Stu Jenks: Fezziwig Photography, Music, and Writing

"Night Train at the 7th Avenue Railroad Crossing, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2007, 2008

"Night Train at the 7th Avenue Railroad Crossing, Tucson, Arizona" (c) 2007, 2008 Stu Jenks

"Blue Man Group In Tucson" (c) 2007

"Blue Man Group In Tucson" (c) 2007 BMG & Stu Jenks

[Images: "Blue Man Begins", "Up To The Roof", & "Floppie The Banjo Clown"]

       The first time I saw Blue Man Group, I cried. Halfway through the Vegas show, it hit me that hundred of people were paying a hundred dollars a head, to see really good Conceptual Art. (I told a joke back in my Art School days, about my weird-ass performance pieces. That Conceptual Art is Stand-Up Comedy that isn’t funny. Not true for BMG.) It moved me to tears, watching the funny and poignant Blue Men, silently comment on Art, Consumerism, Relationships and many other things, in a comic and beautiful way. At $100 a pop.
       A few years ago, I saw them again in Phoenix, when they were touring their Complex Rock tour, a parody of the Rock Concert experience. The drumming was great, the band was hot, the Blue Men were very funny but the crowd sucked. When asked to stand up and participate by the Men, Annie and I were the only ones out of hundreds in the audience to get up and rock out. Fucking Phoenicians. They sat there like they were watching television. Venus Hum and Tracy Bonham performed too, alone and with the Blue Men. Overall, it was a really fun night.

       Last week, out of the blue, I got a free ticket to Blue Man, to see the 'How-to-be-a-Megastar-tour' as it came through town. I saw that they were coming months ago but I couldn't afford the 100 bucks, not with all the credit card debt I was carrying. Except for the addition of Floppie the Banjo Clown and the hiring of studio musicians to replace Venus Hum and Tracy Bonham, it appeared, from looking online, that it was basically the same show I saw three years ago. Noticing that Blue Man had fan-taken photos on their website, I talked myself and my camera into the Tucson Convention Center. (The ticket taker didn’t want to let me in but when I said “They are encouraging people to take pictures on their website" he relented. What I didn't tell him was ‘Every image on the Blue Man website, submitted by fans, was taken with a piece-of-shit cell phone camera, and I have a Canon 30D in my bag.' I left out that little bit of information.) I went to my seat but it was next to a couple in their sixties, who looked very out of place. An American 21st Century phenomenon: The Retired Rich, bored, looking for something, anything to do, go and experience Culture. For them, it's like looking at monkeys in the zoo. We talked a bit, and I was nice enough, but the guy keeps reaching for his Blackberry, checking the score of the Packers’ game. The Arena was only half full so I went up and moved more toward backstage and found a great seat. And since I’d seen the show before, and it was basically the same, I focused as much on the band as I did on the Blue Men. I got to tell you, having professional studio musicians, rocking out, is a beautiful thing. The band consisted of two guitarists, two keyboard players, a bassist, two vocalists and three drummers. Counting the Blue Men, that's six percussionists playing at some points in the show. Personal favorite moments were the song “Up To The Roof” and the banging of the big drum during the opening number. “I Feel Love” wasn’t a bad performance, but it was nothing like the electric singing of Venus Hum a few years back. All in all, I had a good time.
       Then yesterday, a bit of the shine came off of the apple of Blue Man Group, when I dug a little deeper online.
       Long and short of it, Blue Man Group (BMG) has a history of being union busters. They hired non-union labor in Toronto in 2005 when the big permanent show went there. That ain’t great. But the real travesty is when they moved their Vegas show in 2006 from the Luxor to the Venetian, they opted then to go non-union, leaving their crew that came from the Luxor, who were union, without health insurance and pensions. The workers organized and became members of Local 720 of the IATSE, but BMG refused to talk with the workers and they have been fighting in the courts ever since. I’m a Union man myself. I don’t like every Union but I believe in the principle and the need for the worker to be protected from The Man. My Dad once said, “If Management is doing their job, there is no need for Unions.” But as his son now adds, “Management, these days mostly, ain’t doing their job to help and care for their workers. We are back to being cogs again. So Unions are necessary.” And specifically what I have against Blue Man Group is that the three guys who started it, and their investors, have been making money hand over fist, since 1991. Share the wealth, pals. Don’t be a dick. As I've said often of the greedy, "Just how much money do you need? I won't buy you Love or Happiness. Comfort, yes, and a good blowjob, but not Love. Not Happiness!"
       I still love what Blue Man Group produces, but I won’t be giving them anymore of my money, via tickets or CDs or DVDs, until they recognize Local 720 in Vegas. But I'd be dishonest to say I’m unhappy that I got a free ticket to Blue Man Group last week. I had a pretty good time. Now, Floppie and Blue Boys? Do the right thing and pay your crew union wages and give them health care too! You've got the coin.

"Stu's Fun Facts: The Pusch Ridge Rant" (c) 2007

“Stu’s Fun Facts #2: The Pusch Ridge Rant” © 2007 Stu Jenks

       [Image: "Pusch Ridge and Meghan's Hill"]

       Fun Fact #1: To paraphrase Henry Rollins, sweeping generalizations are never accurate but they sure are fun. I was politely corrected or confronted or something like that, about my generalization that Writers tend to be a more laid-back group than say, Contemporary Visual Artists. Well, I was told and I heard clearly numerous examples of crazy-ass writers behaving badly and I stand corrected. People are people, artist are artists. It has to do with the man or the woman, not about what they make.

       Fun Fact #2: How about a generalization that Crafts People are more fun than Contemporary Artists? Can I get an amen there? OK, OK. I’ll stop.

       Fun Fact #3: To flesh out something from my last Fun Facts, (Is this how it’s going to go, you might think? Is Stu going to now start explaining what he meant in a previous blog entry? They must an Web word for it.), when I said that a good number of Contemporary Artists have ‘mysterious sources of income’ and they let on like they make it from their product, I wasn’t criticizing the Old Money or the New Money that lets them make their Art. Frankly, I hope I get some family money someday myself (if there is any left). What I get pissed about is their unwillingness to be upfront about it, that I’ve never heard this once from these any of these folk that I know: “Boy, I sure am grateful my father left me all that money’, or “Thank God my wife makes a ton of cash as a real estate attorney”, or “Sure glad I have that trust fund.” Never. Nada. Ain’t heard them say it once. But I have often seen the smugness of their faces, and heard their subtle condescending remarks about those who 'don't make a full commitment to The Work.' That's code for meaning those who don't make Art full time aren't serious about it. Well, Fuck you. If I had $30,000 coming in from a trust fund, or someone else was paying my bills, I'd quit the day job tomorrow and make Music and Art full time. But that isn't the case. And again, I would love to have a lot of cash, but it ain't really about the money. Ok, a little bit, but mostly about the attitude of superiority. (Have you ever noticed that those that tell you to not worry about money are those who already have it?)
       And finally, you can bet dimes to a donut, I'd give credit to those who put the money in my pocket, if and when they did. I already do. Every print that's sold, every CD that's purchased is given with a big virtual sloppy kiss attached. Hell, I’ll thank my mother now too. She’s bought me my fancy Canon D30 for Christmas last year. I couldn’t afford the $1200 that camera costs. So thank Mary Jenks for many of the images you’ve seen on this blog and elsewhere in 2007. Speaking of Mary, she’s ____ years old and her health is dicey. Say a prayer for Mother Mary, if you are the praying type.

  Fun Fact #4: Speaking of Craft People, rent or buy “Craft In America”, a DVD of the three hour PBS mini-series. If you like beauty, good design, good people and a sense of community, watch this DVD. It has given me hope for the American future in the Visuals Arts. The Great White Hope of Art won’t be coming from New York or LA in the 21st century. She’ll be coming from Penland, or Helena, or Oakland, or Devon, or Raleigh, or maybe he’ll be coming from Alaska. Look for this DVD. It’s important, in a small way, as one of the Penland artists said.

       Fun Fact #5: The Boss has a new CD out, "Magic" it's called. It’s good. I'm not a person who worships at the altar of Bruce Springsteen, but he, like Neil Young, Bruce Cockburn or others, are still pushing their limits and looking at the world with honest eyes, and with wounded hearts. Plus they also know how to write a good tune. “You’ll Be Coming Down”, “Last to Die” and “Long Walk Home” are my favs.

       Fun Fact #6: “Deer Hunting with Jesus”, Joe Bagent’s book on the unspoken class war in America is infuriatingly funny and sometime just infuriating. Joe is the Progressive Prodigal Son who returns to his hometown of Winchester, Virginia. His distaste and loathing for greedy business men and women is only surpassed by his deep and honest love for Rednecks and for Good Old Boys and Girls, who he calls 'my people'. A great read but be warned. You’ll want to throw the book across the room at least once, but you’ll also laugh so hard you may drop it. And if you are a Southerner, you will get it like a Parisian gets cheese.

       Fun Fact #7: What’s up with all these shows on TV that are about the problems of the spoiled and horny Rich? Do we really need more Desperate Housewives and Husbands? Even the fun shows on HBO like “Californication” and “Entourage” are about the very rich. I guess the middle class, and the poor ain’t that funny anymore. Reminds me of the time of the escapist films of the 1930's.

       Fun Fact #8: If you live in Tucson, hit the Conrad Wilde Gallery this month. The collage, assemblage and mixed media show “Parts of a Whole” is wonderful. It’s worth going to see Catherine Nash’s dark but hopeful work. And Margaret Suchland’s correspondences, David Adix’s knifes, and Greg Stephens’ blood red collages ain’t too shabby either. The show will be up until October 27th.

       Fun Fact #9: Who in the fuck am I going to vote for in the Democratic primary? Fuck me. I hate to say this…I really do…but the Democrats are almost as bad at the Republicans. Selfish, disingenuous, about themselves only. I guess I’ll vote for Edwards, for he is the only one talking about The Poor, but I saw him speak a couple months ago, and I wasn’t impressed. Slick. Not much meat. A lot of air, too little fire. I’ll vote for Hillary if she is the eventual nominee but not now. I saw her speaking at a barbeque in Iowa on CSPAN yesterday and it was like watching an actress performing. Her voice was quieter, more modulating, more compassionate but as soon as she was done with the formal speech, she was back to shouting in that loud angry shrill to someone in the wings. I love her husband and how he speaks. I don’t love her. And Obama. Christ, am I the only one that see it as slightly racist that many Liberals are falling over this very junior Senator from Illinois, simply because he is Black. And a ‘presentable’ Black man too. Oh, he's black but not too black. I think Barack is a good guy, just not his time to be President. Be a Senator for four more years and then run. Richardson looks like he’s going to have a heart attack when he speaks, sweat pouring off his brow. Biden, my early choice, I now think is just plain nuts. The stuff that comes out of his mouth is sometimes bizarre. I like his Iraq Partition Plan but besides that I think he is one french fry short of a Happy Meal. And Kucinich. Dennis, just go and be with your gorgeous wife, fight for liberal causes and make a little cash. And what’s up with you saying “Thank You” after ever time you speak in a debate. You’re not a performer. You're not in a band, saying “Thank You’ at the end of a song before the audience applauds. Geez.
        So Edwards it is. For now. Can I vote for Elizabeth instead?

       Fun Fact #10: Greed and ignorance, unfettered and encouraged, will eventually kill our economy and diminish what's left of the Hopeful American Soul. It won't be a terrorist's nuclear weapon in Topeka. It'll be us. Americans will kill the dream themselves, and most won't even see it pass as they watch Russian porn on their Dells.

       Fun Fact #11: Fear is a useful tool that Republicans and some Democrats have used since 9/11 with great skill. You get the people scared enough and they will turn in their own grandmother if she says a nice word about Allah. You can also get Poor People to vote against their own best interest, with false hope, denial and fear. “Someday I won’t be working at Wal-Mart. I’m going to be a millionaire someday.” I actually heard that spoken once.

       Fun Fact #12: But there is hope, not in the big but in the small. It’s always been that way. A gentle word to a friend. A touch on the shoulder of someone who is hurt. A small check to The Food Bank. The laughter between lovers. The awe at seeing a desert sunset. Doing some heavy lifting for a co-worker. National healing may come from the initiative of bold leaders, but I won’t hold my breath. Most likely, it’ll come from the kindness, generosity, and soulfulness of a very good friend, an impassioned colleague, or a present and caring relative. One person at a time. I can’t give up hope, even though I'm close at times. I may be surrounded by a rude and sleeping populace but I’m committed to being awake, to being kind even when I’m mad, to being generous with what I have, and to living in the blessed and endless moment. That’s all we have, you know. Right here. Right now. Nothing else exists. And next time I’m worrying about my indebtedness or the selfish direction of this country, feel free and remind me, friend, that all that really exist is that sweet e-mail or that funny phone call or that pleasant face to face, I'm having with you.

[Image: "Daddy's got a new pair of boots" (c) 2007 Stu Jenks]

"The Color" (c) 2007

“The Color: The Mines of Copper Creek, Pinal County, Arizona” © 2007 Stu Jenks

       The 4 x 4 travel book says some guy named Frank Sibley came here, from Minnesota, around the turn of the century. Started the Copper Creek Mining Company, here in the Galiuro Mountains. Got 50,000 pounds of copper out of the ground, with only 90 men in 1905, they say. Build a mansion, brought in a post office, had a general store. Sibley even carried in a narrow gauge railroad locomotive, on the backs of a mule train. Ran the ore out on some skinny tracks for a while, until the Color got played out in 1915.
       Only ten years of mining did this to these hills. Sweet Jesus Christ. Well, there were some attempts at silver mining in Copper Creek in the 1860’s but the Apache scared off the white folk they say. (Can see it now. Apache men having lunch atop one of these hills. See some Whites on horseback. Pick up their rifles, they shoot at them. White men run away. Apache men go back to eating lunch.) And there was some other prospecting throughout the years but nothing like the years of Sibley.

“The Earth has been hurt,” I say quietly aloud, from atop of what I think is the Bluebird mine (or is it the Old Reliable, or the General Lee or the Glory Hole Mine? The map is a bit vague on these details.) The top of this hill has been taken clear off, leaving the bare bones of the mountain exposed. Bright oranges and reds blaze from the boulders, colors that were never meant to see the light of day. Topsoil’s been gone for a hundred years. Nothing's growing on these empty terraces. Some blue finches play here and there, but their chirps echo unnaturally loud off the rocks.
       I drink some more water, take a few pics and begin to think about heading back down to the creek bed. Wasn’t going to take any shots from up here anyways, for try as I may, I can't find an angle of beauty or even just some interesting composition. Finally, I think 'Fuck it. Just take some shots for the blog, so that others can see the Hurt.'
       Sliding a bit in my Vasque boots as I head down now. Soles are wearing out on these shoes. (I hike a lot.) Need more grip than I have right now. And even though I’m walking on the remains of an old wagon road that took raw ore downhill, it’s still steep and slick and as much talus as dirt. And I'm a bit dehydrated to boot.

           Bottom of the hill now. Tall slope of boulders and other crap pushed or dynamited from above. I see some Copper Oxide rocks to my left, little ones. The turquoise blue color leaps out at me, out of the grayness and death. I walk over and pick up a piece, then another, then a third. Looking at them, I put a few in my Levi's watch pocket. Stow a few more pieces in my camera bag. Make nice gifts I suppose. A bit of beauty out of the death of this place. Part of The Color, the rich ore that comes out of the ground, that brought White Men out here in the first place, to the West, hurting the land as they go, to get something of great value for their hands but not their hearts. Doesn't matter if it’s the Gold of Deadwood, South Dakota, or the Copper of Copper Creek, Arizona. Same, same.

      I take out my D30 and pop an image of The Color in my hand. I sigh. Time to head back to the truck, I suppose. Not to get too Woo Woo, but I haven't felt this kind of Hurt On Land ever in my life. Feels spooky too, like more than men died here.
       Well, got a couple miles to go, to get back to the truck and then 10 miles of teeth-rattling track before I hit pavement again in Mammoth. Best get going for I'm running out of water, too. Must be over 100 if it's a degree.
       I look to the eastern ridge and see the two bright white company trucks I spied earlier. They haven’t moved but I've heard their voices. I noticed some capped and locked core sample pipes as I walked in too. Guess that's what they are. I don't know. Hear Copper prices are up. Bet they are thinking of mining again. Shame. Land's been hurt bad enough.
       Funny. I’ve seen terraced mines before. Never felt this kind of sadness before, looking at the mines, whether it's the slag heeps of Green Valley or the big hole of the Lavender Pit in Bisbee. Then again, I’ve never walked on the dead carcass of the land like I have today, always just seen the Earth’s bones from a distance. Funny how that is. Distance, I mean. From far way, it's just a mine. From close up, it's a hurt friend.
       A little water in the creek but not much. Enough to let cottonwood trees and grass grow and give the cattle something to drink. Not far now to the truck. Just around that bend and up. 
      Suddenly, I hear a forceful sound, like wind being forced out what? A nose? A nose. I turn and see the Brahma bull. He's close but a bunch of creek flotsam separates us.
       "Hey buddy. How are you?" I say as I get my camera out of my bag.
       He moves just a little, shifting on his feet. I pop a half dozen shots. He doesn't know what to think.
       "Thanks, buddy," I say.
       I holster my Canon and walk down the old mine road. I sure could use that bottle of Coke Zero I have in the cooler in the truck. I look back. Brahma still there. I smile.
       I almost can taste the Coke.