The challenge, set by Rohan Candappa, the doyen of Threadmash, was to write a piece inspired by one of three pieces of music Rohan sent to us.
I, along with most of the Threadmashers, chose New Amsterdam by Moondog. Here’s my piece.
I first came across Moondog’s music in the late 1970s, when I was buying up second hand albums at Record & Tape Exchange. I talked in my first ThreadMash piece about my misadventure-ful date at R&TE with a young woman named Fuzz…
…whose real first and second names are lost to posterity. I believe it was on that fateful day with Fuzz that I bought the sampler album, Fill Your Head With Rock, which included my first Moondog track, Stamping Ground.
In truth I paid Moondog’s music only occasional heed until 10-12 years ago, when Janie and I began exploring Jazz. But Moondog’s story has long fascinated me and I have always associated him and his music with New York.
Rohan’s choice of piece, New Amsterdam, is a case in point. New Amsterdam was her name, Before she was New York; New Amsterdam is a dame, The heart and soul of Big Apple city.
To my mind, Moondog’s music is the second most quintessential New York music.
So I was surprised, when I started researching this piece, to learn that Moondog was not a native New Yorker. Louis Thomas Hardin, known as Moondog, haled from Kansas. He moved to New York City at the age of 27 and lived there for only 30 of his 83 years. Moondog moved to Germany in the early 1970s, where he lived out his remaining decades.
Of course this doesn’t take away from the fact that Moondog was known as The Viking Of 6th Avenue. Nor from the fact that Moondog’s music is unquestionably inspired by a glorious mixture of New York City’s ethnic sounds. But authentic New Yorker, he wasn’t.
So, if Moondog is merely the second most quintessential New York sound ever, what, to my mind, is THE most quintessential? Ah, well, that comes down to my own New York experience.
My first ever visit to New York was in November 1989 at the age of 27, the same age as Moondog when he moved to New York. Coincidence strongly links my New York timeline with Moondog’s; he made a rare visit to New York, for his last major gig there. that very month.
But my soundtrack of my first New York visit was not Moondog’s music; it was Pump Up The Jam. By Technotronic, featuring Felly.
It seemed to be played everywhere, all the time, while I was in New York. It is said to be the first hip-house hit and has been described as a dance masterpiece. Just listen to those amazing accents; New York, African-American Vernacular. That’s authentic, no?
No. When I returned to the UK with my copy of Pump Up The Jam proudly in hand and played it to my half-Belgian friend, Daniel Scordel, suggesting that it was THE New York sound, Daniel told me that his kid sister reliably informed him that Technotronic was a Belgian act.
Googling now informs me that Felly, the “featured artiste” was in fact a Congolese model who lip-synced on the video and posed for the cover of the Belgian record as a marketing ploy. The actual singer with the “authentic” New York accent was Ya Kid K, an androgynous-looking Congolese-Belgian woman, who was also a co-author of the song. Worse yet, the hip-house genre is said to cross-fertilise Chicago & London styles. Not New York.
In truth, the late 1980’s was not exactly a golden age for authentic popular music. Consider the Eurodance chart topper just before I set off for New York, Ride On Time, Italian in this case; an even messier mix of lip-synching models in the vid…
and samples “liberated” from uncredited artistes.
Walk right in, soul diva Loleatta Holloway; unsung hero, yet one of the most sampled singers of all time.
But now I must move on to my authentic tale of New York.
On the Sunday before I set off for New York, I went to the Barbican Hall. The story of my chance encounter there with Rita Frank, our bizarre drive in the densest London fog I have ever seen and the coincidence that Rita turned out to live just a few blocks from the Manhattan apartment where I was about to stay, would be worth the price of admission to the Virtual Glad alone.
When I got to New York, Rita insisted that I allow her 20 year-old daughter, Mara, known as Moose, to be my guide. My adventures with Moose (and with other people) in New York are well documented on Ogblog and would also be worth the price of admission to the Virtual Glad alone.
I did have a holiday romance on that trip, but not with Moose – you need to read between the lines of that write up to find it. Instead, Moose was a superb guide; a charming & fun companion in New York. We became firm friends. I resolved to return the guiding favour when Moose was due to come to London the following year.
But that favour was not to be returned. In June 1990, I was felled by a serious back injury; multiple prolapses in my lower back. Don’t talk to me about lockdown. This was a solo lockdown; my world got smaller for many months. Everyone else was out there having a good time while I was in excruciating pain, alone in my flat, rehabilitating.
It’s at times like those when you find out who your friends are. Many of my long-standing friends turned out to be true friends. So did Moose. Moose still wanted to see me. Moose would bring in shopping for me. Moose spent happy times with me in my confined world. Moose turned out to be an authentic friend.
Now I know what some of you are thinking. You recall the story of Fuzz, whose real first and second names remain a mystery. Is Moose similarly obscure? Is this Harris bloke a specialist in befriending young women with monosyllabic nicknames, enabling them conveniently to vanish without trace?
In Moose’s case, we did lose touch with each other after she returned to the States, but I did know her real names and I knew where she lived.
So in late 2019, while writing up my New York adventures, Mr Google helped me find her. It took me about three minutes. Not bad, considering she now goes by her married name and has moved to California.
She has 24 children…Meet:
Mara Holtz.
Mara has 24 different children every year. Mara is a primary school teacher.
The next few lines are dialogue.
MARA: “I am so glad that you contacted me. I’ve thought about you over the years and wondered how you were doing…I’m amazed that you found me…It’s so nice to hear from you.”
ME: “I’m so pleased that you are glad to hear from me…Are you still known as Moose?
MOOSE: “…very few friends still call me Moose. However…I seemed to have accidentally developed a Moose themed classroom, so I usually end up with students calling me Professor Moose.”