Wednesday 13th August, 2008

 

 

 

 

 

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A Thought for Today

Women would be surprised if they knew how really gentle most men are inclined to be. Some of us are not just gentlemen but gentle men.

 

This One Does It For Me!

Dear Ken,

A few weeks back you published a list of favorite Rod McKuen songs and poems. I must say some of the selections were surprising and wouldn't have been my choice.

I'm interested to know if you agreed with the selections and if not, what you think should have been on the list.

Thanks.

Moira

The list you refer to, Moira, was the result of a reader survey undertaken a number of years ago which I re-published recently as a guide for someone asking about the best way to introduce Rod's work to a friend. The full list may be viewed here:

All Time Favorites

A lot of my favorites appeared on the list so yes, I thought it was a pretty accurate reflection of Rod's most popular work. I didn't feel there were any glaring omissions or surprise inclusions. There was some older work listed and some more recent, enough to satisfy new and long time fans alike.

Thinking more about it, though, I would really have liked to see some of Rod's "stories" make the list. I just love the way he writes about people he's known over the years and by way of an example here's one of my favorite stories of all time. 

EDEN AHBEZ

The name Eden Ahbez rings a lot of bells. He was one of the first songwriters I met when I came to Southern California in the 50's. Even then he looked like a wizened old man, though he was probably only in his thirties. He truly was the "Nature Boy" of his most famous song, leather-skinned from a perennial suntan, long unkempt hair, a beard of many colors that went halfway down his chest and clean but very old clothes.

In those days he was a perennial figure on Hollywood streets, much the same as Moondog who seemed to live on the streets of New York. He haunted recording studios and publishers offices seldom finding anyone who would listen to him or his songs because they were so put off by his outward appearance. 

For years he had tried to get his songs published but nothing happened until Nat King Cole recorded "Nature Boy," and it became a major hit. After that the leeches came out in force and being a truly raw talent and not very sophisticated in business he signed away rights to nearly all of his songs; something that was to haunt him the rest of his life. Alas, the success of "Nature Boy" was never to be repeated.

When I met him the royalties from his one big hit in the 1940's had long been spent. He was back to pounding the streets with little success. We would run into each other now and again as I too knocked on West Coast publisher's doors. As I became more successful I lost track of him and many of the other real characters I met on the streets of Hollywood. Like Eden, I didn't drive at the time and walked or hitched everywhere. The people I met that befriended this young songwriter were varied and many.

Fade Out. Fade in. 

For a number of years my friends Robyn Whitney and Michael McDonald, have owned and run a series of recording studios called TRAX. As their reputations grew and their seemingly Mom & Pop operation expanded into one of the best and most respected studio complexes in LA, they needed more space. One of those expansions included a very visible studio complex on Sunset Blvd. 

I've known and loved Robyn and Michael since I first recorded at TRAX in the eighties. The stories they tell of life in and out of the studio run the gamut from rival rap groups staging gunfights in their halls to stage parents dragging their moppets into the studio and yelling "Sing you little Bitch, Sing" as the microphone went on.

One of the sweetest stories, however, involved Eden Ahbez. One day in the mid-nineties this unkempt man (much as I described him from 40 years before) wandered into the studio reception area and introduced himself to Robyn. She didn't pay much attention to the mumbled name but being as sweet and patient as she is allowed him to go into a rambling monologue. 

At one point he opened a tattered scrapbook he had been carrying under his arm, along with a sheaf of music, and Robyn began reading the faded clippings and discovered that here indeed was Eden Ahbez the writer of "Nature Boy".

She proceeded to congratulate him on the brand new success of his song now that Natalie Cole had recorded it in a multi-million selling tribute to her father. The song of course was "Nature Boy," the album was "Unforgettable" and had topped the charts for half a year worldwide. The quizzical expression on Eden's face informed her he had no idea of what she was talking about.

And thus, you have the very happy ending to the life story of a by then homeless and forgotten songwriter; who a few years before his death was able realize what must have seemed to him like a king's ransom in royalties, new respect and a taste of fame again. All because he stumbled into yet another recording studio and this time was greeted by someone compassionate enough to listen to him for more than a few minutes.

 - First published January 30th, 2001

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Rod's random thoughts A kiss can heal a wound but not a fracture.

Write as it happens. Only brief corrections should be allowed, or throw it out.

Suspicion of other people's motives is the worst kind of vanity.

QUATRAIN

If I could have my first life back
I’d treat it better, oh, I would.
I’d tend its ills and feed it good
and guard it from attack.

If not a whole life, half perhaps.
I’ve much to make up for and I
would take half life where no birds fly
and women fold their legs to laps.

Not one quarter will you give
to one who wasted life away.
Why are young men taught to pray
if there’s no second life to live ?

-from “Valentines,” 1986

 
    AND FINALLY

More next week. Meantime if you have a favorite McKuen song, poem or story you'd like to share, or a question you need answered, drop me a line (you'll find the address on our Contact Page) and I'll do the rest.

-Ken, Johannesburg, South Africa, August 13

 
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Webmaster: Ken Blackie • Birthday Research by Wade Alexander • Poems from the collection of Jay Hagan •
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