intentional pompadour ‌southern culture in images and words‌ is a free quarterly zine based out of Augusta, Georgia and published by Betsey Venom submissions accepted by southern creatives send your work or subscription request in the body of an email to: betseyvenom@yahoo.com if you are published, you will receive a copy of the issue in which your work is featured and you will retain all rights to your work issue 9 winter 2020 find intentional pompadour online at: facebook.com/intentionalpompadour issuu.com/intentionalpompadour support the zine as a Patreon patron a yearly subscription can be had for as little as $1 a month! pledge now at https://www.patreon.com/intentionalpompadour thank you for your support of southern culture!
Welcome to Winter! Hello and welcome to the winter 2020 issue of Betsey Venom’s intentional pompadour. It’s our BIGGEST ISSUE YET! I am pleased to introduce our new cover artist, Savannah College of Art & Design graduate William Marasco from Alexandria, VA! This issue features a ton of fun, so kick back and enjoy. As usual, there is no rhyme nor reason nor table of contents here, so flip the pages at your leisure to find the following: Evans, GA writer Skyler Andrews shares his flash fiction piece “The War” The poetry section continues to grow! Check out the fabulous poets in this issue: Augusta, GA poet Jezibell Anat: “Villanelle of Cassandra, Princess of Troy” Aiken, SC singer/songwriter Cathy Benedetto: “Winter Lullaby” Cumming, GA poet T. Leon Bigham: “Odin’s Eye” Aiken, SC poet Leslie Cannon: “A Heart’s War” Augusta, GA poet Gregger: “That’s All, Folks!” Rock Hill, SC poet A.L: “The Edge” Venice, FL poet Kimberly Laettner: “Song of Luna” Augusta, GA poet J. Martin-Moses: “The Message Lost” Augusta, GA poet Lakota Phillips: “Digging Deep” Augusta, GA poet Catherine Zickgraf: “Sleep Deprived” Augusta, GA columnist Magnolia Lee brings us a holiday art shopping guide Aiken, SC musician Michael Eubanks shares the next installation in his series, ‘Stories From Nashville and Music Row:’ “It Wasn’t Guacamole” Augusta, GA artist Michael Drake shares his painting “River Street” Augusta, GA novelist Charmain Z. Brackett shares an excerpt from her latest book “Murder Takes a Bow” Augusta, GA artist Francie Klopotic shares her portrait of Yoko Ono It’s that time of year, the Poison Peach Film Festival at the Imperial Theatre! Last, but not least, I am thrilled to welcome Aiken, SC musician John Stoney Cannon, International Troubadour, to the zine family! Pour yourself a cuppa ‘o caffe and enjoy “An Espresso a Day Helps the Minstrel to Play” and a special CD review, just for you! Email me at betseyvenom@yahoo.com if you’d like to be a part of this project. I am unable to pay in $ but will mail you a hard copy of the issue where your work is featured. You retain all rights to your work. Did you know we now have a Patreon? www.patreon.com/intentionalpompadour Thanks for coming along. Enjoy the ride, and always remember to stay intentional!
SONG OF LUNA By Kimberly Laettner Lingering in yesterday, the rhyme and reason of song come forth and fill the heart with measured beats hanging in time with a heart alive. Her song fills my senses with harmony, as whispered words filter through my mind to leave me in absolute wonder, the essence of a youth revived. Where have we been, K. L. Laettner is a published author and poet from Venice FL, as time flowed endlessly by via Hamburg NY. She resides in paradise with her husband leaving a wake of remembrance, and number one fan, Jeffery and a menagerie of four-legged furry children. ‘Tales From The Thrift’ and ‘Diary of a Middleand hefted us up to the skies. Aged Mermaid’ are her first two fiction books. Both can be Who keeps the time when we pass found on Amazon or at talesfromkllaettner.square.site. You in lingering senses we thrive can find her poetry blog with over 4,200 followers at and move to the gifts once given, zipsrid.wordpress.com It lifts and then thrusts us to starry skies. Dear Luna your tortured voice calls me at times when I hear only you, where need and a life plays to reason the tortured poet clings to her melody unheard.
ODIN’S EYE by T. Leon Bigham There are stones, from yore, well known by fae folk Witches, mages and more, found on many shores Strewn there by fate to await their one bloke Some maiden fair or farmer worn by chores Under life’s yoke, bent, reft of any hope Stripped of dignity, cottage, smiles, and cheer Under duress from cardinal and pope Nothing left for taproom ale or beer Before words from Eastern deserts, assailed Hearts, minds, lives ways druids assumed were safe Beyond tales regaled by priests on hay bales Yet lost to these men’s promise to erase Unknown crimes against some dark, bloody guy Who is evil viewed through Odin’s stone eye
“I earned my Masters in March 2011 at University of South Alabama, Mobile, AL. I have been writing poetry since fifth grade, fifty years of words needed for catharsis.” - T. Leon Bigham
THE MESSAGE LOST by J. Martin-Moses Sometimes we should speak our minds, Other times we shouldn’t. Done to give our point of view, Done because we couldn’t. But does that cancel out the reason why we should be just? Or are we gaining any ground fixing our mouths to Fuss and cuss never realizing…the message is lost? Empty words void of original intent, But fill the air with fear, violence, despair…note the Confusion of such an illusion as these words Simply mask their true meaning, They cannot fulfill their task. All over words coated in muck, smeared with mire - oh That wasn’t the desire? True intention is the cost when the Message is lost. J. Martin-Moses resides in Augusta, GA where her passion for writing poetically speaks to and through the heart. Raised in Brooklyn, NY, she has always had a love and appreciation for the Arts. Just as her work demonstrates a fusion of City sass and Southern charm, she wanted to bridge the gap between musicians and poets; singers and spoken word artists. With this in mind, she answered the call of Mad Studios to begin hosting their weekly open mic sessions. It was there that she debuted her first original playwright “1st Works Spoken—The Play”. She later hosted weekly open mic sessions at That Place Coffee Shop and Joe’s Underground; all to unite the various artistic communities of the CSRA.
WINTER LULLABY
THE EDGE
By Cathy Benedetto
By A.L.
Hushaby, baby, hushaby Too tired for playing Don't you cry Winter wind moans Soft and cold Fairy tale's ending It's time you rolled over.
I've come to the edge of the earth. I'm leaning into the expanse. I see nothing at all. I hear the sound of nothing, rushing, past me thru the air, nothing. The release of screaming between my ears. I release it to the universe. Cussing swearing, tearing at me. I lean over. I let it go. I am free. I lean in to the abyss. There is nothing, no one. If I should begin to fall, who can I trust, who would even hear me call. The rage it was swirling in my head. I am not safe. I am not nurtured, or challenged to grow, or fed. I lean in closer. What do I see? Darkness. I am not afraid. Leaning, stretching. Who will collect my pieces should I shatter as I fall? Who will put me back together, soul and all? I do not trust, I do not fear. Where do they go? All of my tears. Free falling moisture a twister of rain. Who hears me? Who calls my name? Standing on the edge. The abyss I see, I'm leaning, letting go. Who is thinking of me?
Hushaby, baby, hushaby Hope for tomorrow Sunny skies Winter's hymn Will keep you warm Universe watching Will keep you from harm. Hushaby, baby Have sweet dreams Hushaby, baby Let go of the day Hushaby, baby Hushaby, baby Hushaby, baby Hushaby, baby...
Aiken, SC resident Cathy Benedetto, originally from Macon, GA, is a self-taught singer-songwriter-guitarist who most often shares her voice at the Augusta UU Church and at local open mics, fundraisers, libraries, and community theatres around the CSRA. She enjoys singing songs that are humorous, thought-provoking, passionate, and reflective.
Breakout poet A.L. lives and writes in Rock Hill, SC. We welcome her to the family!
VILLANELLE OF CASSANDRA, PRINCESS OF TROY by Jezibell Anat I speak the truth, though no one will believe. My warnings are ignored; all mock my name. But kings make wars, and make the people grieve. Apollo gave me foresight; I could perceive The day that Troy would fall in blood and flame. I speak the truth, though no one will believe. Troy was a splendid city; achieveMents of wealth and beauty brought it fame. But kings make war, and make the people grieve. More to plunder Troy than to retrieve The captued Helen, Greek armies came. I speak the truth, though no one will believe. We fought them for nine years; each eve We mourned the dead and nursed the hurt and lame. But kings make war, and make the people grieve. At last Troy fell in a trick of Odysseus’ weave, And I fell prisoner to Agamemnon’s claim. I speak the truth, though no one will believe. But kings make war, and make the people grieve.
Jezibell Anat is an actress, writer and dancer who moved to Augusta from New York City with her husband Joseph Zuchowski (Joe) at the end of 2007. She was involved in independent and original theatre in Manhattan, and now she is the co-creator and organizer of Quickies, the short play festival featuring original scripts by local authors at Augusta’s black-box theatre, Le Chat Noir.
SLEEP DEPRIVED By Catherine Zickgraf When Bill stepped onto the front step, a hand was pinning my neck against the pantry door. Yellow walls glow in a family kitchen, brother’s algebra at the table, sister’s scales in the next room. It was always me, it was never them. Bill wouldn’t have known how to make it stop, but his presence at the screen door caused that hand to release. When the household was asleep, I met Bill at the back gate, in the pine trees behind our trash cans. We slipped up the street to his house. Most nights, in fact, we slept there together, and he’d analyze my mind till we fell asleep. Then he’d wake me up to reciprocate the attention. We think his father knew and was proud— ‘cause he was with his girlfriend at that hour, too. Somehow I got home every morning to get dressed for eleventh grade before father cracked his ankle joints down the stairs, squeaked open the pantry door, and got out the Maxwell House.
Catherine Zickgraf’s main jobs are to hang out with her family and write poetry. Her work has appeared in the Journal of the American Medical Association, Pank, Victorian Violet Press, and The Grief Diaries. Her recent chapbook, Soul Full of Eye, is published through Aldrich Press. Read and watch her at caththegreat.blogspot.com
THAT’S ALL, FOLKS! (a modular poem in reverse haiku cadence) By Gregger Saturday morn, in my youth: * Golden Age of kid’s TV. -------------------------*Jay Ward Productions *Underdog and Friends *Hanna-Barbera *Chuck, Friz, Mel, et al. *Go Speed Racer, Go *Sid and Marty Krofft
A HEART’S WAR By Leslie Cannon Her heart is a wasteland, where love once played and memories fade. Where loneliness creeps in and steals all illumination. Ripped and scarred from sorrow, a battle flag left to fall. To make peace from it all. A soul dies with no revelry cry to follow.
DIGGING DEEP By Lakota Phillips Found this song in the ground - Dig it down, Dig it down Where her heart was found There was a heart hole sound - Dig it down, Dig it down She picked up the tatters of broken songs Words that rang empty Of echoes and hymns She bit off the threads To taste the bitter cracks and sour notes of damaged intent. A trace of sweet dreams linger Knotted in the hooks And tangled in the singing A mouthful of twisted words Rattling the bones and crafting a meaning. Found this song in the ground - Dig it down, Dig it down Where her heart was found There was a heart hole sound - Dig it down, Dig it down Lakota Phillips is a writer, poet, painter, photographer, designer, illustrator and crazy woman‌ according to most sources. Her stories and art have been featured in women’s magazines and online literary journals. She has completed a paranormal romance novel that is in edits and will be published in 2020. Her paintings are in collections in Europe and across the USA. Formerly the host of Breaking Taboo, a talk show on New Dissident Radio in Hollywood, she started her radio career as the art correspondent on the award-winning Damage Report in Los Angeles. She currently lives in the Deep South, where her alter ego runs around stealing souls by taking pictures of everyone. lakotaphillips@gmail.com
FILM FESTIVAL: POISON PEACH 2020 At the magnificent Imperial Theatre! It’s that time of year! Poison Peach is Augusta's independent film festival showing diverse locallymade movies on Friday and Saturday night starting at 7 pm. Admission is only $10 each night. Friday night is family friendly. Saturday night is adults only. See you at the Festival!
BEAUTY By Lakota Phillips
THE WAR by Skyler Q. Andrews He plays chess as if he’s commanding a submarine. The flesh on his face looks sunken and thinned, as if he is softly and silently chewing at the inside of his cheek. His huddled posture, oblong rounded elbows shifting and poking into crevices on his person, makes him look lanky. His eyes are stern and hot as a regal killer’s, but brown instead of red. His name is Arnold Pennington, and he is vengeful. You can see it in how his lips, pointed as carved stone, tremble only slightly, when resisting a snarl; coupled with an eerily dry aversion to blinking. His opponent is not fazed. He plays chess as if he is mining numbers, pounding into black, rocky, ethereal walls and caverns of reality: making and unmaking whole worlds of patterns hypothetical; computing, then fashioning, then shattering fractals with a rapid flicker of eyes, reducing to mathematical logic every secret and concrete thing. He is Einstein. He is Wittgenstein. He is one. The classic, light-brown furrowed brow. The eyes, focused but hurried, blink few and far between, but regular as an atomic clock. He gives a laser-guided gaze at Arnold’s rook and belts out a sigh, unraveling it with a breath. His name is Patrick Arborough, and he is troubled, but not despondent. You can tell by looking at his right knee, cocked just barely to the right, shivering despite its heft. But Arnold doesn’t see it. Otherwise he would attack. It is Spring. And Tuesday. The park is green, alight and alive. The wind steady, easy, and cool, like a player, but it touches and occasionally carries the sun’s warmth. Children, big and small ones, play about and laugh. Echoes of civilization surround this war between two brooding Negro men. The blood in both sets of veins, as if in deference to their ad hoc, feigned ceasefire, runs a muggy lukewarm. Neither can afford for it to grow hot. O, but Lord, no. Patrick’s queen has already begun to fight. She has claimed two pawns and a knight. She and the bishop both steer Patrick’s sights upon the rook. Their war has waged for ages in chess time. This will be the three thousand eight hundred and eighty-eighth game in forty-seven years. Patrick had the figure stored somewhere behind that ever-furrowed brow. He hasn’t yet calculated how many wins and losses between them. That would be something one of them would painstakingly undertake after justice finally saw fit to render a reckoning and one of them passed on to glory. That would be Judgment Day. Her name was Clara, and she chose neither one of them in the end, nearly half a century ago. They agreed to resist bloodshed out of a stilted respect for the Black Struggle. Instead they stretched out their vendetta like real men of old. They let the destinies of little wooden kings embody their prowess, instead of letting their sullied and wearied brawn decree who would be rewarded reprisal. “Checkmate, you son of a bitch,” rasps Arnold, for the next to last time.
RIVER STREET By Michael Drake
“My love of perspective, nature, and people in action is the passionate force behind my work” says artist Michael Drake. Michael was born in Buffalo, NY moving at an early age to Columbia, SC, his father’s hometown. “My art story began in high school when my drawing of the front of A. C. Flora High School in Columbia, SC was chosen for the inside 1971 diploma cover.” This early start in the world of art was halted 40 years while Michael worked in metal fabrication and later home repair, married and raised a family, and eventually settling in Augusta. “My wife bought me a canvas and some paint to jump start a return to art and it sat on the shelf for 2 years. After an injury while working with wood I decided to give it a go and now, about 700 paintings later, I’m looking at a full future” Michael relates. Currently the artist works in acrylics on canvas, but Michael looks forward to more exploration in watercolor, drawing, and other mediums. Michael is in tune with what “speaks to him and captivates him” and uses this as inspiration for his paintings. “I am very excited about my future as an artist!” Contact: 706-726-2548 michaeldrakeart@gmail.com facebook.com/michael.drake3
COBIE’S CORNER
My hoomans asked me to write a little column for their zine. I decided to do two better. Here are my wishes. Cobie’s Christmas List: 5. More toys for kitties 1. Toy with string and feathers 6. More playtime with kitties 2. Toy LED light 7. More snuggle time with kitties 3. Furry mouse on string 8. More time for napping 4. Cat treats 9. More new places to nap 5. More cat treats New Year’s Resolutions for My Hoomans: 6. More new cat treats daily 10. More cat treats 7. Cat treats hourly 11. More cat treats per day 8. Cat treats several times an hour 12. More cat treats per hour 9. Cat treats multiple times hourly per day 13. More and better cat treats New Year’s Resolutions for My Hoomans: 14. More toys for kitties 1. More cat treats 15. More playtime with kitties 2. More cat treats per day 16. More snuggle time with kitties 3. More cat treats per hour 17. More time for napping 4. More and better cat treats 18. More new places to nap These are my wishes for kitties around the world. A Meowy Christmas and a Nap-filled New Year to one and all! - COBIE What do you want for Christmas and the New Year ahead? Let Cobie know at betseyvenom@yahoo.com
RED QUEEN By Lakota Phillips
SPOTLIGHT ON SOUTHERN NOVELISTS An excerpt from “Murder Takes a Bow” by Charmain Z. Brackett I’d seen plenty of crime shows. There was always one episode with a macho rookie cop called to his first murder investigation. He’s usually shown rushing away from it with his hand over his mouth. Then you see him bent over and throwing up everything he’d eaten in the past several hours. Despite having a weak stomach and finding three dead bodies, I’d never thrown up before. There’s a first time for everything, I suppose. Maybe my brain didn’t take in all the previous scenes. With two of the bodies, there wasn’t really any blood; with Bill Andrews’ death, I was focused on his widow, not the scene. This time, however, I was alone. And this scene was much different from the rest. I won’t go into all the gory details. And it was definitely gory. It was violent, and I knew it was personal. Murder wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t funny. I’d thought it might get easier with each body I found, but it never did. As I stood in the middle of a stage with a spotlight focused on the lifeless body of a man with whom I’d exchanged words only a few hours before, I tried not to look at the body, but at the same time, I couldn’t help myself. I tried to soak in every detail. There was no doubt this was a murder – not an accident and not a suicide. I wasn’t an expert, but he had a gaping wound in the back of his head. He couldn’t have done that himself. Besides, if he’d fallen in such a way to injure the back of his head, wouldn’t he be lying face up instead of face down in a pool of his own blood? And oh, the blood! Did I mention that already? So much of it! Maybe it was a good thing I couldn’t see his face. There were too many other faces forever seared into my mind. As gruesome as it was, I tried not to stare; I tried to look away. But I couldn’t help myself.
“Murder Takes a Bow” is the fifth in the Grace's Augusta Mystery Series. All five of the books are set in Augusta and are available at The Book Tavern, which makes an appearance in one of the books in the series.
Well, well, well what has Charles Campbell been up to? He was only writing a trilogy of books that has readers gasping for air. If you haven’t heard of Mrs. Fields’ Journal or the two follow up books, The Locket and MAZUS, then where have you been hiding? Mrs. Field’s Journal starts it all and what is different from the get-go is that Charles reveals the name of the killer right on the cover with poor Billy’s name written down and accompanied by a blood spattered sunflower stuck in the journal’s pages. But, what you don’t know is the motivation of why Agnes Fields did what she did. The book takes place mostly in the 1980’s but does some time jumping to 2012. Charles did a brilliant job of tying this story up in a tidy little bow and since the release of Mrs. Fields’ Journal has written five other books but over those years the fans of Mrs. Fields’ Journal have been clamoring for a sequel. Charles resisted the urge to just churn out a sequel for a sequel’s sake. The story had to be there and in late 2017 the story came to him in the form of The Locket. The Locket is set six years after the conclusion of Mrs. Fields’ Journal and picks up with an adult Reggie living his life with his wife Cynthia and their daughter Tonya when an evil from the past rears its ugly head. Charles got about seventy thousand words into this book when he realized that the story wasn’t going to be wrapped up in The Locket; there had to be one final book, MAZUS. The Locket and MAZUS can honestly be read as one book because MAZUS picks up directly where The Locket leaves off and it is like a runaway freight train of horror, angst, and heroism. So, be sure to check out this awesome trilogy of books from a local author. You can check out his reviews on Amazon and Goodreads.com. If you want to order signed copies of his books, just head over to www.valleyboypublications.com and click on the bookstore tab. You’ll be glad that you did.
LOKAL LOUDNESS CD REVIEW By John Stoney Cannon
VILAI HARRINGTON & THE HAMPTONES SANDHILL SHAMAN Released October 31, 2019 Sometimes it's hard to believe that it was only about a handful of years ago that I first encountered a very young (and very tall) ever-smiling, heart on his sleeve wearing, barely out of the music box artist Vilai Harrington. Back then the heart of gold was far more obvious then any direction his still green musical path would take him, but in short time one thing was certain - Harrington was more than willing to give up anything and give everything to achieve his musical vision, not even allowing the prospects of a successful college (and possibly pro) basketball career (or even love) to stand in the way of applying the whole of his time and energy into chasing what some might call, "a foolish dream." While it's true that along the way Harrington has had his share of detractors, he has also been blessed with a growing cast of supporting musicians and fans helping fuel a second-to-none desire and drive ultimately leaving all those naysayers as a mere blip in the rear-view mirror. As warm and authentic as his multicultural upbringing in the Aiken / Sandhills region, the title of Harrington's most recent release, Sandhill Shaman, is more identity revealing testimony than arrogant proclamation. If last year's self-titled debut release dropped clues as to Harrington's sincere country folk roots embraced desires, Sandhills Shaman openly exhibits that, just as the vegetation found in his native Sandhills area possesses the natural ability to seek out water from various depths of soil in order (Cont.)
to survive, Harrington and his Hamptones are loaded with the capacity to siphon sounds from various roots styles in order to musically thrive. Opting for a more dark, moody entrance, immediately the Hamptones offer up a bit of an introduction ala the album's title tune. Falling somewhere between alt. folk and fellow Palmetto State southern rockers Marshall Tucker track "Fire on the Mountain", opening song "Sandhill Shaman" plays like a gritty souvenir of life on the road. The additional traces of classic 80’s country only adds to the charm of what appears to be, at least in part, a biographically painted picture of Harrington's musical journey with lines like "follow your own heart, everything looks black in the dark" a reminder that even the hearts greatest, most worthwhile pleasures come with a backside. Stark reminders of life's dark realities continue on the bouncy "See You or I Won't", a track as much about falling as it is about rising up. Presented live to the world around the time of singer-songwriter Phillip Lee's passing, Harrington bids a fond farewell to the leavers while urging the left behinds to "keep humming, keep bumming, keep thumbing through life." No beating around the bush, no candy coating, but yet when he sings "see you or I won't on the other side" somehow you know he means it with love. Fans of late Augusta Americana bands like Supachief and Horsepower would more than likely dig this track. Lately there's been a full-on movement among Millennials to crown several new Kings of "real" or "outlaw" country despite arriving decades after either truly existed on Earth. Landing somewhere between George Jones "Tear in My Beer" country and 90’s Alan Jackson, "Hole in My Heart" easily comes closer to classic sounding country than of the revivalists currently being praised today. If I can be honest, the entirety of Sandhills Shaman, with it's mix of folk, bluegrass, country, and Appalachian overtones lends a natural ear to early authentic country more than anything majorly labeled country out these days BUT "Hole in My Heart" in particular, written and mostly sung by Harrington's bandmate (and current main musical partner in crime) Adam Bachman is as classic country as things get. Bachman's old school country twang melds perfectly with Harrington's more folk styled vocal with each complimenting the other well here and through this entire release. If any song screams Appalachian folk on Sandhill Shaman it has to be "Trial and Error" with its lovely vocal / banjo tandem flowing side by side. Slow building with a soft tide of various stringed instruments, this sweet ballad of growth is well deserving of its tender place on this release. It nearly arrives as a pretty children's ditty before Sandhill Shaman comes full dark-sounding-circle on ironically titled closing track "Paradise." Lyrically the most storytelling style track of the five, this visual tune lends itself more to the dark stripped-back folk of Tom Joad era Bruce Springsteen than any of the well traveled folk artists that initially inspired the Boss' own folky leanings. Filled with nods to family, travel, trains, pistols, and empty pop bottles, "Paradise" paints a classic picture of lazy summer day barefoot bucks exploring rocks, rivers, and brush reminiscent of say the adventures of Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn. Old school boys story-esque visuals minus the old world country vernacular, yet beautifully presented in its own right. (Cont.)
From start to finish, Sandhill Shaman is a fitting recorded representation of Vilai Harrington & the Hamptones THE band. Bordering on live-sounding at times, each track balances well the sides of sparse and full in a way that each instrument can be picked out and heard. While some may debate its worth amongst today's top commercial contenders, perhaps the greatest value of Sandhill Shaman is the rare integrity, honesty, and emotion found within the songs. Yes there are wonderful hooks and melodies to be snagged by but they exist for the worth of the emotions shared, not the worth of possible music to be sold. If The Ghost of Tom Joad be considered Springsteen's novel, Sandhill Shaman must at the least merit the worth to be Harrington's short story collection. Definitely worth a listen for any ear perked up by coming of age tales of maturation and discovery. Band: Vilai Harrington - vocals, acoustic guitar, banjo Adam Bachman - dobro, pedal steel, vocals Josh Riley - bass Joe Tamburro - drums Jake Garrett - electric guitar, pedal steel www.vilaiharrington.com Born in the mid-sixties and raised on the incredible decade that was the music and pop culture explosion of the seventies and eighties, singer/songwriter/journalist and proud military brat John Stoney Cannon has turned his love for the music, movies, and television of the time into his own vocational calling card. Best known as the creator of 25 plus year CSRA music media site Lokal Loudness, Stoney has been blessed with a life that has allowed him to travel, visit, and perform in five different countries, perform and write music with some of his personal heroes, as well as write about what he loves most - music, pop culture, memories, and coffee.
Magnolia Lee’s Art Corner Give Art a Home for the Holidays My husband and I have an understanding. I buy art and hang it on the wall, and he pretends that I didn’t add another hole in the wall. Blank walls bother me. They need color. And my walls are a hodgepodge of works from local artists who I love. That being said, don’t buy stuff for your walls from the big boxes this Christmas. There are plenty of places in town to find art that suits your tastes or the tastes of someone on your shopping list. Art is the gift that keeps on giving. And we aren’t talking about having to mortgage your house to buy art either. There are a couple of exhibitions around town designed to let you beautify your surroundings without breaking the bank and feed a starving or not-so-starving artist in town. Check out 4P Studios Gallery on Roberts Road in Martinez behind Abilene Baptist Church. Regina Brejda moved to the newer larger space a couple of months ago. She’s got lots of local artists participating in the fifth annual $200 and under art exhibit. There’s more artwork connected to that show at the 600 Broad Gallery. Artwork will be available through Dec. 28. Also, the third annual winter art sale at the city gallery in the Augusta Municipal Building is taking place through Jan. 2. Another great place to look for art is Art on Broad. Kristin Varn has been selling local artists’ works for more than two decades, and she has a wide selection to choose from. Find steel Christmas ornaments, buttons made from recycled books, handcrafted jewelry, blown glass and so much more. For literary works of art, visit the Book Tavern. David Hutchison has a shelf devoted to the works of Augusta authors. For performing arts, maybe buy tickets to a performance at the Miller Theater, Imperial Theatre, or Bell Auditorium. Cirque Du Soleil will be at the Bell for six performances Jan. 2-5. “A Charlie Brown Christmas: Live On Stage” will be Dec. 26 at the Miller, and the Moscow Ballet Great Russian Christmas will be at the Miller on Dec. 30. The Imperial will host the National Ballet of Odessa’s production of “Romeo and “Juliet” on Dec. 20 and will kick off the new year with the annual Poison Peach Film Festival featuring the works of area filmmakers. Make your holiday season colorful, and Happy art 2020 everyone!
Stories from Nashville and Music Row It Wasn’t Guacamole by Michael Eubanks
The Live Room at Emerald Entertainment Group Tracking Room Studio (Bldg. 3)
So The Tracking Room is every recording nerd’s dream. A Tom Hidley design masterpiece of audio recording perfection, this was once the largest studio in Nashville. Contents of the mic closet alone can easily surpass the price tag of upscale homes throughout the CSRA. One of my favorite features though is a fish tank that blends into the design between the main entrance foyer, and leading into the main lounge. In the tank (back then) was a special guy that needed his (?) own TLC. Nothing like the graceful beauty of a lionfish. As dangerous as he was exotic. Arguably, the world's most famous drum/live vocal room was around the corner, and in the spacious control room was my favorite (geek alert!!!) recording console ever...an SSL 9000j Super Analogue from SSL (Oxford, England), and outboard gear that couldn't be beat. But I digress. If you went down a few steps into the lounge area, you were in a well-visited retreat, complete with kitchen, (Cont.)
pool table, wrap around comfy furniture, producers office, etc. Susan W. (the main Concierge and glue that kept us all entertained) was well known for her hummus recipe, and made it often. She probably slapped David and my hands away from her huge bowl of hummus (as we held spoons trying to sneak a bite here and there) as many times as she made it. Now David was a favorite Assistant there and we worked a lot together...assistants were often in pairs unless schedule didn't permit.
The lobby at Emerald.
David and I were scheduled at The Tracking Room (Bldg. 3) one day when a huge session was scheduled. A young artist building his career was recording there, with a full band of A-List studio musicians. His name was Blake Shelton. Quiet, very polite...neither too confident or too cocky. He was being molded into what would become a major artist in country music, and more. Anyway, the main lounge was rearranged to accommodate a huge buffet that had been catered for Blake & company. Dave and I took a break at about the same time the "talent" finished up. There was still a ton...I mean...A TON of food left over and no one was interested in taking anything home with them. Not even Susan's hummus. Dave and I soon heard a very magic phrase...Blake stuck his head in the door and said "We're done, you guys can help yourselves if you'd like." He didn't have to say it twice. Buffet? Everything you could imagine? Well slap my a** and call me Esmeralda! Where's my bib? ;p (Cont.)
So our biggest challenge was deciding what to put on our plates first, so not to fill ourselves too quickly. Asian food, Thai, Indian, Fried Chicken, salads, jeeeeeesh. I saw the sushi spread, but I was pretty much a sushi virgin. (You know...the imitation crabmeat kind). But this stuff was all over the place, and honestly, if I stared at some of it, I might have gotten queasy. So I focused on the rolls. These little, bite sized discs of Asian delight. Imitation fish or real fish, crab, shrimp, tuna tartar...it was all there. And lots of green stuff. Huge clumps and mounds of it. Somebody definitely had an affinity for it. So David fixes his plate and I fix mine...shadowing what he did. As he eats his first bite of sushi, I place a fork full in my mouth, as he takes notice that my bite had no "green stuff". He says "No....you're supposed to put a little of this (pointing to the green stuff) on it before you eat it." Easy enough, I thought. I'll just chase my plain Jane bite with a mixing spoon full of that guacamole (what I thought it must have been) and everything will be fine. I take that huge lump of green into my mouth, chasing the sushi, and lost all memory of time. Imagine the funniest Warner Brothers or Looney Tunes cartoon you ever watched with a character that has a 4 alarm fire in their mouth. That was me. Tears shot out of my eyes, ricocheted by my eyeglasses. I was drenched in sweat. My face was red and tears were streaming...I think steam (or smoke) was escaping my nostrils and my ears simultaneously. I felt as if every orifice on my body was about to spew lava. Around this time, Blake and company decide for a quick break, and Blake comes down into the lounge...looks at my disheveled, and very miserable self, and asks as he busts out laughing "Did you just do what in the hell I think you just did?" Well, Blake may never have eaten sushi either, but he certainly knew how to though. And that is how I learned a certain glop of green mashed potatoes looking stuff is not spelled "guacamole" but instead is spelled "wasabi." True story. Dave left Emerald during the economic slump in music and now works for Big Machine label group founded by Scott Borchetta (Reba, Taylor Swift, Rascal Flatts, Sugarland, etc). Blake Shelton has a well-established career, and I have no idea what happened to the lionfish. ...and no one, to this day, has made better hummus than Susan W. I miss those great times!
Michael Eubanks teaches music in Aiken, SC! www.facebook.com/MikeEubanksMusicLessons At left: Lobby of the Tracking Room where I learned to eat sushi the hard way, among other delicacies. (All photo credits: Michael Eubanks)
International Troubadour An Espresso a Day Helps the Minstrel to Play A New Feature by John Stoney Cannon of Lokal Loudness
Around 1,500 or so years ago early literary and musical religious figure Saint Ambrose spoke words of advice that years later would enter popular language as the much used "when in Rome, do as the Romans do." But what if your journey takes you just short of Rome? What if the path extends through espresso drenched hills and valleys of grapevines and melodic rhymes further north? And what if the company includes family and an acoustic guitar? What if you're wondering why a Southeastern US publication is featuring a bit about Italy? Well actually as someone who has enjoyed happy vibes at many of the South’s best lokal caffes, I just figured I'd start this series in a place where coffee is as regular to the heart as is love. (Cont.)
A place where every visit or after meal question is simply, "caffe?" Your regular blend of lokal begins next issue. Now I could gush for days about old haunts and memories and even rant about the fact that the Atlanta airport served Illy coffee while the airline itself (and the airport in Paris) serves a certain Seattle brand but why be typical when the vibe of Italian coffee shops is far more...romantic and a beautiful place to take a song. The past two visits to the area have seen Pasticceria Bar Antonella become our daily stop. Despite a stonefaced cashier and a toilet that is basically a hole over a flowing river, the cappuccino and several hundred daily made fresh confections are top notch and inexpensive. For around the price of a single cappuccino at Starbucks my Juliet and I can indulge in not only our own cups, but a pastry each as well plus, the wifi signal is stellar. The music is barely audible but on average the inside temperature is chilly. Funny seeing how this once regular caffe hangout ended up being replaced by a nearby gelato bar. Located barely half a mile down the same road, Bar Gelateria Eden not only has the best in gelato but far superior espresso fare, huge pastries, AND my wife's newfound fave crema caffe, a yummy blend of espresso and gelato. The friendly staff, proper toilets, and cool music videos only added to our reasons for making this our NEW daily fuel up wifi spot. Other cool spots in the vicinity included Amabile Caffe Sovizzo a nifty modern caffe cranking out hot coffee with a reggae and Italian soul soundtrack tailor made for the customers of the nearby pharmacy and tattoo parlor - and the towering Caffe Vero - an upscale three story multi-use bar backed by a roastery and warehouse used to provide coffee to a third of Italy's coffee establishments. It's not everyday you are seated and waited on for coffee. Caffe Oselladore in nearby Vicenza was simply charming with a soft vibe while Fiori Casa Cucina in Brendola had the widest array of custom espresso specialties including crema shots overlooking a menu of pastas, pizzas, and European beers.
(Cont.)
Now for all the greatness of each caffe, the best moments are reserved for the heart and in Italy family and caffe go hand in hand like wine and pasta, and of course Romeo and Juliet. The best tasting moments included after dinner espresso with nearly twenty family members at a pizza spot, catching up over Grappa or Prugna laced cups while visiting various aunts, uncles, and cousins, and mostly sitting with Mom laughing over various forms of java. At times the acoustic was brought out creating fun moments singing along with the wife and son while occasionally pulling out a tune my Italian family loudly sang along or clapped hands to. Yes, there are few things more entertaining than throwing back espresso before launching into "Baby Shark" for your cousin’s three year old daughter as a room of Italians full of amazing food, coffee, wine, liquor, and joy laugh, dance, and roughly bellow along. There's just something magical about a simple acoustic in a mellow coffee scenery that is far more spiritual than trying to share music in a bar over an audience of loud voices and clanging glasses. Whether it be a coffee house, living room, porch, or any quiet place filled with the sweet blend of coffee, acoustics, community, there is just an emotional calmness that is rare elsewhere. It's beautiful medicine. And in today's world, we could all sure use days of natural uplifting beautiful medicine. Cento di questi giorni, Stoney
Stoney says: “I rock, and I have this thing… www.lokalloudnessmusic.com”
The Artist Series: Yoko Ono An Art Series by Francie Klopotic
Graphite and Prismacolor on Bristol Board
Find Francie at www.francieklopotic.weebly.com
A Note From The Publisher
Hello intentional people! Y’know, I’ve not written anything at all for you since the inception of this zine way back in September of 2017. So, that said, here I am. I hope you are continuing to enjoy this little zine! First: I wish to thank all of the contributors who have shared their work in the pages of intentional pompadour. This zine was created for YOU, the Southern creative, in order to give you a place to express yourself and to have your work published and distributed both in print locally and online across the world. What started as an idea to spread a bit of my work around the Augusta area has turned into something a lot bigger and more meaningful, and I can’t tell you enough how humbled I am by its growth. Second: If not for you, dear reader, this wouldn’t be happening. Thank you for picking up a copy each quarter. Thank you for looking at the online edition. Thank you for giving this project all your love and attention. And THANK YOU for your support, David Hutchison. You are the best. Now that word is getting out about the zine, more people are coming on board to contribute their words and have their voices heard. 2020 is going to see a further evolution. Just wait and see what’s in store for you! I set up a Patreon account at the launch of last September’s issue in order to offer folks a way to contribute toward moving the zine forward both in print and online. As a one-person operation working out of her home, I do all of the editing, formatting, compiling, communicating, printing, scoring, mailing, and distributing by myself. Trust me, it is fun work that I deeply love! Unfortunately, though, the cost of paper, ink, postage, and gas kinda add up over time. Thus the Patreon. You may visit the page here: https://www.patreon.com/intentionalpompadour For as little as $1 per month, you not only help to get the zine into more hands, but you also directly impact the work of those whose pieces are published each quarter AND you receive a fresh-off-the-press copy of each issue mailed directly to your door! If you feel like you’d enjoy being a part of this project, please consider a Patreon patronage. $1 per month goes a long, long way! Thank you, all of you, for everything. Always remember to stay intentional! ~ Betsey Venom, publisher