NED MASSEY'S

"FOUR MESSAGES"

An Appreciation

By Steve Ludwig

There's a big locked door

But you have the key

       

                                                                         -"Visitation Day," Ned Massey

Does God exist? If so, what kinds of signs does He send us to let us know of His existence? Is an insect landing on a windowsill a sign, or is it, simply, an insect landing on a windowsill and nothing more?

Ned Massey, singer/ songwriter/ actor, asks and answers these (and other) questions in his incredible play, FOUR MESSAGES.

Last night, along with my friend Evan Ginzburg, I had the privilege of attending Ned's play at Studio Theater on Theater Row, 410 42nd St., NYC.

I first learned of Ned Massey through Evan. I saw a post by Evan on Facebook about one of Ned's CD's, Bloodties.

I downloaded the album and was immediately hooked. There wasn't a clunker in the bunch. I'm a music lover, and was ashamed of myself; how come I hadn't heard of Ned Massey until only a few months ago? He's been recording for the past thirty years. The late John Hammond, the legendary producer who discovered Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen (among others) put Ned on a songwriting par with both Dylan and Bruce. 

Why hadn't I learned of Ned until only recently?

My question was answered by Ned in Four Messages.

An intimate, sixty-seat theater houses the play. We sat in the second row; Ned and his fellow actors and musicians, Sarah Hund and Christopher Sutton, were practically within arm's length while on the stage. What a way to experience a play!

Four Messages is the true story of Ned's life's experiences, thus far. His story is certainly bittersweet (to say the least).

He grew up in a Catholic household, and, although I promise not to give up any spoilers, suffice to say, Ned has questioned & embraced, embraced & questioned God's existence more than a few times throughout his life in music.

He cites four specific moments in his amazing true story in which he received "messages" from God.

Ned sings songs from his music catalog, with an emphasis on songs from Bloodties and A Brief Appearance (which I've listened to twice already today). Both of these CD's were available at the performance. (Before the show began, Ned let all of us in the audience know that the CD's are there, take them if you want, at no cost [wow!!], or you can leave any donation you'd like. Well, I had already downloaded Bloodties, so I anxiously took A Brief Appearance. I figured out what it would have cost me to buy the CD online, added on the shipping, then tacked on an additional five bucks and gladly put my money in the donations bucket. I urge all of you to do the same; please support the independent arts.)

The very cool, albeit spare, scenery is very creative. Clever use of guitars and Polaroid snapshots, a few chairs and a table are it; but that's all that's needed.Ned, Sarah, and Christopher create the rest of the images through Ned's words.

I was really happy to hear that my two favorite songs from Bloodties, "The Car Swerved"  and "In the Park" were included among the play's songs.

The first half of the play featured Ned playing guitar, singing (a breathtaking voice), as well as narrating between songs; Sarah accompanied superbly on violin, and Christopher, equally superb, played the second acoustic guitar. They also sang backup to Ned's lead vocals.

At strategic points in the play (and in his life), Ned speaks directly to God; and yes, he receives His answer.

The second half features Christopher and Sarah, playing the parts of Ned and his wife Kate, while Massey sits effectively and silently, on stage in full view of us. As the characters of Ned and Kate sing and act out Ned's life in heart-wrenching fashion, Massey interjects at key moments. His sad, almost dejected, countenance communicates his life's worth of angst to the point where I could hear audience members sniffling away the tears.

As promised, I won't offer any spoilers here. I hope you'll be able to experience Ned's brilliance just as all of us in last night's audience did. 

If not, treat yourself; purchase Ned's music. Each song offers a personal glimpse into this, at times, tortured, artist's psyche.

I can't wait to see Ned (as well as other artists) in producer Evan Ginzburg's upcoming film, THE STAGE IS MY ALTAR.

In the meantime, listen to Ned Massey's recent interviews on Evan Ginzburg's Legends Radio.net as well as The Rendezvous Radio Show with Cris and Alysia. Search the shows' recent archives to find the interviews.

I'm hoping after FOUR MESSAGES' current run, Ned will continue to present his incredible story at other venues.

You still have time to catch it. It runs through May 4 at its present location: 410 42nd. St., NYC.

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So, hey, why not check out my radio show? You'll have fun...I promise!! www.PlanetLudwig.com

THANKS TO ALL OF YOU FOR THE OVER-17,000 PAGE VIEWS.

FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER: www.Twitter.com/LudGuy

Hey, did you know I survived quintuple open-heart bypass surgery, and I had the nerve to think it was funny?

  Well, it's all in my first book, SEE YOU IN CCU: A LIGHTHEARTED TALE OF MY OPEN-HEART SURGERY.

It's available at www.PlanetLudwig.com

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My brother Tom, aside from being a wiseguy, has a blog also! Together with his buddy since second grade, they debate all things political, sports, and pop culture. It's called Second Grade Minds:

www.secondgrademinds.wordpress.com

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As always, thanks for reading and good health to you all!

   -Steve Ludwig

"LET'S SHUFFLE WIMPY TO THE CHAIR"

From my book,  SEE YOU IN CCU

 A LIGHTHEARTED TALE OF MY OPEN-HEART SURGERY

By Steve Ludwig

The following is from Chapter Nine:

That first night after the procedure was, by far, the haziest, most surreal time of my entire hospital stay.

It was 2:15 early Saturday morning, almost a full day since my operation. It was at that time when two of my nurses lost their minds.

They came to my bed and told me it was time for me to walk from my bed to the recliner chair. Huh? I thought I had a few more months before considering actually moving. And how they were going to accomplish this impossible feat was completely lost on me. I couldn't even blink my eyes without fear of my chest staples popping open, and they want to MOVE MY BODY?

I was sure they had the wrong patient.

Does the doctor know they're going to do this? Who gave the OK? I want to talk to my congressman! Who is my congressman, anyway?

Are these two even real nurses? Maybe they're a couple of those cheese-eating candy stripers they allow to walk around this joint.

When the nurses positioned themselves on each side of my bed, I knew I was doomed. So this is how I'm going to die: trying to move.

That chair had to be two whole feet away! But there was no fighting it now. I didn't have the power to resist.

"OK, sweetie, slide over little by little." They were talking nicely because they knew I was going to die; I was on to their little game.

Me? Slide over? I was scared to breathe too hard, and they wanted me to slide over.

Somehow I did it.

The nurse on my right side gently slid her arm behind my head. Oh, no, what good can possibly come out of this?

"We're going to sit up on three." WE are going to sit up on three?

"One, two, three."

I gave my obligatory "uggghhh" moan. The other nurse swung my legs slowly over the side of the bed.

It suddenly occurred to me that they knew exactly what they were doing. They hadn't lost their minds; I had lost mine.

I relaxed a bit, yet I was pretty sure the step down from the bed to the floor would end my life.

It didn't.

Instead, I was miraculously standing straight up, with each one of these marvelous nurses holding an arm, tenderly yet securely.

"OK, little steps now."

I kind of shuffled two steps, my tubes and intravenous bag following alongside. I sat down in the chair, tentative as ever, positive that everything would splat apart. My nurses placed a blanket over my lap, reclined my chair back a bit, soothing me in the process.

"We'll be right outside." They left, closing the curtain behind them; and there I sat, completely still. Without moving my head, I darted my eyes back up to the clock: 2:25. What a traumatic ten minutes!

Sitting in the chair, I was so afraid I'd hurt myself by moving the wrong way. I was convinced that if I twisted the least bit, my staples would come out, the wires that held my ribcage together would shift apart and become misaligned and heal wrong, my stomach and intestines would spill out and drip into my urine bag. While I was at it, I wondered if my visitors would be able to see that bag of pee. Was it hidden? Who cares? I just had heart surgery!

By the way, some friendly advice if you ever have a hospital stay: Leave your pride in the lobby when you first get there. The quicker you learn not to care what part of your body the nurses see, the more enjoyable the overall experience will be.

Scared to move because of the whole stomach-and-intestines thing, I sat virtually motionless in my recliner for at least an hour. I was perched on a bothersome, wrinkled overturned part of my hospital gown. But I was convinced that this fold on my butt wasn't anywhere as uncomfortable as it would have been if I had moved to fix the wrinkle. That's the type of logic I dealt with in those first few days after my procedure.

I eventually was helped out of the recliner with each nurse again grasping an arm.

"Wait, hold it, OK, hold it, wait, it hurts, wait." I moaned and groaned my way throughout the entire twenty-four-inch journey back to bed.

I had hoped to make my nurses' jobs as easy as possible. Sue, my wife, would come home from her hospital with tales of difficult, uncaring patients; so out of respect for  Sue and all the nurses with whom she shares her profession, I didn't want to be one of those difficult patients. I needed to be a good one.

But I knew it wasn't working. I was doing the best I could, but I felt like such a failure. I was so weak, so dependent on my nurses. Without question, now I was most doubtful of my survival than at any other point leading up to this moment.

When my nurses finally put my dopey butt back into the bed, I lay there and looked at the ceiling.

How was I going to be able to do things on my own, ever, in my life? I'd never get better. 

I couldn't wait to get into a traditional room on the regular cardiac floor where I could have a phone. I missed talking to my dad. Of course, Sue had been updating him all day with calls to his home down the Jersey shore, but I wanted to hear his voice with my own ears. Mom had passed away two years before, but we still had Dad, and I longed to speak with him.

But I couldn't even speak with my own father because of the shape I was in. I didn't want to be here.

Soon enough, I felt that syringe empty its magical liquid into my shoulder; I knew I'd be floating within minutes. The minutes became seconds.

There I found myself again, across the universe, without a care...

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FOLLOW ME ON TWITTER:  www.Twitter.com/LudGuy 

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IF YOU'D LIKE TO LEARN MORE ABOUT MY BOOK, VISIT MY WEBSITE: www.PlanetLudwig.com

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And hey! I have a pop culture radio show called STEVE LUDWIG'S CLASSIC POP CULTURE. All the shows are archived, so if you'd like to check it out, here's the site:

                              www.PlanetLudwig.com 

I can't forget my little brother's blog~ He and his buddy since the second grade go back and forth in cyberspace about tons of pop culture topics. 

Check it out at: www.secondgrademinds.wordpress.com.

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As always, thanks to all of you who read my blogs...And thanks for the 17,000-plus page views...Good health to all of you!

Steve Ludwig