rump, and to say that anyone who would support such a man is stupid and uninformed. Certainly, I’ve felt that way, but here’s the problem. Some people I respect voted for him as well. America was broken long before Donald Trump was anything more than an amusing poster boy for celebrity misbehavior. That almost half of American voters supported his re-election is cause for concern. You can argue that those voters are “idiots” and wrong-minded, but this begs the question: why are so many so strongly against the status quo? If anything good came of the past four years it is that, it exposed the glaring hypocrisy and dysfunction of American politics. I am mildly encouraged that Americans voted Donald Trump out. To all of us hopeless dreamers it suggests that more of us choose love and acceptance over hatred and divisiveness. I know how I have felt for the past four years: hopeless. Joe Biden is not the magic bullet. If we do not figure out a way to choose love over hate, we are doomed as a species, regardless of the leaders we choose.

 

For the past 4 years, I have felt completely out of control of my destiny, but I feel a glimmer of hope today. In two days we celebrate the 102nd anniversary of Remembrance Day, commemorating the armistice that ended World War One on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. It is a time to reflect on and to show gratitude to those who died to protect our freedom. We do a disservice to all veterans if we do not figure out a way to behave decently to our fellow men and women. I am not a praying man, but it is my never-ending hopeful aspiration that I will always choose kindness over cruelty, love over hate, and acceptance over rejection. I may not always succeed, but these are the things within my control to do.

                - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/26/20

I apologize in advance to my 12 loyal readers; I might not be writing this report next week. In the 27 years since I began writing it, I have probably missed 10 or 15 reports, usually for reasons out of my control.  Tomorrow. I will be undergoing hip replacement surgery and anticipate that I might need some time to recuperate.  I suppose it is appropriate that, as I usher in my 66^th year, concurrently, my body is beginning to show signs of wear. In fact, this hip degeneration has been getting worse for well over a year, but I was in denial. Shortly before the pandemic closed things down, I was finally about to throw in the towel and put myself on a list for a hip replacement, but then everything got delayed for 4 months. In that time the joint pain became exponentially worse, especially walking on irregular terrain, and I began to limp noticeably. Friends called attention to the change in my gait, but I was unaware just how obvious it had become. As of this writing, I am having trouble walking without a cane. When I went in for the original meeting with the surgeon, and he saw my X-rays, he was concerned enough to prioritize my surgery. As a primary caregiver, I have denied this problem for too long. As we approach winter, perhaps the timing isn’t great, but the good news is that to be homebound is the new norm these days.

This is an odd time to be going into a hospital for surgery, and I admit that I am a bit nervous. Then again, it couldn’t be nearly as dangerous as attending a Rump rally. I asked one of the nurses charged with my pre-admission assessment if she was concerned about an outbreak in the hospital and she said that, in her opinion, hygiene was much better than usual in the hospital. Protocols already in place are being more strictly enforced. The anesthesiologist with whom I spoke informed me I will not be put under a general anesthetic. Instead they will give me an epidural to numb my mid-section, and some Propofol to relax me. Yes, that’s Propofol, the drug pop star Michael Jackson was irresponsibly using to help him sleep. I asked the anesthesiologist if that meant I will be awake during the surgery, and he said something like: “You may feel some tugging and pulling, but you’ll be floating so you won’t care.” Apparently, recovery times are vastly improved when the patient does not undergo a general anesthetic, and I’m all for that. I just hope I don’t hear any sawing. Shauna wants to save the old hip bone, not exactly sure why. Perhaps she wants to make a paperweight out of it or something. I once saved a picture of my father’s colon after his colon surgery.  It looked a little like the Holland tunnel, if it were decorated by Cristo. Don’t judge me.

Coupled with the obvious existential issues many of us face right now as a species, this latest speed bump finds me reminding myself of my blessings.  I am thankful to have been graced with good health for most of my life, and I am even more thankful to have access to this restorative surgery.  As I age, I am more mindful of my vulnerability and my need to mind my health. There’s a line in my song “Time We Found” which reads: I used to live my life spontaneously, embellishing my clouded memories ...” It was a veiled reference to the fact that I used to self-medicate regularly. I squandered too much of my time, and did a lot of foolishly dangerous things. I am less inclined to do that now. These days, (relatively) clear-headed, and fast approaching my golden years, I don’t take the passage of time for granted. I no longer assume I will live a long life. As the above-referenced song suggests, love is the antidote to those concerns. Thankfully, I have an abundance of love in my life. I’ve been a bit discouraged of late, hobbling around like the old man I stubbornly deny I am becoming. I hope this surgery allows me to ambulate freely again, but regardless of the outcome, I realized we’re all on the same train. I’m not the conductor, but the trick is to enjoy the ride.   

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 10/19/20

I met a lady the other day in the medical center as I was waiting to use the machine to pay my parking fee. She was having a problem, because the machine would only accept credit cards or cash. She only had a debit card, and the adjacent ATM machine was out of order. I suppose I could have just let her find another source of cash, which likely would have meant taking a long walk in the rain, but I paid her parking fee. It was my random act of kindness for the day. It made me feel just a little better about myself, and I helped someone in a bind. For all the people who have helped me over the year, I paid it forward.

 

If the growing list of mental health hotline ads posted online is any indication, there are a lot of people out there who are struggling emotionally right now. I know I’m one of the luckiest people in the world, and I’m having a hard time dealing with all of this. Several of my musician friends have really melted down over the past few months, and I cannot imagine how frightening the future looks to them. In many cases they were barely making ends meet before the pandemic, thanks in part to the downward spiral of the music business. Now, they can’t even gig on a regular basis.  As Toronto and other major cities face another spike in COVID 19 cases, there will inevitably be another series of mandatory shutdowns, which will likely be the death blow for a lot of restaurants, gyms, and small businesses. So many people are on their last nerve. Exacerbating all this uncertainty is the unsettling suspicion that bad behavior and lack of leadership are on the rise. Twitter, Facebook and other social media platforms fuel the flames and it takes nothing to ignite an ill-considered comment into a full-blown street fight. To quote an expression I think I first heard on Firesign Theater in the 70s, it might be time to stick my head between my legs and kiss my ass goodbye. Then again, I haven’t given up yet.

 

Yvonne Heath, one of our local volunteers at Hunters Bay Radio, a lecturer, a writer, and a former chemotherapy nurse, hosted a show on Hunters Bay Radio called “Just Show Up”. On it she interviewed people facing adversity with courage and dignity. She also wrote a very interesting book demystifying death and dying,  offering helpful advice about how to undo the stigma involved with discussing it. Just show Up is her catch phrase for helping someone out just by being there. Everywhere in this community I see courageous people coping the best they can with terrible news. Whether it’s the widow running the family marina business after her husband died following an unexpected diagnosis of ALS, or the friend recently diagnosed with an advanced case of a rare and difficult to treat prostate cancer, or  another friend who lost his house and all his possessions in a fire. The stories are all around us, and most of those people are coping the best they can, and sometimes what they need most is simply someone to listen and empathize. Most everyone in the world is struggling right now.

 

In less than a month America will elect a new president. Within the next year, there will likely be a vaccine to treat COVID 19. I think most people expect the world will go back to “normal” after these two problems are addressed. I’m not so sure. The problem is far deeper than Rump or COVID 19. It doesn’t take much to make a difference; sometimes it’s a simple as paying a stranger’s parking fee when they can’t. It made me feel good, for a moment anyway. I want to believe that person will now have just a little bit more faith in mankind because of my gesture. Maybe not, but I need a little hope injected into my life, some small reminder that kindness is not dead. I can’t fix this mess we’re in, all I can do is work to improve me. To quote Blanche Dubois: “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”    

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED