Blue Planet Blues Vol. 1 Hitchhiking the Psychedelic Matrix

By Holly Avila

Travel back in time on a journey through the free love '70's. Read what happens when a young woman coming of age turns on, tunes in & drops out on a quest for freedom and spiritual self-discovery. Hitch a ride with Holly from go-go dancing jobs to hippy communes to anti-war demonstrations with nothing but a backpack, guitar and her thumb. Dive into romantic LSD trips and magical experiences as our heroine explores the edges of existentialism & the irony of love.

In this opening chapter of the series, we are introduced to Holly's pursuit of truth after rebelling against her cloistered life & upbringing with a midwestern military family. Through her love affairs, philosophical musings & psychedelic experimentation we are brought on a journey around the continent as a reflection of her internal search for answers. Why have I never felt at home? Why did my mother give me up? Why do I feel incomplete without a lover? Why does the 'real world' seem so unreal to me?

Holly Avila is an artist, author & musician who has been writing & performing songs since the 1970s. Her love of folk music led her to Greenwich Village, NYC where she formed the bands NY Frets & later Wheels, playing the tri-state country-bluegrass-blues circuit for 12 years. In 1986, Variety wrote, "The city came through vividly in the lyrics, but her deep-rooted singing was pure country like maple syrup poured over a stack of flapjacks." Her music found its way to the big screen in 1987 when Wheel's song "Trying Very Hard" appeared in the feature film Kandyland. 

Holly later joined the Juggernaut String Band in Pennsylvania while raising her children. They performed around the Delaware Water Gap area & appeared on the main stage of the Philly Folk Festival in 2000. She then went on to form her own world fusion project Blue Planet / Planeta Azul to explore her interest in Latin American folk forms, multi-cultural influences & psychedelic rock. Global Rhythm Magazine selected her Cumbia "Querida De Mi Alma" for their November 2006 Global Rhythm on Disc compilation. In 2009 she released her debut album "Mountains Back Home" on all digital streaming platforms, defining Blue Planet's new sound of Pan-American Fusion. 

In 2011 Holly drove cross-country to Baja California, Mexico where she wrote & recorded her upcoming project "West Coast Bound" EP which is due to be released in late 2018.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Holly Avila
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781981067916

Book preview

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STORY, MUSIC & ARTWORK BY HOLLY AVILA

EDITED BY BERNICE OSTROWER

© HOLLY AVILA 2018

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781981067916

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/VgIYP27jcmRjjSHuZmDzOT6UwTcXeDTQ68i1qBXXOV7pcqUcPsPVZasVrZS-K8bPQWKOTNbD5X3HBd9CwiQuMGsyVFUjoOTHwRwGeHBiUPvaKraJGiT51XqpP1-KVKBquAVpDOnL

Holly Avila is an artist, author & musician who has been writing & performing songs since the 1970s. Her love of folk music led her to Greenwich Village, NYC where she formed the bands NY Frets & later Wheels, playing the tri-state country-bluegrass-blues circuit for 12 years. In 1986, Variety wrote The city came through vividly in the lyrics, but her deep-rooted singing was pure country, like maple syrup poured over a stack of flapjacks. Her music found its way to the big screen in 1987 when Wheel's song Trying Very Hard appeared in the feature film Kandyland.

https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/QsiSOykPHlrOZ7kAlYepcf3LUnsn0yFc53OsYwsq7ENAtyn9R63kTo6OE6QGAchvVb3UVrS6y9gwSng7sKaS9M5qIiqhhEfTnnyZzomqHq803nhHlsktXw7yA82r7Vr_5gLuZsMw

Holly later joined the Juggernaut String Band in Pennsylvania while raising her children. They performed around the Delaware Water Gap area & appeared on the main stage of the Philly Folk Festival in 2000. She then went on to form her own world fusion project Blue Planet / Planeta Azul to explore her interest in Latin American folk forms, multi-cultural influences & psychedelic rock. Global Rhythm Magazine selected her Cumbia Querida De Mi Alma for their November 2006 Global Rhythm on Disc compilation. In 2009 she released her debut LP album "Mountains Back Home" on all digital streaming platforms, defining Blue Planet's new sound as Pan-American Fusion.

In 2011 Holly drove cross-country to Baja California, Mexico where she wrote & recorded her upcoming project West Coast Bound EP due to be released in late 2018. For more info visit HollyAvila.com

VOL. 1

HITCHHIKING THE

PSYCHEDELIC MATRIX

Moments of ecstasy come easily, just close my eyes and feel this subway car hurtle me forward on the edge of my memories and my dreams. The city glistens in her glory as the train traverses the Williamsburg Bridge. Oh yes, I know well the evils, the debaucheries, and abuse lurking in the shadows, but in the light of May sunshine glimmering off the wall of the Empire State Building, the city is glorious in her monolithic beauty. My eyes follow avenues as if exploring canyons, catching quick glimpses of scenes from my past.

I change for the F at Essex, and then on to 2nd Ave. Any New York pilgrimage must include a trip to B & H Dairy Kosher Luncheonette, for the world’s best split pea soup and challah bread. It’s located just south of the Gem Spa on 2nd Ave at St Mark’s, where you can get a real New York egg cream. B and H has been a vegetarian haven since the ‘60’s. There is no danger of there being any ham hocks in this soup.

The long chrome counter along the right side faces steaming pots of soup and a grill. The menu is written on cardboard posters above the grill. The counter still has the round, backless padded seats with little footrests. There is a line of small tables squeezed against the wall to the left. I sit at the counter.

The help consists of all warm, friendly Mexicans now. That authentic New York sarcasm which used to come with the meal is no longer a part of the experience. I order my soup and bread, and one perfect cheese blintz, remembering my first time there in 1976, when the owner impatiently insulted and intimidated me to tears. Back in those days, New York had a way of initiating Midwestern immigrants. Tradition! Gene, my partner in love and music at the time, grinned like a Cheshire cat at my confusion and discomfort over not knowing how to order food in a kosher restaurant. It was a Woody Allan movie.  He was a New York Jewish hippie, and I a typical Midwestern shiksa.  At least I was a vegetarian and did not try to order a ham sandwich on white bread with mayo. That was the standing joke about shiksas, but I was not looking for anything that would be for me normal or familiar. I was on an adventure. Discovering the cultures that found it normal to create interesting and delicious vegetarian food was a revelation for me. Everything about the food and the environment in New York was exotic and fascinating.

But, since the 1980’s, with the influx of money, the Reagan no- holds barred capitalism and the yuppie generation, the city had become gentrified. The ethnic, poor, or industrial neighborhoods are being bought up and homogenized, and they are no longer diverse, much less a refuge for the misfits.

Greenwich Village had been a safe island for intellectuals since before the days of Eugene O’Neill. There were always enclaves for the artists and the outcasts in places like the Lower East Side. You just have to know where to find them now, like at the Nuyorican Poet’s Café, in alphabet city.

The motto in New York is, If you’re one in a million, there are eight of you here. In other words, get over yourself. Or, If no one has ever understood you, seven others here just might. Or, conversely, If you stick out like a sore thumb every place else, no one even cares in NYC. It was the one place in the world where I could fade into the woodwork. This is why artists and celebrities love it. Respect the anonymity. You can be too right for the right and too left for the left and still find your niche.

New York was a city of opinions. Everyone had at least one, and was quick to let you know. Long lines in grocery stores became discussion groups. Cashiers were expected to put you in your place. The thing about freedom of speech is, you use it or you lose it, and back then in NYC, it was alive and well and functioning robustly on the streets. I was enchanted and amazed, as they pulled me out of my Midwestern shyness. Times have changed and now no one anywhere is permitted a unique opinion, except for the few of us who still have places where we pretend to be free. New York’s underbelly looks frightening because freedom isn’t safe.

As I sit there waiting for my food, I observe an old dude at a table against the wall near the door, and form the opinion that he is a sexual predator, or at least a pervert. He is trying to engage conversation with two lovely young ladies who are standing at the cash register paying for their freshly squeezed orange juice.

I try to announce my observation to the room, since my instinct is to jump in and protect women.

"Que pasa con eso pendejo?" I ask out loud.

No one reacts to me, as if they haven’t even heard me or understood me, not even the Mexicans behind the counter. Back in the day, an open casual remark was fair game for the entire room. It used to be fun, but those days are gone.

The old, rough looking dude is over there, sitting at his table by the door, mumbling about ripe tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, plum tomatoes, in some kind of sexual reference, as if the girls will acknowledge him for saying such things, and be delighted about it. They ignore him, and I shudder at the memory of my first years in Greenwich Village.

I had been blissfully ignorant of the motives behind some of the smiling faces. Thankfully, I was too old and not quite pretty enough for the dangerous predators. Actually, at 23, I was simply too old for NYC. No one noticed a female older than 18 years unless she was skinny, blonde, wealthy, and famous, or at least three of the four. In my long antique velvet skirts and satin bed jackets, tie up combat boots, wild brown hair in unkempt cascades, I looked like a gypsy escapee from a renaissance faire. I was living the Incredible String Band while the world was going disco.

There was a sprinkling of true hippiedom in the Village still, but it was fading fast. It had been more than ten years since the real heyday of the folk music scene in the Village. Tales of folk singers and beatniks and howling poets had drawn me here. The anti war movement was watered by the lyrics of the songwriters in the dark bars. Had Buffy St Marie performed Universal Soldier in such a place? Where had Ferlinghetti read his poems here? I had thought that something moral happens when freedom of speech is permitted. Greenwich Village was a Never Never land where you did not have to grow up and join insane adulthood. You could remain in the idealism of youth forever. This was surely a place where women are equals, where our exploration of sex and love could be just as free and just as open. What had appeared to me at the time as sexual freedom had turned out to be a cover for pedophiles, predators, and misogynists. The world was not ready for that kind of equality, but my generation opened the door and got it started.  

The free love movement had a dark side. A woman who was young and free was a woman who was not demanding that a man take equal responsibility for the results of sex.  Women found out that we ended up having to pay for our own birth control, yeast infection medicine, urinary tract infection medicine, penicillin, and eventually abortions. The men could jump around relatively freely while we still got saddled with the most heart wrenching of the side effects. What had been a party was turning into a standoff. There was nothing equal or fair about our biology.

But for a short time it was the idealistic dance of our generation, changing partners in curious love, like innocents at play in the fields of endorphins. Every friendly pair of eyes and sincere smile represented a potential new playmate in the best of all waltzes. LSD helped to dissolve all the barriers that had prevented humans from such a frank and honest approach to intimacy. It was a generation under the Eleusinian sway of our own overwhelming pheromones. It was a moment in time when a whole generation was initiated into the mysteries, participated in sacred sex, calling it free love. Then we watched the whole thing degenerate under the weight of the real world’s consequences for sex, which turned out to affect women more than men. We tried to fly with the angels and found out we were human. We are angels trapped inside of animals.

As I ponder New York in the ‘70’s and all of Gene’s friends who had boasted so loudly of their freedom, I continue to watch the old dude at his table by the door and think that they all probably look like him now: wizened with long, thin straggly hair.  I chuckle to myself because they were so arrogant at the time. I wrote a poem sometime in the ‘80’s about them:

Just because you didn’t care when you were 19 and delicious,

and used that to justify a habit of being vicious,

doesn’t mean that you will love your solitary choice

when age has given loneliness a louder, clearer voice.

Then my food arrives. The split pea soup is definitive. There is no thin broth with some peas floating in it; it is a pure, thick puree of dried peas cooked for a long time with lots of onions,