D Note love letter plus poem 12/29/11

D livery,

We are starting 2011 in the right way this weekend. First we have The Teaching on Friday night. The Teaching, a very dynamic and rocking jazz quartet from Seattle, have been playing the D Note annually for 5 years now and it is always a treat. Serafin Sanchez (from Bop Skizzum) will be joining them. Come early to secure a seat and be prepared to be musically entertained. $10. The horn driven Lindsey O'brien Band will be playing afterward at 10pm. $5.

For New Year's Eve we have dreamed up a perfect set of music for you. First we have the legendary trumpet player Ron Miles playing with his trio at 7pm. If you've never heard him before you are in for a treat. Super good vibrations emanating from that man. Then we have the African tinged reggae of Selassee at 8:30pm and finally the awesome Mono Verde (latin/world reggae) take over the stage at 11pm and lead us into 2012...DANCING. (What better way to start the year?). And the price is right too...$10. So excited.

We are having a special New Years day Salsa Fiesta on Sunday night with several dance performances and the high energy of La Candela. Lessons at 8pm, band at 9pm, performances scattered throughout. $8.

We will start up swing dance lessons again on Wednesdays at 7pm with a new outstanding and fun teacher, Lark Mervine. $5. Followed by the swinging band The Clamdaddys. Free. Yes!

Looking forward to spending the next year with YOU!

Ever

D D D dum

Extra credit: How about a long imaginative poem upon snow and fire by John Greenleaf Whittier?

Snowbound: A Winter Idyll

"As the Spirits of Darkness be stronger in the dark, so Good Spirits which be Angels of Light are augmented not only by the Divine Light of the Sun, but also by our common Wood fire: and as the celestial Fire drives away dark spirits, so also this our Fire of Wood doth the same."--
COR. AGRIPPA, Occult Philosophy, Book I. chap. v.

"Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow; and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight; the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm."
EMERSON.

The sun that brief December day
Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
And, darkly circled, gave at noon
A sadder light than waning moon.
Slow tracing down the thickening sky
Its mute and ominous prophecy,
A portent seeming less than threat,
It sank from sight before it set.
A chill no coat, however stout,
Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
A hard, dull bitterness of cold,
That checked, mid-vein, the circling race
Of life-blood in the sharpened face,
The coming of the snow-storm told.
The wind blew east; we heard the roar
Of Ocean on his wintry shore,
And felt the strong pulse throbbing there
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Unwarmed by any sunset light
The gray day darkened into night,
A night made hoary with the swarm
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm,
As zigzag, wavering to and fro,
Crossed and recrossed the wingàd snow:
And ere the early bedtime came
The white drift piled the window-frame,
And through the glass the clothes-line posts
Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on:
The morning broke without a sun;
In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs,
And, when the second morning shone,
We looked upon a world unknown,
On nothing we could call our own.
Around the glistening wonder bent
The blue walls of the firmament,
No cloud above, no earth below, --
A universe of sky and snow!
The old familiar sights of ours
Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers
Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood,
Or garden-wall, or belt of wood;
A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed,
A fenceless drift what once was road;
The bridle-post an old man sat
With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat;
The well-curb had a Chinese roof;
And even the long sweep, high aloof,
In its slant spendor, seemed to tell
Of Pisa's leaning miracle.

A prompt, decisive man, no breath
Our father wasted: "Boys, a path!"
Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy
Count such a summons less than joy?)
Our buskins on our feet we drew;
With mittened hands, and caps drawn low,
To guard our necks and ears from snow,
We cut the solid whiteness through.
And, where the drift was deepest, made A tunnel walled and overlaid
With dazzling crystal: we had read
Of rare Aladdin's wondrous cave,
And to our own his name we gave,
With many a wish the luck were ours
To test his lamp's supernal powers.

All day the gusty north-wind bore
The loosening drift its breath before;
Low circling round its southern zone,
The sun through dazzling snow-mist shone.
No church-bell lent its Christian tone
To the savage air, no social smoke
Curled over woods of snow-hung oak.
A solitude made more intense
By dreary-voicëd elements,
The shrieking of the mindless wind,
The moaning tree-boughs swaying blind,
And on the glass the unmeaning beat
Of ghostly finger-tips of sleet.
Beyond the circle of our hearth
No welcome sound of toil or mirth
Unbound the spell, and testified
Of human life and thought outside.
We minded that the sharpest ear
The buried brooklet could not hear,
The music of whose liquid lip
Had been to us companionship,
And, in our lonely life, had grown
To have an almost human tone.

As night drew on, and, from the crest
Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
From sight beneath the smothering bank,
We piled, with care, our nightly stack
Of wood against the chimney-back, --
The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
And on its top the stout back-stick;
The knotty forestick laid apart,
And filled between with curious art

The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
We watched the first red blaze appear,
Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
Until the old, rude-furnished room
Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
While radiant with a mimic flame
Outside the sparkling drift became,
And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
The crane and pendent trammels showed,
The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed;
While childish fancy, prompt to tell
The meaning of the miracle,
Whispered the old rhyme: "Under the tree,
When fire outdoors burns merrily,
There the witches are making tea."

The moon above the eastern wood
Shone at its full; the hill-range stood
Transfigured in the silver flood,
Its blown snows flashing cold and keen,
Dead white, save where some sharp ravine
Took shadow, or the sombre green
Of hemlocks turned to pitchy black
Against the whiteness at their back.
For such a world and such a night
Most fitting that unwarming light,
Which only seemed where'er it fell
To make the coldness visible.

Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north-wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat;
And ever, when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed;
The house-dog on his paws outspread
Laid to the fire his drowsy head,
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall;
And, for the winter fireside meet,
Between the andirons' straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And, close at hand, the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood.

What matter how the night behaved?
What matter how the north-wind raved?
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow.

At last the great logs, crumbling low,
Sent out a dull and duller glow,
The bull's-eye watch that hung in view,
Ticking its weary circuit through,
Pointed with mutely warning sign
Its black hand to the hour of nine.
That sign the pleasant circle broke:
My uncle ceased his pipe to smoke,
Knocked from its bowl the refuse gray,
And laid it tenderly away;
Then roused himself to safely cover
The dull red brands with ashes over.
And while, with care, our mother laid
The work aside, her steps she stayed
One moment, seeking to express
Her grateful sense of happiness
For food and shelter, warmth and health,
And love's contentment more than wealth,
With simple wishes (not the weak,
Vain prayers which no fulfilment seek,
But such as warm the generous heart,
O'er-prompt to do with Heaven its part)
That none might lack, that bitter night,
For bread and clothing, warmth and light.

1865

--



www.dnote.us

weekend update 12/22/11 plus poem

D ears,

We've always thought that the letter D looks like an ear. Though it could also be other body parts we suppose. A round belly perhaps? Santa's belly? We're now imagining the D shaking when it laughs like a bowl full of jelly.

This Friday night we have Ryan Ambrose playing at 5pm (free), then Big Universe playing at 7:30pm. Big Universe is a fun cover band. This will be a benefit for Jeffco School Outdoor Labs. $5/$10 for family. At 10pm we have The Bottom Feeders (blues, R&B). $5

Then we are closed for Christmas eve. We'll be back open for salsa on Sunday night starting at 6pm.

We have a couple of great shows next weekend. Friday the 30th we'll The Teaching w/ Serafin Sanchez followed by the Lindsey O'brien band. Then on NYE we have an amazing show w/ Ron Miles Trio (legendary jazz great), Selassee (african reggae) and Mono Verde (latin reggae) and only $10...

Love to you and yours...

Extra Credit: We recommend a wonderful new translation of the 3000 year old Vijnana Bhairava Tantras by Dr. Lorin Roche. Here's a sample.



Sutra 64


Secrets are hidden in darkness

And difficult nights.

You awaken to a pang of aloneness,

A howl of separation.



This is the call of the Dark One,

The roar of life seeking its source.

The union you long for is within reach.



Throw off all hesitation.

Become one with the fear.

Plunge into the uncanny blackness,

Eyes wide open,

As if there were no other choice.



Vibrating with fierce tenderness,

Breathe intimately

With the Lord of infinite space.

D Note love letter 12/15/11

D Lux,

Hope you can make it to... D. All of the below.

A. This Friday at 5pm we have Hezekiah Goode, who's music sounds a lot like his name, country folk of the Lefty, Woody, Hank variety. Free.

Then at 7pm Friday we have T&T back in the house. These guys have been away for awhile and we're happy to welcome them back. It is duo consisting of Japanese Taiko drums and guitar, forming a big unique sound. $5.

At 9pm Friday we are happy to host a 900 lb Gorilla Cypher. What's that? It's a local hip hop thing, and this will be the release of a mixtape including Brer Rabbit (Flobots) Kalyn from Wheelchair Sports Camp, The High Tops and more. Gonna be fun. $5

B. This Saturday at 4pm Music Train Family Concert presents The Okee Dokee Brothers. Bring the family. The kids will love it. $7 adults/$3 kids.

Saturday night we have a special Haiti relief benefit w/ Dr. Harlan's Amazing Bluegrass Tonic (7pm), In Due Time (9pm) and August On The Equator (11pm) and live painting by Laurie Maves. This is a really good cause, with moneys going directly to relief work. See this article in the Westword for more info on the benefit. The band In Due Time, a truly infectious, super good and fun local band, is also using this show to produce a live CD, so your energy will be well used Saturday night! Also check out Matt Dougherty's beautiful poster for this evening here. $5-$10 suggested donation.

There will be lots of spirit next Tuesday as Bob's Big Band will be playing Christmas tunes starting at 7pm. Big band Christmas!

C. Also, we have an amazing line up for NYE this year, with Ron Miles trio (jazz legend) at 7pm, followed by the African reggae of Selasee and then the latin reggae of our favorite dance band Mono Verde at 11pm. Only $10 for the night.

D. All of the above.

Yours,

D Me More

Extra Credit: Here's a ridiculous poem by Alicia Ostriker.


Ridiculous

This is ridiculous
said the literary old woman
nobody gives us any respect
the young in one another's arms
are talking on their ipods
the politicians are lying through their teeth
and our husbands are taking a nap

this is ridiculous
said the tulip
all those genetically altered blossoms
those stupid long-lived orchids
that are practically plastic
and those fancy designer grasses
getting more than market share

this is ridiculous
said the dog
now they not only have to walk me
they have to rush up with their
sanitary plastic bags
what is it but old-fashioned
imperialism



--



www.dnote.us

weekend update 12/8/11

Mellow D,

How's it going there? We hope you are taking fully advantage out of the beautiful weather, whether that means staying inside, curling up around a fire with a good book, or going gonzo outside, riding the giant wave of a mountain. Or maybe it means coming to the D Note to get hot pizza, hot toddy, hot music, hot dancing and hotties.

Tonight after Geeks Who Drink Trivia at 6:30pm we have a band called Crow Agency, rock, folk, and blues originals.

Tomorrow night, Friday Dec 9, we have the eclectic guitarist Robert Eldridge playing at 5pm. Free. You'll be amazed. Then at 7pm we have several indie rock bands. In order: Yardog Keeter, Botas Rodeo,The Atomic Americans, Circle Number Dot. It will be a very cool night of music. $5.

Saturday we have a lunch time welcome home concert for Victoria Woodworth at 1pm. Free. Victoria won Westword's Best Songwriter a few years back and then promptly moved to Nashville. She's coming back for a visit and we are glad to have her at the D Note for a special show while she's here.

At 7pm we have a Sarah Reed, performing acoustic solo, followed by Robert Eldridge's excellent chameleon like band ZEUT at 8pm. $5. Then at 9:30pm Saturday night we have a CD release for The Supreme Justice League on Velcro Records. Primo electronica. Check out the cool poster and get more info here.

That's the gist of the weekend. Lots more going on Sun through Wed. For more info check out dnote.us

Love to you and yours,

D mando

Extra Credit: Our friend Noel Black just put out a great book on Ugly Duckling Presse called "Uselysses". Here is a sample poem.

Children of Children of Adam

I’ve been meaning to reread Whitman since we moved to Brooklyn a month ago,

so I finally pull down this strange beige Heritage Editions Reprints complete and
unabridged hardcover edition ex libris Dorothy Anne Naskin with illustrations by
Rockwell Kent that my grandmother gave me years ago.

It doesn’t have a publication date & only a strange preface from George Macy, Director of
The Heritage Club, explaining that the smaller margins and thinner paper have been
used so as to comply with the government’s wartime regulation governing reprints.

Also, there’s this strange image on the title page that cleverly spells “WW” in grass sprouting
out of a black block that contains the cryptic numbers 8611776 and 6071492
respectively in a deco font, which I imagine for a moment are the clues to George
Washington and Christopher Columbus’ posthumous Masonic cell phone numbers
in a teen time travel super-hero history mystery…

Anyway, I don’t love this edition, but it’s the only one I’ve got, and it’s getting late,

so I flip open to “Children of Adam” on page 96 and read:

“The boy’s longings, the glow and pressure as he confides to me what he was dreaming…”

&

“The limpid liquid within the young man…”

“What a queen!” I think,
remembering how naïve & surprised I was to find out he was gay,
though certainly not as surprised as when I found out my father was.

I wish Whitman could have saved him—
streaking back across the dark skies of history in his hot pink tights
with that grassy “WW” emblazoned across his chest
to kiss his eyes & tell him he would be alright.

I snap the book shut after a few pages,
head back to the kitchen for a drink of cold water
& stand in front of the window fan in my boxer shorts,
hand on my hip,
staring out at Whitman’s city—
all the night’s lights winking at me.

weekend update 12/1/11

D icers,

Brave the snow and come to the warmth of the D Note tonight to play trivia with friends (6:30p) and then stay to hear a picking circle lead by mandolin wizard Nick Amodeo.

Tomorrow night we have the excellent songwriting of Eric Forsyth at 5pm (free), followed by the rock and roll of The B Team (7pm), Jake Leg Shakers (9pm) and Frokus (11pm). $5

Saturday we have a birthday party for Andy, w/ the Clamdaddys at 5pm, then The Broken Everlys featuring the great Tempa (blues) at 7pm followed by Drum and Bass DJs and MCs (Dozha, Diknow, D Tawx, Relyt and more) starting at 9pm. $5. This is also a going away party for Tempa, who is moving to Hawaii! Come give due props to Andy and Tempa and hear some great music. The community is calling.

Sunday at 11am we start Sunday School back up (electronica for parents who used to rave, and their kids). Free.

That's the short scoop. See dnote.us for the long one. Hope you are staying warm.

D scribe

Extra Credit: There were some beautiful sunrises and sunsets this week in Colorado. So for this week's poem we're going to re-appropriate a Facebook status from a few days back by Cellist Monica Sales, the same Cellist who plays Sunday mornings for our Mello Cello Brunch. This is what is known as a "found poem".


Today I Will Stay Awake

The hue of the room in a normally brief encounter with the morning
sent me flying up the stairs and out onto the driveway, still in my nightshirt,
to be enveloped in a sky lit on fire. Like waves of silken magenta,
a canopy of wind-swept clouds filled the sky, and as I watched,
the hue turned from magenta to a brilliant orange and now to a sea of gold.
Today, I will stay awake, for any further dreaming would only pale in comparison
to what beauty this morning has already brought me.