A River Runs Through It
My program director broke the news to me that the stream would be turned after the recent stay put up by congress. Great work you guys. You spoke, they listened, and they stepped up to the plate. But it’s far from over. It’s just a stay. Our station is ok for many overpowering reasons. First and foremost, we’re a radio station. We have 3 FM frequencies. But the drawback is that the internet stream, where 85% of my audience would listen through, was shut down 15 weeks ago. We rode the storm, and turned ‘er back on. It was great news. The only disappointment is that Aural Moon didn’t carry us as well Saturday night. Not because we didn’t want to, but because…more or less, we are taking the wait and see approach. I didn’t bother pegging my PD with getting Aural Moon back on board because; no one still knows what’s going to happen. This is just a stay. He knows how integral Aural Moon, besides our radio station, was in getting the gagliarchives big at an international level for this genre. But it’s best to just wait and see. I know a lot of you; mainly the AM faithful want to know. But honestly, I have no clue what is going to happen. Hey, at least it’s on. Let’s see what happens so we can get back to being at full strength. But I have to say this. I think it’s great that the RIAA thought no one would do anything. Ha. People in large numbers can be scary to a bully.
Bridge To Hammontonia
We decided Saturday to take a trip down to the Blueberry capital of the world in Hammonton, NJ. Hammonton is known as the ‘hub’ of south Jersey. Sitting between two major cities, Atlantic City and Philadelphia, is this unusually large town. Ton of history here as well. Blueberries are their thing among other agricultural milestones. Hammonton is just south of Batsto, Pleasant Mills, and Sweetwater nestled underneath the south edge of the Pine Barrens. This is a very tight knit town with a lot of vowels in the last names of their residents. It’s close. It’s Italian. Not to mention, the town holds many prominent Italian names. Back while Batsto was cranking out Iron for the War Of 1812, Hammonton was pretty much woods. With the occasional saw mill here and there. The most popular and well known was that of William Coffin’s. The story goes that William bought out his partner named John Coates, and then teamed up with John Haines.(hint Hainesport). These guys were quite popular. They later built a glass factory and had a general store along the Mullica in between Leeds Point and Camden. The name of the town is actually from William’s son, John Hammond Coffin. His other son was, Edward Winslow(yes friends, Winslow Township)Hammond. Just like everything else, the name evolved into Hammonton. A bit later, two guys from Philly, Richard Byrnes and Charles Landis began to sell tracts of land off. Central Avenue is where it all started. By the time the summer of ’54 arrived, well 1854, the Camden and Atlantic Railroad had its first run between Camden and Atlantic City. By ’58, the first train station was built which brought an overload of settlers. The English were the main settlers here. And as always with about any settlement then, there were blacksmiths, brick layers, carpenters, farmers and anything else you can think of in a budding town. This town actually was very diverse religiously as well. The town, which was part of Mullica, became Hammonton ‘officially’ in 1866. It was a party, too. They had this ‘convention’ so to speak called the The Grand Strawberry Exhibition, which more or less gave Hammonton its agricultural reputation. Before there were Blueberries, it was Strawberries and Sweet Potatoes that were the business there. And then at the dawn of the Civil War, came the Italians. In large numbers might I add. They all flocked to there including my mother’s family in the early 1900’s. They resided in Chesilhurst actually. But all of their business was in Hammonton. By the time the 1950’s arrived, blueberries became the big crop. But the story goes back to the 1930’s and the post depression era that made them the main crop. The 5 brothers of the Galletta family started with a mere 5 acres, and now in the 21st century have over 1300 acres. Because of these guys, Hammonton’s claim to fame is Blueberries. The town is special to me because, well it may sound weird, but when I drive through town, I can recognize all the faces without knowing anybody. Next to south Philadelphia, it’s the highest concentration of Italians in a single spot in the metro area. We stopped at the one time famous Sweetwater Casino. What a nightmare this was. I won’t make this mistake again. We get there, and although the design of the place was cool, that was about it. We get there to get some lunch. First and foremost, there were greenhead flies everywhere. Ok, it’s July. But still, do something about it. You have people sitting on your back deck. Get some damn citronella candles or something. Ok fine. Then, our waiter gives us an attitude. As if we were bothering him. No “Hello, how can I help you,” he just stares at us. So I go with the dozen order of clams, while my partner in crime goes with the BBQ chicken sandwich. Now the sandwich is supposed to feature Monterey Jack Cheese, BBQ sauce, and Bacon. So here comes the sandwich. A piece of cheese and chicken on a bun. I’m furious at this point because I say to him, “uhh, where is the BBQ sauce? The bacon?” He leaves without saying anything. What made me even more irritated was the fact that he is laughing and smiling with other customers but talking to us like we were foreigners. The green heads kept biting and I came to the conclusion that this place is a mere shell of what it once was. Oh and by the way, they never brought the bacon. Awful. Just awful. I would avoid that place. It was a big disappointment. I really didn’t want to tip. But was told, “it’s the right thing to do.” Screw them. DON’T EAT THERE. We left for dough at the local bakery for what was to become the best Pizza I have had in a while in a tied position with Innovator’s grilled pizza from a few months back. But this pizza was intense. Hot wing sauce with mozzarella, blue cheese, and of course chicken. The crust was thin and crunchy and left my stomach begging for more, while my butt begged to differ. It was off to Pemberton with the excitement of knowing there was a stream flowing. A big, healthy one.
Pasta and Gravy
I stopped at moms on the way for some chow. As always, my mom makes the best tomato gravy. Not sauce, only ‘medigons’ say that. After inhaling it, I cruised down to Pemberton with all windows off and life size bugs attacking me. Jbird was off, well kinda, and the show began 15 minutes before I even started. Emails, Instant Messages, phone calls……people were thanking me left and right. The only thing I was a bit worried about was the playlist. Because, keep in mind, I had no clue it was a go that we would be streaming. Look, I play what I play, but you want to lure the aficionados as well. And 80% were in the 85% of listeners I lost 15 weeks ago because of this RIAA/Copyright thing. So, more or less, I was happy yet, ‘cautiously optimistic’. I decided to open the show with the most ‘summery’ of all the fusion albums in Jeff Beck’s Wired. This album smokes. I never get tired of this album. Jan Hammer is phenomenal, Jeff Beck totally plays off this, Walden smokes and George Martin did a hell of a job producing. I played ELP’s Trilogy for the first time in ages. I searched my playlists for half a day and realized it’s been literally almost a decade since I played it. But as always I am pimping the new stuff. I featured a Porcupine Tree-esque new band called Abigail’s Ghost. Despite the Wilson/Barbieri overtones, no one jumped out for it. One listener from Philly said: “It’s not that I don’t like it, I just think it sounds like Porcupine Tree.” Other listeners felt the same way, but, to be honest, they all felt the same way about The Mars Volta, and they were #1 2 years ago in the top 100. It’s almost like….when listeners get irate about a new release, it’s a good barometer to use to play it again. Hey, that’s how Porcupine Tree became popular in the genre. No one was ready for something ‘new’. Eh, that’s life. I liked it, and I will play it again. I featured a new disc, well I should say the EP from Aziola Cry titled Ghost Conversations. Um…wow? This disc is great. It goes from ambient to grunging in the span of 20 minutes and is stunningly tight. This one is a huge step ahead of their debut. Kudos. I can’t wait to hear the whole new album. I featured another new progressive metal disc in Transmission. This was good as well featuring much of the same. Innovator turned us on to it, and even though I thought the vocals were a bit much, the sound, production, music, all get high marks. This is a disc that is getting a lot of attention right now. (I know John in Burlington liked it heh). By request we also tracked the recent release from Canvas Solaris titled Cortical Tectonics. This one is a big step from the last as well. The technical stuff is sure to please anyone who is a fan of prog metal/instrumental compositions. It’s not a ‘crunch crunch’ album. This is worth a look again if you passed by it. Stunning work. I also featured my friend Trey Gunn and his latest project Quodia. This disc is an adventurous spoken word album over introspective soundscapes. Trey teams up with Joe Mendelson of Rise Robots Rise fame. There is a cameo from one time band mate in Crimson in Pat Mastelotto in the track Thick And Thorny. It’s reminiscent of the ‘Projeckts’ that they were going through at the turn of the decade. Nonetheless, this is a new journey for me and one I liked, but others wanted more from. But, hey, it’s new, and it’s here. I also went into the vaults with my spotlight in recent weeks on Italian band Osanna. This week I went with Palepoli from 1972. What a great one. A mix between heavy guitar oriented rock at times with Crimsonian overtones. This is great stuff. The vinyl was mint, too. Loved it. Next week there will be more. I wrapped up the show and headed westward amidst flashing lights and moldy cheese. There must be warlocks nearby or just a bad cooling agent in the main fridge at Wawa.
The Boxer
When I moved out to my apartment in Christmas of 1998, my parents were welcomed with a new tenant in Callie. She was a husky and muscular calico cat, hence her name. But this wasn’t just any cat; this was one of the toughest cats in all the cats I have ever come to know in my life. She was from an alley in South Philly. She was born fighting. My grandmother had given her a home in her South Philly row home, but Callie was never quite ‘home’. She wanted to be out…be it fighting with another cat, studying her prey, owning her territory, or just looking for food. Truly a Philly cat. My grandmother did the best she could for her despite the circumstances. I mean, Callie was an alley cat. She wasn’t born to a vet or loving people that would instantly reassure her when she was born that she was safe. She spent her early life constantly looking over shoulder in hidden fear. Callie was brutal with her defense. She bit quite frequently for no apparent reason for no other reason than her own. It didn’t matter who you were. If she didn’t like what was going on, the cobra’s mouth opened, and there was bruising damage. She often sized up how she could inflict the most damage. She had to change her life to living indoors at my grandmothers. This was a culture shock to her. But still, she did the best she could for the early environment she was brought into. Then sadly in 1997, my grandmother passed on. While my grandmother’s house sat vacant in south Philly, so did Callie. My cousin would go and feed her, but never really saw her. As a matter of fact, no one really saw her. She hid from the world. They only knew she was still alive by finding cat terds from time to time. She wasn’t a kitten at this point, she was already 7. It was at this point that I was getting ready to move out on my own. Although it stressed me a bit to live on my own at first, my parents had a new pet that would occupy their time without having to worry about it coming home late or drunk. This was a good feeling. Well, until I found out she wouldn’t come out from under the bed. For days might I add. Finally one day, out came Callie, into the living room, a surprise to everyone….feeling safe enough to check out her surroundings. She was still rough around the edges the first few years. Another words, you really couldn’t ‘pick her up’ and caress her. She would attack you. She wasn’t used to affection that way. But in the span of 3 years, she would let you pet her and stroke her fur. But still, she was cautious with any of that. The first time Callie and I bonded was on the morning of 9/11. My parents were in Italy, and she was not used to being alone. So I decided I would spend some nights there to make her feel at ease that no one was deserting her. I’d wake up and see her watching me from the other side of the room as if to say, “Hmm, why are you sleeping in mom’s bed?” The morning of 9/11 had me calling the police at 3:54am because of the neighbor downstairs from my apartment a mile away had all the tell tale signs of having a stroke. And in the midst of me being in the phone explaining my concern for neighbor to the police that I had just left en route to my parents, Callie jumped on my lap, hugged me repeatedly with her face, and then curled up on my lap. I was speechless. I almost forgot the police were on the phone. Callie and I later became sparring partners. This is no joke. Callie could only take so much teasing before she used two weapons. Her strong left hook, and her cobra styled jaw. She had no problem using it at any time if she felt threatened. But as time went on, she was smarter than we thought. She was just a tough cat. She was intelligent; she just didn’t take any shit. But what made her so enticing is that, SHE would call ME out at times. It was time to play fight. Not many people could get away with what I got away with, with her. My parents even felt that way. When I came over at night after work, the look always on her face was, “try me”. But she always watched me closely. She loved my parents and let them know in many ways despite her roughness, in expressing it. She always looked at my father as if she had died and went to heaven. He was her initial savior that brought her home, so in her eyes, he was it. My mother to her was a sleeping partner, and a great source of comfort, especially in the final years. Callie was a fighter. No doubt. Yeah she unexpectedly bit here and there, but that rarely happened in the final few years. She accepted mom and dad as her symbol of safety, after having such a rough and tumble beginning to her life. She left her home, or what she knew as home, when she was only just a baby. Even in the company of a series of strangers, she pushed through. One thing that stayed consistent was her ability to fight. She was a boxer and could have topped any cat I ever knew. Mom and dad were finally ‘home’ to her. So over a period of 5 years, she had softened up a bit. The last few months, her weight began to drop, and she would confine herself to one spot in the place she now called home. But age was stepping in. She knew they loved her, but she didn’t trust her surroundings anymore. Her hearing went, her eyesight was going, and now, her appetite was too. I would visit on my lunch breaks to feed her, and try to playfully antagonize her. She knew she ‘wanted’ to spar, but she just didn’t have it in her anymore and I don’t think she even knew why. I could tell she was fading, but I didn’t have the heart to say it out loud to my parents, and to even her. Food even became problem when the end drew near. Then her yelping and howling couldn’t be fixed with roast beef or turkey anymore. My cold glasses of water that she spied from a distance weren’t want she wanted anymore, either. But, her foundation stood tall even in her final hours. She would fight the unknown tumors in her chest. Every time the pain became weakening and physically exhausting, she would start to lie down but then fight it and swing her whole body upright and got in the face of her faceless enemy. The southpaw refused to lie down. Callie fought death even in the end. But of course, death won in the 16th round.
So in the clearing stood a boxer, and a fighter by her trade.
And she carried the reminders of every glove that laid her down or cut her
till she cried out in her anger and her shame, I am leaving, I am leaving,
But the fighter still remains.


Yes, she still remains in our hearts.