Tag Archives: Fear


Even the most obliviously optimistic among us have to admit that we live in dark times, however one defines that phrase.  I don’t know if there are sure-fire ways of making fear vanish permanently, but I do know that being able to focus on light and beauty is at least a temporary cure.  And the lovely thing about recorded music is that one can return to it over and over.  Side effects may include a brightening of one’s psychic vistas.  Go ahead, operate heavy machinery.

In that spirit, here is another installment of the magic that Barbara Rosene and Jon Davis created on December 8, 2019, at Mezzrow on West Tenth Street.  I first encountered Barbara fifteen years ago when her repertoire often seemed to delve into the perky,  the sassy, the naughty.

As we all have changed, her approach has deepened: she sings of the eternal truths: not just of a desirable man who is six feel of tangible goodness, but of the courage it takes to fall in love and risk failure; the hopes one has for the future; immersions in feeling no matter what the odds.  She is braver and wiser, and although I was immediately struck by the beauty of her voice when I first heard her, it is immensely more beautiful now.

You can marvel at it  yourself in these four performances.  They won’t make the news go away, but they will give you space to have lovely clear thoughts of the best acts we are capable of as loving beings, brave enough to live tenderly.





In this brand-new era of Social Distancing, Barbara is its very opposite.  Even if she sang six to eight feet away from you, you would feel her warmth and her deep understanding of lyrics and melody.  And there is no Distance between her, the songs, and our hearts.

May your happiness increase!  


Someone asked me last week why I wore a Louis Armstrong button, and without thinking, I said, “He taught me how to live my life,” which I was proud of saying. I know that CABARET was written by Kander and Ebb, but I encourage you to take three minutes or so and listen — I mean listen — to Louis’s 1966 version (the one with strings).

That song, and Louis’ performance of it, has a special relevance for me at this moment.  Friends and family are devoting their energies to being afraid of the Coronavirus.  I hear of their buying masks and hand sterilizer, stocking up on food and water for when “the lockdown” comes, restricting their travel.  I can hear their voices over the phone, trying to mask their frightened disapproval, when I say I am getting on a plane in perhaps ninety hours to fly to Monterey for the Jazz Bash by the Bay, which begins March 5.  “You’re getting on a plane, Michael?  Well, be careful not to to touch your face.  You could wear a pair of gloves . . . ”

Their caution might be well-founded.  I could contract the virus, it could turn into pneumonia, I could die.  Or, I could get hit by a Range Rover as I cross the street, even when I have the light in my favor. I’m  not being facetious.  And I hear the voices of my loving over-cautious parents, “Be careful.  Be careful!”

But the opposite of Fear is Courage, and Courage has as its reward Joy.  If I stay home, I won’t hear these fellows play and sing:

So I’m on my way to Monterey on Thursday morning, and here‘s the schedule, a wondrous hot-jazz version of Ceres’ cornucopia.  You pick: stay at home with those books you’ve been promising yourself to read, and perhaps some takeout as a treat, or venture forth with plans to live joyously.  (I know some of you can’t fly to Monterey, but adapt my encouragements to your own neighborhood.)

Now I have to finish packing.

May your happiness increase!