I subscribed to Hockey Night in Canada <\/em>on cable TV for Jeff, so he would babysit my kids for free. Every Saturday night. He liked Canada — really liked Canada. He filled out immigration papers, waited months for clearance, got a job, and moved to a small town in Ontario. He came home the next day. He said he didn’t like the job in Canada, but he liked the Canucks. \u201cThey don\u2019t give you the finger,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Then he moved to Canada again. This time to Nova Scotia. That worked. Change your place, change your luck.<\/p>\n I haven\u2019t seen Jeff in 28 years. I miss his acerbic slant on life. For a social worker, he was a total misanthrope and blisteringly funny. \u201cLife is With People\u201d was not Jeff\u2019s M.O. He liked to eat Mrs. Paul\u2019s fish sticks alone. He criticized me for going to restaurants too often. He claimed I was on a fruitless existential search for exotic experiences \u2013 for foods my bubbe and mother never made. He claimed I would \u201ceat flanken cooked directly off the seat cover of a crosstown bus.\u201d<\/p>\n We listened<\/span><\/strong> to Bob and Ray records, played music, and made fun of other Jews. Jeff knew some Yiddish — more than me. His favorite expression was Gey mit dayn kup in drerd<\/em>. (Go to hell. lit<\/em>: go with your head in the ground).<\/p>\n I had to drive Jeff everywhere. Lazy guy, and he had a car. I would schlep him to the Near West Side to hillbilly bars so he could jam with bands. He would play \u201cTwo More Bottles of Wine \u201cand \u201cJambalaya.\u201d That was real; it wasn\u2019t Jewish. His favorite records were Nashville Skyline<\/em> and anything by Hank Williams. Jeff sang only once on the East Side, at a cancer fundraiser at Heinen\u2019s supermarket. He played \u201cGood Old Mountain Dew\u201d by the soda pops and \u201cOh Canada\u201d by Canada Dry.<\/p>\n —<\/p>\n Here’s an essay I had in the Cleveland Plain Dealer<\/em> last week (Nov. 30). There’s a paywall at the Plain Dealer.<\/em> Here’s the whole article . . .<\/span><\/p>\n WHO’S YOUR FAVORITE BAND?<\/p>\n by Bert Stratton<\/p>\n CLEVELAND HEIGHTS, Ohio — I occasionally run into young people who lament they didn\u2019t live through the hippie era. They will even listen to my hitchhiking stories. Nobody else will. I tell these young people that the big question in the late \u201860s and early \u201870s was, \u201cWho\u2019s your favorite band?\u201d<\/p>\n The more obscure the band, the better.<\/p>\n Some astute choices were The Stooges, the Flying Burrito Brothers, and Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen. More mainstream, but still acceptable, was Frank Zappa\u2019s Mothers of Invention. Too mainstream: Bob Dylan, Jefferson Airplane and Joni Mitchell.<\/p>\n My favorite musician was Fred Neil,<\/span> a Greenwich Village singer\/songwriter. He wrote \u201cEverybody\u2019s Talkin\u2019,\u201d the theme song from the movie \u201cMidnight Cowboy.\u201d Harry Nilsson sang the movie track and made it popular.<\/p>\n Fred Neil was never popular. Good — for me. I sold my Fred Neil records a few years ago. Pete Gulyas, the owner of Blues Arrow Records in Collinwood, said my Neil recordings were worth more than all my Beatles and Dylan records combined. When Pete looked through my records, we found a receipt — $1.50 from Mole\u2019s record store. Where was Mole\u2019s? (It was on Coventry Road in Cleveland Heights.)<\/p>\n Comic-book writer Harvey Pekar used to rifle through my albums. Talk about a record snob \u2013 Pekar. The only album he ever wanted was my \u201cCharlie Parker Memorial Album,\u201d Vogue Records, England, 1956. I didn\u2019t sell it to Harvey. I figured if Pekar wanted the record that badly, it must be worth something.<\/p>\n Pete the Record Guy looked through my albums three times, and I bid adieu to \u201cAretha Live at the Fillmore West,\u201d Herbie Mann\u2019s \u201cMemphis Underground,\u201d and \u201c<\/i>The Paul Butterfield Blues Band\u201d ….<\/i><\/p>\n Who\u2019s your favorite band now — in 2022? Are you even allowed to have a favorite band? Yes, you are, and you are encouraged to.<\/p>\n Every year in early December, the music-streaming service Spotify spews out data to its 456 million users, itemizing each listener\u2019s most-played tunes of the past year. This annual reckoning is called Spotify Wrapped. Many fans share their Spotify Wrapped profile online; it\u2019s the equivalent of showing off one\u2019s record collection, circa 1970. Your Spotify Wrapped is your cultural ID badge.<\/p>\n I expect my Spotify Wrapped 2022 will feature Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen and some newer acts, like Vulfpeck and the Fearless Flyers. (My son Jack is in Vulfpeck. He schools me on post-1975 music.) Songs older than 18 months represent 70% of the U.S. streaming music market, according to MRC Data, a music-analytics firm.<\/p>\n I rinse my dinner dishes to Joni Mitchell and often add Paul Butterfield for pot-scrubbing. Klezmer music is good for putting away leftovers. I\u2019m not only Spotify Wrapped, I\u2019m Saran wrapped.<\/p>\n I hitchhiked from Los Angeles to Chicago in 36 hours in 1973. That was a land-speed record for hitching, I think. The big hit on the radio then was, \u201cTie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree.\u201d I learned to drive a stick shift, jerkily. The car owner was a Marine from Camp Pendleton, California, on his way to visit his girlfriend in Chicago. At nearly every rest stop, the Marine threatened to trade me in for a more seasoned stick-shift driver. But we made it to Chicago. Tony Orlando and Dawn are not on my Spotify Wrapped.<\/p>\n Who\u2019s on yours?<\/p>\n Bert Stratton lives in Cleveland Heights and is the leader of the band Yiddishe Cup. He writes the blog \u201c<\/i>Klezmer Guy: Real Music and Real Estate<\/i>.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" My friend Jeff didn\u2019t like Cleveland. He didn\u2019t like tumult: the horns honking, boom boxes, loudmouths, leaf blowers, his parents pestering him. He just couldn\u2019t take it. I subscribed to Hockey Night in Canada on cable TV for Jeff, so he would babysit my kids for free. Every Saturday night. He liked Canada — […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[23,11],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-30257","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-cleveland-full","category-coming-of-age"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30257","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=30257"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30257\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":30285,"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/30257\/revisions\/30285"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=30257"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=30257"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.yiddishecup.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=30257"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nMy friend<\/strong><\/span> Jeff didn\u2019t like Cleveland. He didn\u2019t like tumult: the horns honking, boom boxes, loudmouths, leaf blowers, his parents pestering him. He just couldn\u2019t take it.<\/p>\n