SUPERMANIFESTO 2025.

This Supermanifesto begins painfully. My father Marty passed away in May, three months shy of his 92^nd birthday. He had been grappling with a “mystery illness” that taxed his breathing and strength. As a live-in caregiver, I witnessed his entire struggle firsthand. An inherently selfish part of me wants to share some difficult imagery with you and wants you to throw your arm around me, but I will spare you that imagery, even if you still might throw your arm around me.

Often I turn to aggressive music, punk or similar, when something outrageous has taken place, but I find myself partial to “Leaving Eden,” a 2012 ballad by the Carolina Chocolate Drops. Before they disbanded about 10 years ago, the Chocolate Drops reinvigorated many decades of traditional African American music. Too, Dom Flemons (playing guitar) is a friend of the ongoing “Liza Jane” documentary film project. 

A final word on my book Poor Gal, which chronicles the “Liza Jane” family of songs. It came out amidst my father’s illness, and at the time, I could not participate in any author events. Thus, I feel especially lucky for a couple of great 2024 reviews in the USA Today network and Washington City Paper, as well as a highly enjoyable interview at Bluegrass Jam Along by UK podcaster Matt Hutchinson. Huxley & Hiro Bookstore hosted the first book release event (about a year after Poor Gal appeared) at The Queen in Wilmington, Del., and I was really surprised when, this past October, Poor Gal received a “Special Recognition Award” from the ASCAP Foundation in its 55^th annual Deems Taylor / Virgil Thomson Book Awards. Many thanks to all (inter)(re)viewers and readers alike. 

My friend Casey Smith (“yjb”) printed this four-word poem when we hung out a couple months ago. It is a fabulous little broadside and Casey hails from a righteous people. Shall we pen some strophes in 2025? Well, well, well, yes we shall.

Photo Credit: Sausages (Mike Zito)

Up that alley, I will be back at the microphone with the improvisational collective Fanoplane, which will play Comet Ping Pong in Washington, D.C. on February 8^th. This will be, I believe, a “release event” for a CD of our live performance at the Black Cat, which went kablooey well. I am also looking to get back at the microphone with a “rock combo” where “combo” equals “orchestra plus vocals.” Let it be so. In twenty aught twenty-five.

A fifteen-second video of my dad trying to say “burglars.” He was raised in a Bronx tenement and never pronounced “ers” as anything other than “iz.” For instance, “big fierce tigers” would become “big fierce tigiz.” (My mother says “burglars” correctly but she was raised in Brooklyn.) To boot, Marty implies that anyone can “send in the burgliz” as if you were ordering a pizza, just burgliz instead.

Out searching for my friend the fox – or her offspring (a bloke of the species who engaged in a cross-taxonomy fling with a Welsh corgi) – when suddenly there was an incident. A red-tailed hawk flew into my face! Its full wing stole me upside the jaw. I do not think it saw me, but how could it not see me, it did or did not see me, it wing-slapped me and then soared, alit, it alit in a treetop. It was up there all statuesque, all proud of its powerful aviation and slippery withdrawal, while I flubbered my sensibilities into “recently slapped.” The incident was feathery but not pillowy, the wing was momentarily blinding and surprisingly firm. For all I know, it may have been a friendly gesture. Either way, I persevered. (And snapped this pic of the offending raptor.)

This family – buck, doe, fawn – are my favorite deer. The other “hoofed ruminants” are, like, bounding here, bounding there. Whatevs. These are my peeps.

I hardly drink anymore (demi-baddie) so I hope you can tell this is a special occasion – in wishing you a Happy New Year! May you and your loved ones be healthy and joyful in the months ahead.

This has been a raking, searching Supermanifesto. Even as I can try to joke-away some of the pain, “the pain,” observed poet Robert Creeley, “is not unpainful.” Indeed. It will carry into 2025 but we must also carry love, and adventurousness, and brawn into the new year. For me, the new year will present numerous uncertainties. Questions like “where?” and “what on earth?” However it goes, I hope to see you then, my friends, and if so, we will jump and shake. It would not be a true Blood And Gutstein without a couple of “shakers” by rock ‘n’ roll and R&B combos. If you are a ‘night creature’ then you might be content with the estimable mayhem above. But if you require something more, I dunno, “hewing,” then I have got you covered with “Pass the Hatchet, Part 2” (below.) As always, we here at B.A.G. suggest that you corral your sweetie pie. Play these songs loud. Jump high. Shake those shoulders out with maximum esprit de corps & if you need to describe your experience, I am here for you.

Discography for The Gigolo’s (sic) and Roger & The Gypsies

The Gigolo’s. “Night Creature” B-side b/w “Swingin’ Saints” A-side. Daynite Gig-1 / Gig-2, Phoenix, Arizona, 1960. Likely personnel: Bob Taylor (drums); Don Cole (guitar); Buddy Wheeler (bass); and Zeke Zoeckler (saxophone); other musicians, if any, unknown. Compositional credit: Bob Taylor and (first name unknown) Knight.

Roger & The Gypsies. “Pass The Hatchet (Part 2)” B-side b/w “Pass The Hatchet (Part 1)” A-side. Seven B 7001. New Orleans (1966). Compositional credit: Earl Oropeza, Ray Theriot, and Roger Leon Jr. Likely personnel: Eddie Bo (vocals) with Earl Stanley & The Stereos. [Earl Stanley (lead guitar); Roger Leon Jr. (guitar); Skip Easterling (organ); Johnny Pennino (sax); Li’l Joe Lambert (drums); Nicky Bodine (bass); Art Sir Van (piano); and Hector Nieves (maracas). Any additional musicians unknown.]

MANIFESTO & SUPERMANIFESTO 2024

 Manifesto & Supermanifesto 2024 begins with the most unexpected development of my career. On November 27, University Press of Mississippi released my nonfiction book Poor Gal: The Cultural History of Little Liza Jane. This capped an intensive six-year research process into the most important folk song in American history. Aside from all the stunning historical information I absorbed as well as learning so many “Liza Jane” songs that now regularly dance inside my head, I developed quite a bit as a writer. It was important to step out of my “creative writing voice” and into a realm that was far more important than “me.” For once, I did not find myself trying to write poetry or fiction by depending upon “my own legend.” Instead, I functioned as a conduit for “Liza Jane” to tell its estimable story, one that reminds us of our shared humanity.

I could not have written Poor Gal without significant mentorship by a bloke named David Evans. A two-time Grammy winner, musician, professor emeritus, author, and blues ambassador, David provided patient, old-school guidance from the darkest days of the pandemic all the way to the book’s production. I had read his legendary book Big Road Blues when I lived in Arcata, but I should like to note the appearance of Going Up the Country, a 2023 work David co-wrote with Marina Bokelman. Going Up the Country blends an adventure narrative with detailed notes about making field recordings and, at its heart, relays an edgy investigation into American folk and blues music.

I enter 2024 with an ambitious creative agenda. I am hoping to step back to the microphone once again as a lyricist-vocalist with a band. Together with my colleague Emily Cohen, I am / we are still cranking away on a documentary film about “Little Liza Jane.” Emily and I feel a renewed sense of momentum regarding this endeavour (sic). Having seen Poor Gal hit the bookshelves, I have returned (buoyantly) to my “creative writing practice” or rather my “roots” as a writer. On the one hand, this would involve dealing with some shocking experiences—such as the long-ago murder of my friend Warren—as well as rendering myself more “vulnerable” in the presence of my own foibles. 

This too, of course. Not long after my friend (and his girlfriend) were murdered, my brother David Gutstein passed away. He had just turned 27. Over the last twelve months, I have really reflected upon the gift of life. One that I have been fortunate enough to enjoy but my brother was not fully able to: he has been gone, by now, for more years than he lived. He had not really gotten started. I visited his grave earlier this year and it really f****** hurt. Yet this well of emotion cannot simply smolder. It must lead to creativity, community—and earthly love. 

“I hate spending a lot of time in graveyards / We’re all gonna spend a lot of time in graveyards.” I meant these lyrics with both acidic and ironic properties alike. (Obviously, they follow from my admission above.) This music video from Joy on Fire’s 2022 album States of America is certainly titled for the season. The song features a medium burn and a more lyrical presentation than some of the hard-charging songs we fashioned together. Too, John Paul Carillo (bass, guitar) and Anna Meadors (saxophones) visited some fabulous production values on the effort. They filmed half of it in Trenton and the other half here, with me, in the Rockville, Md. area. “Show interest / Show interest / I show interest you” is aimed at you, my friend. Reach out. Let’s talk.

Let us not end the year without some serious geese and gosling action. Have a gander at this here gaggle as they comply with local traffic signage. They do not run afoul of going the wrong way down a one-way, so you can relax, the giant yellow arrow tells said waddlers where to waddle. These fowls are headed to the creek, where they can duck back onto the water. Even as they disappear around the bend, it is not their swan song. These here gooses can be seen regularly in the air as a plump wedge. In fact, they live in the same habitat (where their habit is at) as my best animal friend forever, the mischievous scoundrel known as The Fox.

People ask me have you seen The Fox? Well, yes I have. She is quite robust. Rusty red. Full of mischief. A true scoundrel of the finest calibre (sic). This summer, I spent some time with her before I went to live downtown in a friend’s apartment. Perhaps she sensed that I might be departing for a bit, so we chilled in the shallow woods, enjoying each other’s company. For some reason, the fake Australian accent emerges—“You’re a good lookin’ fox, man”—but she’s a vixen, not a reynard (sic). When she sees me, she has this way of darting a short distance away and then abruptly sitting down. She slays me pretty good with her wily shenanigans!

I’ll never forget the day The Fox let me sit at the edge of the den, where her seven kits flounced about, clearly inheritors of the same vulpine mischief. She brought seven rascally souls into the world!

Notably, in 2023, I vanquished my first chess-bot rated 2000—even as I played the black pieces! I am usually too chicken to sacrifice my queen, but I did so because an opportunity presented itself. And lo, the chess-bot was check-mated. Heh heh heh.

Happy New Year, Everyone! My very best wishes to you and your loved ones.

It would not be a true Blood And Gutstein post without a thumping R&B shaker. You may know Booker T. and the MGs for their hit “Green Onions” but I will take “MG Party” any day. The addition of horns to the classic lineup really clinches this song as a romping dance-floor instrumental from 1964. The infectious, propulsive beat will overcome the proceedings. To wit, let us flounce like kits, let us sacrifice our queens, let us croon at the microphone, let us be mentored, let us tell the kinds of tales that exemplify our connections to one another. Above all else, let us strive for peace and love. This is aimed at you, my friend. Reach out. Let’s talk.


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discographical information for “MG Party”
Booker T. and the MG’s. “MG Party” B-side b/w “Soul Dressing” A-side. Stax S-153, Memphis, Tennessee, 1964. Likely personnel: Booker T. Jones (organ); Steve Cropper (guitar); Donald Dunn (bass guitar); Al Jackson, Jr. (drums); Wayne Jackson (trumpet); Floyd Newman (baritone saxophone); Charles “Packy” Axton (tenor saxophone). Compositional credit: Jones, Cropper, Jackson, Dunn.