An American Diary
The idea of AN AMERICAN DIARY sprung from my memories of youth. There were two camps in my family, the jazzzers and the longhairs. Picture a very crowded tenement, three railroad rooms in the Bronx filled with my father, his brother, out of work tapdancers billed in vaudeville as ‘Moe’ and ‘Boe,’ and my aunts and uncles who were struggling singers, musicians and composers. One grandfather played jazz guitar and another blared opera and classics on his radio to ward off the dreaded ‘jazz’ coming from the living room. Since we’re from Italian-Jewish ancestry, there was an extra spicy heat in our debates as to what was considered ‘high’ and ‘low’ art. So my split personality began early, not just musically but culturally, as well. All through the ‘40s it was Puccini vs. Hot Club of France, and Caruso vs. Ol’Blue Eyes. Mateo dragged me to the opera while my Dad planned the usual jaunt to catch one of the big bands on Broadway. It was an incredible time!
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