Music – KensView

Rap a Newie

An Ode-at-Sea

(Record scratch) Yo! Check the mic, one two!

Straight outta… not Orinda,
but I’m comin’ at you, and this is no tripe,
From a place remote, mystical, and deep,
Rapa Nui, where ancient secrets sleep.

Landed at Mataveri, sun beatin’ down,
Ocean breeze blowin’, not a frown to be found.
Traded suburban beat for volcanic stone,
Left the coffee klatch back home for the truly unknown.
Heard whispers of legends, of the Birdman cult,
Of kings and warriors, a story to consult.
My history books didn’t prepare me for this,
An open-air museum, can’t resist the bliss.

Yo, Rapa Nui, island of the Moai,
Ancient spirits watchin’ from the sky.
Felt the mana flowin’, deep inside my soul,
Left the Western world, losin’ all control.
From Ahu Tongariki to Orongo’s peak,
This island’s talkin’, if you know how to speak.
Rapa Nui, yeah, you blew my mind,
A different dimension, one of a kind.

Hiked up Maunga Terevaka, panoramic view,
Ocean stretchin’ out, a shade of endless blue.
Saw the quarry at Rano Raraku, carvings in the stone,
Wonderin’ how they moved ‘em, left my mind blown
With hunches and theories, and respect so deep,
For the ingenuity the ancient secrets keep.
Anakena beach beckoned, white sand so fine,
Clear turquoise water, a truly sacred shrine.

More than just statues, there’s a feelin’ in the air,
A connection to the past, beyond compare.
The history’s complex, the answers hard to find,
But the beauty and the mystery intertwined.
Learned about the language, the traditions old,
A culture vibrant, a story to be told.

So if you’re lookin’ for somethin’ real, somethin’ true,
Escape the madness, Rapa Nui’s waitin’ for you.
Respect the land, respect the past, let your spirit fly,
Rapa Nui is forever etched in this Hauser guy!

Word up! (Mic drop)

Music: For What It’s Worth

There are of course many great, meaningful, and entertaining songs, but two songs that most touch my being are “For What It’s Worth” written by Stephen Stills and performed by Buffalo Springfield and “I’d Love to Change the World” written by Alvin Lee and performed by Ten Years After.

Both songs summarize in just a few words the chaos and uncertainty experienced by the nation and especially the youth like myself in the sixties and early seventies. The first song was written in reaction to local clashes between police and youth in Los Angeles. The release of both songs coincided with the growing counter-culture, civil-rights, and anti-war unrest, and so its significance grew broader with time. While the words of Lee’s song seem somewhat regressive, they are actually a short catalog of the contrasting themes society faced at the time and sadly we still face today.

Suggestion:

Sit down for a few minutes in a comfortable chair or couch in a low-lit, quiet room and play Buffalo Springfield and then Ten Years After. You may see what I mean.

Who knew?

I came as an outsider to Café Teatro
Sitting all alone for several mornings
Until the day he said please come join us.

With a broad smile and the tenor of his voice
Leaving no doubt he was genuine,
I was thus cordially welcomed.

We would sit with the other Grinders,
but soon I surmised a pleasant surprise
That this was no ordinary gentleman.

He began to expound about pool pumps,
Troublesome private roads and neighbors,
Along with heavy footing through the Grapevine.

A devoted family man and stalwart at Santa Maria,
He’s comfortable en español and on a hard court,
And has paid his dues working SF public schools.

As a babe, he hailed from Tegucigalpa;
And while in the Zone, he tooted his horn
Serenading snakes in the dense, dark forest.

In service to country, the lieutenant went north
To sing Qui tolis peccata mundi on the tundra
Amid defending the arctic cold war front.

A pick of Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber,
He earned himself a symphony spot
As he tutored young future baritones.

To some he became known as the one who
Once stared pock-marked Manuel down
As the strongman waded menacingly ashore.

But what always matters most is
Carl’s perfect octave of decades
That regales us as we sit drinking coffee.

He’s so Van Rozay

He walks into the café
After rising from his cot
To tell Big Island tales of
Saving mangoes from rot.

Starting every new day
With a roar “I’m still alive”
He jousts contesting locals
Not taking any jive.

He tells us of his stagecraft
And making a crowd spell-bound
Crowing his take on music
For him no other sound.

Recounting his life story
Says he’s an autodidact
So advice to debaters
Make sure to be exact.

Pushing “neither is” for “are”
As proof of his phrasing fame
Is he putting it on us
Using that Funky Name?

People like him are so few
We like him no other way
So… Won’t you? Won’t you? Won’t you?
Yield when he says “Touché.”

Dancer

A flute sounds
low and plaintive
filling the studio,
stilling the whispers.
After a brief silence,
a rhythmic drum tap
begins to echo through
the rafters overhead.
The performer enters
the center spotlight,
tresses cascading down.
A violin joins in while
she bows with grace
in purple dress that
brushes the stage.
As the ensemble launches
a haunting melody,
she whirls into the dance.

Yes – No – Yes!

Yesterday the morning came, a smile upon my face—
Girl friend’s doorstep, with Yes tickets, Chris Squire’s driving bass.
She just freed from a grounding, begged her father’s grace.
But our plans we had to alter, being forced to race.

His limits imposed on us just told us where we were.
Wary, leery, restless watchdog, showed us where we were.
Lost in temper, rankling, fluster, our minds very far,
Lost in losing circumstances, that’s just where we were.

Yesterday the ev’ning came, a frown upon my face—
Prog Rock music, sampled glory, too short to gain pace,
In a Plymouth car to suburbs, leaving concert place,
If then someone asked my feelings, mine was just,
If then someone saw my visage, mine was just…
Mine was just red face,
Mine was just red face,
Mine was just red face.

Dad defying, firmly determined to shatter a norm,
Sliding on up to straddle, her boldness, her defiance in gear.

Yesterday the late night came, big grin upon this face—
The back alley, rousing glory, hot lover’s, hot lover’s embrace,
On a rocket ship to heaven, lifting into space!
If matched to Tom Jones’s ventures, mine was no…
Mine was no disgrace,
Mine was no disgrace,
Mine was no disgrace.

Dénouement

Upon her return, her dad was fast asleep;
Still due to her moods, our bond did not keep.
So as a result, I hold slight regret
That I could not hear more of Yes’s set.

🙂