"Diesel Cats and the Jazz Explorers departed from San Francisco Bay on May 17, 1990. Their 52-foot plywood ketch, The Blue Alembic, was equipped with twin diesel Cummins Marine engines, a collection of fine seaworthy microphones, and a state-of-the-art DAT recorder to capture the musical adventures they were intent on pursuing. Fourteen months later they sent me this chronicle of their year before the mast, their first long-playing cassette album In Search of Blue Treasure.
"The central and burning question that suffuses and drives this album is 'Who am I?' Cats and the Explorers throw themselves into this question time and time again, always surfacing with a new piece of the puzzle, a new shade of blue. Listen to the impending danger of 'Barified,' the jaunty hip-ocracy of 'Columbus Disrupts,' the suspended innocence of 'A Typical '50s Night,' the dark yet hopeful mystery of 'For Joan's Dog;' delight and dance to the quirkily intimate 'Pirate Song' and the perkily buoyant 'Oregon Gumbo' and 'Fake African Cats;' there's plenty here to both provoke the mind ('Fidel' and 'Patriot Song') and soothe the soul ('Thar He Blows').
"The Jazz Explorers have been playing together as a unit for nearly 15 years. In spite of their name, they have yet to discover much jazz, but they bring a seasoned and sophisticated naivete to everything they play. And Diesel Cats, as captain and musical director, is a bricoleur extraordinaire, here combining flotsam and jetsam into a masterpiece of chamelionic syncretism. Despite the corporate sponsorship of the Blue Treasure Expedition/Tour (Budweiser and Miller were passed over for Friskies), Diesel Cats and the Jazz Explorers have completely spurned crass commercialism and bring to those whose tastes are most unusual and refined an album of rare beauty - by turns deep and mystical, then lite and playful, and yet always true and blue. In Search of Blue Treasure is an instant classic, whimsically metaphysical and spiritually uplifting, a tribute to the enduring values of the human soul."
"From distant lands, even the seabirds could feel the clanking certainties of war in August, '90."
The moon fell hard on the sands of Arabia,
back home the low-riders slicked their hair for a night on the town.
And the white boys talk like they want some color in their blood,
and the new kid, Einstein, thinks the next bomb will be Muslim.
I got the small town jitters in a big-time way,
I can smell the whole thing comin' down.
And somewhere, someday,
one of these nights,
the truth will be barified.
And Joanie says, "Let's relax at Lois the Pie Queen's."
But I can't.
I just know, I can feel it,
comin' down behind the old six-two
down the up train south of town, yeah,
somewhere, someday,
one of these nights,
the truth will be barified.
Diesel "Mel" Cats - vocals
Franco "Cat-Man" Duwe - electric guitar
Stu "Cats" Mulligatawny - baritone sax
Manx Ah-Moongus - bass
"Cat" Jones - drums
"None of us knew what we'd be someday. The Dance is done bouncing on bent knees, swaying and rolling to the swells of the Sargasso Sea."
They asked me what I wanted to be
when I grew up, I said
I didn't know,
I thought I might screw up.
Who'd ever have thought I'd be a pirate.
I thought I might wear a dress some day,
I thought I might work for
very little pay.
I never would have thought in all my livin' days
that it would turn out quite this way.
I'm a pirate, you see,
livin' it up,
I take my fever right out to the sea,
I meet Jean Lafitte, and all those pretty boys sweet,
I dig the bullion treasure to the doo-dah . . .
A pig! I say,
"Oh I love this life."
I couldn't ever give it up now that I've had a taste
of the pirate's life:
sunrise, the sunset,
and every day's a little treasure,
that's the pirate's life!
". . . there's a hole in the center, and a heart over-ripe . . ."
Run up the flag, the stars and the stripes
I cleaned up the carport with my best handi-wipes
Sun in the morning, the moon and a cloud
There's a hole in the center, and a heart over-ripe
Diesel "Mel" Cats - vocals
Felonious Cat - keyboards and sampling
Stu "Cats" Mulligatawny - baritone sax
"Cat" Jones - drums
"Treat Africa well, for some of the deepest roots are there."
We was lookin' for somethin' like the root of a tree,
one of us black, and two white out of three.
In certain deep matters, no trace of a doubt
that our black dog Coltrane had reached mastery.
So we got into Tunis as hot as could be,
the shimmering desert was all mystery.
We'd come from a land, glutted and proud,
in need of a knowing that'd set our souls free.
So a man from the mountains with a gaze of maratabat
spied us and instantly saw what we sought.
He appeared as a mirage, or a shadow in a shroud,
we hadn't a chance for action or thought.
Lifting up Coltrane as if proffering a gift
he looked to the sun, and with only a shift
the dog disappeared and the man spoke out loud,
"The African sands have been too long bereft.
"The blood and the bones of the master returned,
look over your shoulders and see what you've earned -
that which is holy and can't be snuffed out,
though the body's been butchered and buried and burned.
"Return to your country and be brave and free,
listen for Coltrane in the waves and the breeze.
Friends you were once with all of you live,
and friends you are still and will ever be."
Now Coltrane, pure black dog of desire,
lies buried in Tunis, his heart still afire.
There's no way around it and there's no way out:
there's a soul in the center, and a heart that's for hire.
Prelude:
Diesel "Mel" Cats - vocals
Jeff Massanari - electric guitar
Max Ah-Moongus - bass
"Cat" Jones - drums
Tombeau:
Stu "Cats" Mulligatawny - baritone sax
Fathead Cats - alto sax
Jeff Massanari - electric guitar
Felonious Cat - piano
Manx Ah-Moongus - bass
"Cat" Jones - drums
"A true story (a love story, actually, in disguise): a regular old song for all the old-time Cats fans."
I walked arm in arm with Fidel in Havana town.
He was a man of experience, and I of minor note.
He was troubled by the state of his Cuba,
I knew how time can turn things around. I said,
"Remember that time back in '62
when we buried our heads 'neath our desks?
Well now I know that you were not the enemy."
Just let go, Fidel,
give Havana back to the night.
Just let go, Fidel,
your home will be all right.
I was raised in a dream with my head buried deep in the sand.
I was a child of suburbia and all the world was white.
But when Fidel arrived he stayed up in Harlem.
He knew that he could turn things around.
And Dizzie and Angela and Alice and Malcolm,
they all had respect for Fidel.
It was a time when he was not the enemy.
Just let go, Fidel,
give Havana back to the night.
Just let go, Fidel,
your home will be all right.
I talked heart to heart with Fidel in Havana town,
"My deepest apologies for all my country's deeds.
But there's a darkness in the hearts of your Cubans,
they see how time has turned things around." I said,
"You've given your life to a great revolution
and done what you set out to do.
But now I feel that you've become the enemy."
Just let go, Fidel,
give Havana back to the night.
Just let go, Fidel,
your home will be all right.
Just let go, Fidel,
give Havana back to the night.
Just let go, Fidel,
your heart will be all right.
