(hear “Matching Wits with the Boss Gobbler of Letchworth Canyon” - be sure to hear the end)
This is an instructional cassette tape to help people who want to shoot wild Tom turkeys. A Tom turkey is a male turkey. The method is to imitate a female turkey, in the fertile months of spring. Dick Kirby uses an assortment of devices to call the turkey, which are called calls: slate, box, and mouth calls, to be precise.
Above you can hear, after a bit of introduction, audio of Dick Kirby outsmarting a particularly smart turkey, the Boss Gobbler of Letchworth Canyon. Kirby states without doubt that a Tom turkey’s wit is quite a foe for a humble hunter, and it seems others agree with him.
Benjamin Franklin is known to have favored the Turkey over the Eagle as the symbol of The United States of America. In his assessment, the Bald Eagle was not much better than a robber and rank coward, while the turkey was “a much more respectable bird.”
The turkey described by Dick Kirby is indeed a bird of courage, and clever. Kirby suggests that a seasoned turkey hunter might need a dozen calls to draw in a wily Tom. Though he is a champion turkey stalker, I can still feel the rush of adrenaline he rides after successfully bagging the Boss Gobbler.
While I am a fan of turkeys, and bemused if not enthralled by hunting tales, I like Kirby’s work here less for his intended purpose than for the thrilling sound of his Golden Boy brand calls. I also find the rhythm of his voice beguiling. I’m reminded of Phillip Bimstein’s “Garland Hirschi’s Cows”, which is a great composition incorporating a manipulated tape of a man describing his cows, and of the cows themselves.
Like anyone would, I hear many things I could do by “remixing” Kirby’s lecture. His claim that “no one would ever mistake a human for a Tom turkey” (concerning hunting safety), or his description of the “aggressive sexy hen”, or his repeated exaltations of the birds’ brains - any of these would make neurons fire happily in any head, and the rhythm of the Kee Kee call is as perfect as the burbling purrs and creaks it accompanies.
Though I find much to love in Bimstein’s work (and his band Phil ‘N’ the Blanks was pretty good too), I have to guess that I prefer to hear the piece of sound itself, the very thing, without recontextualization. The other night a motorcyclist parked on the main road, downhill a few hollers, and revved and ground and spurred the engine in what must have been performance. But do you really want a recording of some drunk in the dark? Another midnight, as my wife and I biked in downtown Madison, Wisconsin, from far off we heard a great smashering of steel on world - CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. It echoed off every building. It was so loud that it could be heard rebounding from every angle on every building, from each railing, from each spoke on the wheel. What can you do but head straight away for the source, until you have to stick your fingers in your ears?
I want to hold these pieces in my head, just like I hang on to Tom Ze’s Tangolomango, or the Gavottes from Bach’s 6th Cello Suite, but going further than inspiration strikes me as just goofing around.
To buy your very own copy (you won’t regret it!), on cassette or with bonus mp3 audio, and to see the cover, click here.
1 year ago
