by KUBOA
Mm.
You will wake now, Mr. Galeen.
Mm.
Mr. Galeen.
Mm. Ann.
Now, look at me. Open your eyes, Mr. Galeen. Open them, I say.
What—mm, Ann. That was delicious.
Ok, Mr. Galeen.
What—did I do alright? I was really under, wasn’t I?
Mr. Galeen. I think. I think we should continue another time. If you’ll make an appointment on your way out.
Ann. Did I do something—what is it?
Nothing, Mr. Galeen.
Henry. I thought—
Another time. We are out of time today. Now—
Ann, did I—Ann. Look.
Please, just leave. Please.
Oh.
Right—
Oh.
Mr.
Mm, well. I’m sorry.
Now if
Ann. I see. I need a cigarette. That’s a bad sign.
Mr—
A bad sign. Ann. I’m sorry about this. I really am. I only wanted. Well, it’s not important. Ann, I’m sorry about this. No—keep those lights off. Come here, Ann. Come. Now, you can see me. Now you can look into my eyes. Deeper, Ann. Look deeper. Yes, that’s it. Ann. You’re moving into my eyes. You’re losing yourself, Ann. You’re falling into me—keep looking right here, Ann. Everything is falling away. You have no more cares, nothing about the world matters to you now. You’re already undoing your blouse, Ann. You’re already offering yourself up. Undo those buttons, Ann. Yes, that’s it—yes, Doctor, your breast is white—so pure. Open your blouse, Ann. Push your hair aside. Ahh, yes. Ann. You’re losing yourself, Ann, leaving the world behind, the tired old world. You’re leaving it all behind—for something better, Ann. Now
Gardner Speaks (One):
An Interview with Legendary Rock Musician
Buddy Gardner
Creole Myers: Would you take it all back?
Buddy Gardner: I would take it all back. I take it back now. I take it back just because you asked. Take it back? What do you mean fucking take it back? I don’t have anything. Anything I have I have because of Lorelei, because of me. I don’t owe the past anything, Memphis anything, music, rock and roll, the fans, those idjits with their t-shirts and lunch boxes and designer drugs or whatever. I owe Buddy Gardner. I owe him everything. What I have I earned and I don’t care what anyone else says, what Hudson says, or any of that shit, I just care about Lorelei, about me. I’m not Buddy Black Lung. I’m not Buddy Zimmerman. I’m Buddy Gardner. What was the question?
CM: Black Lung. Tell us about that, do you still listen to ‘Turntable Poison?’
BG: I don’t know. Don’t trust me on that shit. I hate that album. There’s some good stuff on it. I wrote some good stuff back then, that’s evident, you know? But, I’m moving in a totally different direction now. I don’t even understand that album, to be honest. Have you listened to I Was a Child When Smaller? That’s some of my best stuff and what are people saying? That it’s self-indulgent. That it’s shit. Fucking hell, what is art? It’s self indulgence, man. I put myself out there with my veins exposed and I say, you know, fuck it, this is me, man.
CM: Do you ever hear from the other members of Black Lung? Anyone from Memphis?
BG: Lemme tell you how I answer that question. I ain’t the past. I am the future.
CM: Ok. So, you hear from the other members-
BG: I talk to Skippy once in a while. He and his wife were here just a couple of months ago. He seems happy. His wife is a peach.
LE: Helen. Helen Holland.
BG: Right. She took to Lorelei right away. For this I liked her. After all the shit Lor has had to put up with, from Memphis, from Crafty, from that fuck, Hudson.
CM: Did you talk music? You and Skippy?
BG: Music. Love. Death. We talked, you know? It was good.
CM: But, Crafty-
BG: Fuck him, you know? He’s—what?—involved in other things, things that preclude me, including still living in that fucking group, still living in Black Lung, you know? He doesn’t want to grow up. He doesn’t want me to grow up.
LE: He doesn’t accept that you’ve changed. That you’re not a Guitar God. That you’re God yourself.
BG: In a manner of speaking. Yeah. Lorelei is always there to keep me straight. God is me, in me, you know? That’s what she’s saying. That’s what she’s always been saying, but people couldn’t hear her, for whatever reason. They wouldn’t listen. Just like I say in ‘Burn my Bridge’, you know? ‘There’s a black and white photograph/On my finger is a tiny bird.’ You know? It’s like they can’t hear me now, after they all were so intent on being Black Lung acolytes, or whatever. Now, these same cats, these same sycophants and hangers-on, they’re up there, pronouncing on me, on Lor, on my new stuff as if I’m not a human being, too. As if I can’t be hurt, am impregnable, a force instead of a feeling, bleeding child, you know? Like we all are. We’re all children, man.
CM: You’re hurt by your reviews?
BG: Fucking hell, of course, I’m hurt. You know, when I was young, when I was in Black Lung, I mean, it went so fast, everything was happening so fast, them calling me the next Clapton and shit like that. I was locked out of my feelings—they could have said anything about me back then. I didn’t care. Plus I was high half the time, all the time. People giving me poppers to take I didn’t even know what it was. I didn’t give a shit about anything. Just show me the way to the next whiskey bar, you know? Just show me the way to the next little girl. Now, with Lorelei, with what I’m saying now, it’s more personal, it’s what I care about. I’m hurt. Yes.
CM: You say you can’t listen to the old Black Lung stuff…
BG: Not can’t. Don’t. I mean, why? I’m moving. I’m shadow.
CM: Who do you listen to?
BG: Man, I’m not in with anyone who is in. I know that sounds funny to you, but I just don’t listen to anything you would know, man, or that your readers are gonna know. Or expect I would listen to. Old Beatles, Old Stones…no, I don’t know. I been listening to this guy plays the pan flute. I can’t remember his name. There’s this group out here, West Coast Pop Art Group or something like that. No one’s ever heard of them. No one listens to them except the few hundred souls who go to their shows, but their stuff intrigues me. Terry Riley. There’s this cat, Wild Man Fisher, you might know, who plays on street corners, someone Zappa found. I like his stuff. I still like Roky Erickson’s stuff, even if he’s a child of the devil. Lulu—she’s cool. Brotherhood of Breath. I’m all over the place. Uh, jazz guys. Ornette. Old black jazz guys who nobody recorded. There’s some German stuff I like. Some Eastern European stuff…John’s Children.
CM: Lennon, John Lennon…
BG: Naw, man, that’s their name. The group, the guys that did ‘Desdemona,’ man, you heard that? Great song.
CM: Yeah, I know that song.
BG: Ok.
CM: Rock and roll?
BG: It’s labels, man. That’s the trouble I have. What is rock and roll? Can you describe it for me?
CM: You said jazz—
BG: Right, right. Some old jazz. Lor turned me on to it.
CM: Back to Black Lung, if we can. You say you talk to Skippy but there are hard feelings still with Crafty. Is this still part of the legal fallout?
BG: I don’t know. I don’t know much about that legal stuff. I can’t follow it. Why I have a lawyer. But, yeah, Crafty wanted to go on as Black Lung. I mean, fuck, without me, he wanted to tour as Black Lung, play those old songs like they were his. I said, fuck you, man. That’s when the lawyers came in. And let me go on record right now as saying that he brought the lawyers in. I mean, he told me he was going on tour—told me, not asked me, and I said, great, what are you gonna fucking play? You know? Like, I mean, I was being blunt, but for his good, because like he’s written, what 2, 3
songs. And he’s like, I’m playing all the old stuff, off ‘Turntable.’ And I said, I’ll be fucked if you are. I was Black Lung, man. I wrote the shit. That’s my guitar—the whole sound of the group was the guitar, man. Those are my songs, whether I want them or not.
CM: And has this been settled?
BG: I don’t even know. Ask Pete. Pete Holder. He’s the lawyer. Is Crafty touring?
CM: Um…
BG: Don’t even fucking tell me if he’s touring. If he’s playing even the fucking Shell man. I don’t want to know.
CM: Back to your songwriting. You wrote some of the best songs from that time period
BG: Me, Dylan, Lennon, Lou Reed, Joni, Leonard, maybe Ochs—
CM: They call you a genius. A guitar god.
BG: They can say what they want, you know? Does it matter what they say? Does it matter to you?
CM: My question is, are you a genius?
BG: I’m a genius, sure. What does it mean?
CM: How would you rate your guitar playing?
BG: Back then or now?
CM: Um, back then.
BG: I was the best, one of the best. Clapton, Hendrix…uh, B.B.
CM: You hung out with Hendrix for a while, right? Tell me what that was like.
BG: Hendrix was a cool cat, man. He was just cool. He sweated it. He fucking slept with his guitar, you know?
CM: Slept with it?
BG: Literally. Fucking literally slept with it. He said it made it more a part of him, made him more in tune with it. I believe him, man, because nobody, I mean nobody could get the sounds out of a guitar that Hendrix did. Nobody can now. In one way he was just so far above all of us—even Clapton. I mean, he was untouchable. But, yeah, we hung out for a while. This would have been, uh, early 69, I think. He slept on my couch for a while. We’d get stoned, sit up all night talking, blues, soul—he knew it all, man. The cat lived music. And, you know, he was bleeding, that’s the sad truth, man, he was bleeding and no one could see. I didn’t know it. He was just full of pain, man. He had to do drugs. The rest of us, we were like just blowing our minds, you know, but Jimi, he needed it. Just to get through a day, just to keep down the demon that made him play like that. A cold wind blew through Jimi, yet he was the sweetest cat. Sad death, man. He died for all of us. You know? So we could go on.
LE: He showed us the way through death.
BG: That’s right man. Jimi and Janis, they did it early so we could keep playing. Why I left the electric stuff behind partly.
CM: Really. Why?
BG: Well, I mean, he did it all, he took it to the edge and then when the edge laughed at him he laughed back, man, and he went over. And he fucking took it with him. It’s disrespectful in a way to continue in that vein.
CM: So you went softer, acoustic?
BG: Careful saying ‘softer,’ man. To players it sounds too much like ‘weaker,’ you dig? Like tea. Like wimpy. Well, anyway, not totally. Not just. I don’t know. Don’t write this down, man. It’s just talking about Jimi makes me feel, I don’t know, useless somehow. Vulnerable. You dig?
CM: Did you go to the funeral?
BG: Naw. I didn’t, man. We were playing that weekend, I think. But, it was like, he’s dead, you know? He’s dead forever. What does one day have to say about forever? You follow me? But, he was the best of us. Write that. He was the best of us.
(garbled here…low sound quality, it appears that a few moments are lost)
Mitmensch
What’s his name.?
His name?
That’s what I’m asking.
You wanna know his name.
I do.
He said to wait here.
I know. You said that. I’d like to know who we’re talking about.
He’s a guy.
Just a guy.
No, he ain’t just any guy.
But you can’t divulge his name.
Mitmensch, his name is Mitmensch.
Just Mitmensch.
That’s all I know.
But, presumably, he has more than one name. Presumably he does. We think that.
Yes.
This Mitmensch. This guy. He only told you one name.
That’s the score.
And he said to wait here.
Yes.
Mitmensch, this guy, this guy who you don’t even know his whole name, said to wait here and, so we’re here.
Obviously, we’re here.
Waiting.
Yes.
Did he say what the cut was?
The cut?
Right. I assume you know to ask what the cut is.
I didn’t. Ask.
For fuck’s sake.
Look, he was presented to me as someone we could trust, a straight-up guy. Not just any guy, a straight-up guy, with connections.
And so we wait.
Yes.
For how long?
I was told it wouldn’t take long.
The job.
The wait.
The wait wouldn’t take long?
Right.
To find out the job.
That’s right. That’s what Mitmensch said.
I follow.
Ok.
Tell me one thing.
What’s that?
This Mitmensch, this guy who didn’t discuss cuts, he’s connected, you say? So, the job is, presumably, legit?
That’s what I presume.
Ok.
That all you need to know?
I needed to know why I’m waiting.
Ok. We square now?
Yes. I’ll wait.
Good.
The cut better be equitable.
Equitable. This is what you need. An equitable cut.
That’s what I need, yes. That’s what buys my involvement.
Ok.
Me and you. You told him it was 2 of us. That the cut would involve two of us.
Yes.
You told Mitmensch this?
That’s right.
Ok.
***
The job is simple. The job is forthright. No two faces under one hood, ask anyone. This isn’t the beginning, friends, this isn’t a virgin voyage. You follow me, we all make good. I need straight-up guys, guys with blood. You got blood, you follow me, we all do the job. We do the job and we make good. I’m no mook, I’m a safe card, right? You know from what you hear. You hear about me, that’s good. That’s what I want, you hear about me. I was told two guys, two guys with blood. This what we have? Blood in their veins, you know me? I’m telling you the job is a good job, a proper job, you follow? And when it’s done, when the job is jobbed, we’re jimmies, you got me? It’s simple, like a nun’s prayer. We go home on the pig’s back. I was told two guys. You right with me?
We’re two.
Right.
And the job, its—
The job is what it is. The job is what we do.
Ok.
And you got the blood? Both of you?
Right.
This one doesn’t talk. You a colt? Guys that don’t talk make me nervous.
I talk.
Ok, then.
I got blood.
I see that. Ok? You say so, I see it. That’s what I am, straight-up.
Ok.
Listen, Mitmensch—
I’m here.
The split, we didn’t talk the split.
You worry about the split up front?
Yeah.
That’s good. That’s right. You get that up front, the details, what we call the distinctiveness of the job.
Right.
You get the split, the even split. I tell you, I’m good, right? I tell you, I’m no mook.
Yes, sir.
Ok. You get the split, whatcha call it? Moiety.
Ok.
You still talking?
I talk.
Good. We�
��re good, then. We do the job, we’re right, ok? We’re jimmies.
Ok.
Good.
***
That was ok then, right? You ok?
Yeah, sure.
He’s ok. Right? He’s good.
Yeah, he’s good.
You’re saying good?
Yes.
We’re ok then.
He has a—what?
Swagger?
No.
Charisma? Charm?
No. A, damn, what’s the word?
I don’t know where you’re going.
He’s—monumental. No, that’s not the word.
Imposing.
That’s better.
August.
Ok.
Skookum.
I don’t know.
Anyway, we’re good to go. You feel good about this?
Yeah. Sure.
We won’t get our combs cut, right?
Sure.
We’re out of collar, otherwise.
Out of collar.
That’s what I’m saying.
Yes.
This Mitmensch, this guy. He’s A-one. He’s no buzzard, right?
Sure.
I’ll follow him. For the cut. He’s a collector.
For the cut. Yes.
Ok.
Listen.
I’m here.
I’m, you know, I’m in. I’m way in.
Uh huh.
Pal.
Yeah.
I’m scared to death.
Scared.
Yes.
Scared to death.
Yes.
Ok.
It’s ok.
Yes.
I’m scared to death.
Me, too. I’m scared to death, too.
His Last Work
‘What’s it look like, Sarge?’
‘Oh, suicide. It’s suicide.’
‘Nasty, huh?’
‘Yeah. You just getting here.’
‘Just got the call.’
‘Poor sap.’
‘Ever seen anything like it, Sarge?’
