Big Red, Lost Charts and a Man Kiss

People never fail to surprise me.

A brief summary of recent gigs: (all events are true, however bizarre)

A friend commented repeatedly how "surreal" the scene is. This "great" music (his words) being treated as "musical wallpaper." He kept repeating this like he was shocked. Hey, they are here to dine and drink. I dunno. I'm kinda used to it. He is also the first man to kiss me on the cheek.

One woman requested that we play "something more lively." Can't say I blame her, but we're two geetarists- what can we do? Rock out the house? Suddenly a full band appears, sound system in place (set at a correct volume) and it's Party Central? People lack understanding, that's all. Besides, that's not what the owner wants.

Last week, this mature red-headed woman requested Fly Me to the Moon and then Girl From Ipanema. I could tell that this woman was well into her drinkies and so I told her and her companion, "We don't know that last one, but we play The Girl With Emphysema."

Well..said mature redhead returned last night and was really, really into her wine (or whatever) and say kept talking about a piano player. Did we have one? Which one of us is the piano player?

Lady, there ain't no piano player here!

Quote of the night from Big Red, a name given to her by the bartenders, "I'm going to leave my glass here. Make sure no one puts anything in it.......like acid."

On the opening tune, I lost my place in the chart. That's embarrassing. Great way to get the duet started on solid ground. In my defense, I was sight-reading, but still...dude. I made sure that never happened again the whole night.

Big Red made a memorable quote to a bartender: "I like you, but trouble is...my daughter does too."

I told Big Bill the Wrestler to audition for Survivor. And I am really serious about that. He could kick total ass.

To be discreet, I will only quote an enthusiastic man: "I'm sorry, man. I know I've been talking too much. I'm just crazy." Can't fault the guy there.

Last week, my guitarist compadre was really into talking about his deficiencies and frustrations with music. My advice? "You should really worry more about a good moisturizer for your face and one for the hands."

I was told later that one of the young patrons wanted to be part of "a sandwich between" the evening's musicians. Yowsa. Is my face red?

P.S. Last time I saw Big Red, she had returned from whatever table in the back and looked around for her wine, which the house had cleared away. She stood at the bar, trying to look as sober as possible, getting ready to order another drink. She was beyond another drink.

And well into the Twilight Zone.

Crush Thy Velvet

"We few
we happy few
we band of brothers"


(Al's montage of the Velvet Four-many years ago)

I know this blog has become terribly tedious in that I am not revealing deeply held and suppressed black memories of my days at Staunton Military School nor the wild and carefree days of high school and college (I will write them down. That's a promise.), but rather have been concentrating on my current musical life. To be truthful, the guitar has been a faithful friend through all these years and one that I can always count on for support. Yes, I anthropomorhize a box of wood, but it has always been my terra firma, my grounding, my center. It has brought me to despair at times and seemed to be nothing more than an empty dream, but it always returns as an important release valve.

I lay no claim to being a physic, but months ago a picture appeared in my mind of four Velvets who could emerge not only as the group's center, but could function as a separate and different musical entity. The Veebs are scattered at this point: two live out of town and others have many other projects that keep them busy. When an opportunity arose for this group to play, I jumped in with both feet.

Last Friday, we had our first rehearsal. A casual gathering at the House O'Weg, the instrumentation is simple: percussion, two classical guitars and Cuatro. Oh, and fine rum. That's essential. The Weg was a most generous host.

What I want and what the other members want is unclear at this point. In fact, we didn't even talk about a general direction, when I arrived, rehearsal was already underway. Get guitar out, and jump in, baby! I had visions that we might discuss the general direction, but in our typical fashion, right to the tunes.

I was really surprised at how it sounded. Finally, we got to work on some vocal harmonies. This came through on Cana Brava, an old tune about sugar cane. (Fits right in, yes?)

That sounded so good, I thought like we could contribute to the coro of the next song, Chan Chan, we had Nelson sound out the words slowly and phonetically. Talk about tough. While the song is only four chords, singing the not-so-easy chorus is going to take some work. This is good. We need challenges.

Weg started playing a salsa type line on his Cuatro. This began a long exploration with a song just beginning to take form. Out of the repetition that is exploring and shaping a tune, a chorus started to emerge. Right now, this remains a sketch.

I called an old tune, Dame La Mano Paloma (The Puerto Rican song.). I did not realize it was Christmas song. What the hell, who's going to know? It's a merengue and they generally have a ripping tempo.

Rehearsal came to an early close. Weg and I sat around and finished the Solera. It had been quite a while since we had a chance just to talk. Back in the day, we were hanging around all the time, calling each other every day and constantly coming up with the most experimental music you can think of. It was a time, as I see it, when anything was possible and a certain amount of youthful naivite fueled our crazy pieces. The recordings are full of analogue noise and the equipment we had, especially mine, was primitive, but I still have affection for them. I think all composers think of their pieces as children and they become a part of your personal history regardless of their musical substance.

Our friendship has a rich personal history that got sidelined for a while after the band broke up. I'm glad we are back to beings buds and fellow musicians. We always had a unique musical chemistry. No doubt. His life has undergone some major changes and he reflected about those life changing tidal waves. But, what can you do?

He took me down to the basement and what a wonder it is. It's like the Old Curiosity Shop. You could spend days down there.

On the shelf, jumped out a memory: a recording of the Just Say Yes Tour. I told him, "You are the archivist. I thought I had some old stuff, but you have the collection." He told me that tape has been on the list to be digitized. Oh lord. Let's keep that among band members, ok? I can just imagine.

I cruised back home at an hour unimaginable early. Driving slow through my favorite place, Kanawha City, my meager brain began to get all philosophical. We are older now. Old guys with mortgages, gas bills and all the inescapable burdens of adulthood. Yet, there is still fun to be had in music, in friendship and,

of course,

in fine rum.

Back in the Groove

In the middle of the journey of life

I found myself in a dark wood, for the straight path was lost.

-Dante

Absolutely right.

As stated previously, I kinda quit the whole playing scene for a while in the mid 90's and even gave up the guitar. I felt like I had burned out on both personal and professional levels.

I made a deliberate choice these past two years to get the hell off the couch and play. So far, it has felt really good. In fact, it is the thing that brings me the most joy these days. I feel like a kid with a new toy.

I am convinced that people come into our lives to teach us something. The purpose may not at first be clear, but then the penny drops. After several gigs with Ryan at the Bistro, some things have become very clear. He has been a significant part of reviving my musical life. He would roll his eyes to even imagine I would say that, but for me, it is true.

One thing is oh so clear: the kid is a phenom on the guitar. He plays things that are beyond my comprehension both from a technical point and a musical one. On Tuesday at rehearsal, he launched into a solo version of All the Things You Are that had my head scrambling. That doesn't happen very often to me, kids. Me, at 51, with 38 years experience and this 28 year old guy making me see cross-eyed.

Let's just say it: lesser musicians would have run and made excuses not to play with someone so obviously gifted. But, then there is no "becoming," as Joseph Campbell would have put it, no opportunity to learn and stay sharp. The ego would be placed above the love of the guitar and that can not be so.

But there is a common ground between us that bridges the disparity in jazz ability. We have classical, King Crimson/Robert Fripp, experimental and improvisation that creates this bridge. I truly feel a musical connection with my fellow guitarist and when we play together, that what we have to offer is greater than the sum of its parts.

It would be an easy gig to sleep through-three hours of "background" music for the post-work cocktail and light dinner crowd. Despite the noise of a crowded restaurant in the middle of the week, we try to make the music happen. We give it everything we have without a break for nearly three hours.

Other arisings have me excited. Solo gigs, and now a quartet is being discussed. In fact, we have our first rehearsal tonight. That will prove to be interesting. It's good to be back in the scene, babe.

Before the gig, Ryan said, "How do you feel?"

"Like a mean motherfucker, Sir."

He smiled. He knows his Apocalypse Now.

He knows I'm really to bare my teeth and sink them deep into the music.

Back in the groove.

Ahh...Family!

Nothing says fucked up like family.

Yep. That's original and you can quote me. I think fucked up and family are one of those universals painful truths. Family is where our darkest secrets lie, where people really know our ugliest sides, where we can shout and scream and be ourselves. The world, for the most part, gets the phony part, but family knows all. After all, they had no choice. You're not voted in or out: you just are.

I love this site. Enjoy the awkwardness that is FAMILY. Enjoy the glorious fucked-up-ed-ness of these family moments.

Back Into the Bucket

A friend of mine was bitching about his job.

"It's like a crab bucket."

I was puzzled.

"Have you ever been crabbin'?"

Have I ever.

He explained further, "When you get a bucket full of crabs, eventually it gets so full that one crab starts to crawl out of the bucket, but the other crabs latch on to him and pull him back in."

No need to draw me a diagram.

burgle and gurgle

it is one thing to attend a meeting
it is altogether another level of torture to listen

the skittish laughter
nervous and false
the distant voices
only wanting to hide

organizers
disorganizers
opinions that are roadblocks
control issues

i shut the door

From the Old Goat's Diary

From the Frippacious entry.

"Words presented on quiet journeying: talking is expensive."

My short experience with Fripp and company made me realize that words on a Guitar Craft course are more about utility and purpose than socializing. Certainly, talking with some people is more of a give than a take. It can wear you down quickly.

"A practical example from my own experience, in a professional musical context… Seeing myself looking out through the eyes of a particular group member, watching the movement of their hands & experiencing their experiencing; and recognizing their personal Blind Spot (which was what I had believed it to be). This, in a flash; but a Point Of Seeing is not into the functional world, where time is one thing after another. There is something creative involved in a Point Of Seeing, and in the creative world, creative time is of an entirely different order. A creative insight moves into our consciousness, and continues resonating."

I would never presume to be able to crawl around in someone's head and recognize their shortcomings. Doesn't this assume a superiority on Mr. Fripp's part? A Point of Seeing, in GC terms, is a sudden revelation about something- an insight that reveals something you might have missed before.

The pictures of the performers remind me of Heaven's Gate with the black uniforms. Guitar Craft is a very specific way of doing things, from the solemn looking, emotionless expressionless faces (all Zenned out as someone put it), the Ovation guitars, the different tuning, all playing in a circle which is defined as sacred with very specific rules as to how to enter/exit. They all look like Fripp. There's something about that that rubs me the wrong way.

"Leave our licks and tricks at the door! These have no part in what we do."

It's so easy for all those guitarists to dissolve into an entanglement of blues and rock cliches. I ran a guitar group for 16 years, I know that you must sometimes allow a little freedom from the strictness of the printed page, but any group must have a defined aim and goal or otherwise you have chaos. And not even good chaos. Crafters don't even talk about chords. In fact, Tony Geballe got defensive one night when asked about the GC approach to chords. He played a G and a C in rapid succession and exclaimed, "See? Guitar Craft has chords." This was to silence any further inquiry. Nothing must veer from the Master's Path. Again, this bothers me.

In fact, there was an attitude of being treated like a child. The staff walked around on egg shells for fear of invoking the Master's wrath, and not all, but some had this attitude of superiority. One teacher mocked my roomate openly for a comment he made. There was a distinct "you dumbasses" attitude from this one teacher. I suppose if Fripp was my teacher and I was part of the inner circle, I might be a bit arrogant as well.

During teatime, while socializing, I let out a hardy laugh. I looked over at You-Know-Who. He opened his eyes and then shut them. That's all I needed.

I will never be a hardcore Crafty. I can't afford it for one very practical reason.

But another:

I don't like Koolaid.

...'cause you people are BASTARD PEOPLE!

"I'll always have a place at the Dairy Queen."

Priceless.

Guest's second mockumentary remains my second favorite (Nothing will take Spinal Tap out of the top spot.).

I am assuming that everyone has seen this little gem. I had the chance to watch it this weekend. Funny as hell, yet the truth about dreams... We all have a place waiting for us at the DQ.

Another thing: don't we all fall hard for Parker Posey? Just search YouTube and you'll see that we are not alone in that opinion.

Trivia.

Refresh your quotes.

Know Your Essentials

You Can't Slag a Stone

Watching a show last night on BBC America about the Rolling Stones made me realize that the Brits have a conflicting identity crisis. When I was at Peabody, I was talking to a British colleague and he told me, "Every Brit thinks he's got a golden pot to piss in." While I would have to agree that they possess a keen sense of nationalistic identity, there is also a tendency to crush anyone who aspires to rise above the mud of every day life. No one must be better than a workaday Union Jack. Brian Eno has stated that the British press and Brits as a whole hate dilettantes, and consequently his work because of the many avenues it has taken. Even Bill Bruford, whom I interviewed in January of this year, told me that when Yes started the whole attitude was, "Well, I wouldn't try that if I were you, sonny." This attitude is pervasive. As comedian Eddie Izzard says, "Dial it down a bit. You're British."

The British press is notorius acidic and destructive when it comes to its own. Peter Gabriel has frequently talked about a "fair slagging" from the Brit press for a number of his albums and projects. Watching this BBC doc on the Stones, this ugly monster raised its head a few times.

One critic said that the Stones stopped being the Stones after Let It Bleed. Really? I think the only good thing I heard was at the end when one of these bobbleheads said, "The Stones are the people's band." In other words, these lads are nothing more than average blokes who, instead of crawling around inside a coal mine - the only decent way to make an honest living, wear funny clothes and play loud music for a living.

I think that it's easy to downplay what the Stones have contributed to music. When we hear the music, we hear basic rock'n'roll and the group has become so infamous and iconic that it's almost impossible to hear the music without prejudice. I tell you, recently I sat down and played along with Wild Horses. I was amazed at all the details and chords that I just hadn't noticed. This song was released in 1971!

The doc had a few funny moments and Richards was always the one with the razor sharp wit.

At one point, they ask Richards in the 70's about his upcoming trial and legal troubles.

Brit press vulture: "What do you think will come of all this?"

Richards, after shrugging: "Maybe we'll get a song out of it." You should have seen Jagger's smile.

That's my boy.

Pizza, Fame and the Name Game

I didn't really want to play the gig.

I love Lola's for the most tasty pizza in town, but after watching a poor strumming and singing guitarist barely having enough room to stand, I didn't want to be that guy. As I have noted many, many times in this blog, people will walk on you in such spaces and this was crammed city. Maya sent an email offer of a gig there and in these funky financial times, I cannot turn down a paying gig. Hell no.

Gotta stay sharp. Gotta play. Gotta practice.

My wife had to endure my practice, as she does on an almost daily basis. My right hand finger exercise regime is truly maddening for her. Can't say I blame her. While I find them intoxicating, they are punishingly repetitive and no one would call them music.

(Photo: At one point, a friend said, "Tell grandpa to lose the glasses." Oh no. Then all those notes become black ants!)

Finally, she said, "You're going to sing, aren't you?" I had been working up some Renaissance pieces and some easier Bach. This was the question. I had no idea what was expected of me, I only had seen strumming singers there.

Finally, I worked up a couple of songs that I felt were appropriate and that I could manage. I was as prepared as I was going to be. It's show time.

Sitting on my amp to save space for my music stand, I set up and hoped for the best. The solo gig is one that I haven't done for a while, so I had some butterflies. Even with the Arctic blasts from the front door contrasting with the pervasive kitchen heat, my guitar stayed in tune. That Takamine beast is a real reliable guitar. God love it.

I placed a capo on the third fret for the Renaissance and Baroque music for two reasons. The first is that it makes it easier to play. The left hand does not have to stretch as much. The second reason is that I believe that the higher sounding guitar projects better in such noisy environments. The guitar can be too much bass and mud when you are trying to play background music.

I had no clue how this music was going over. I almost never look up when I get into the music, so I am no gauge of anything. There was a couple standing close and I could see the girl swaying in time to Bach minuets which struck me as bizarre (It didn't help that she had very shapely attributes either.). Was this a bit of mocking or was the Old Man Bach connecting?

One thing is for sure: you cannot underestimate the support that friends give you at a public gig. They alleviate a whole boatload of awkwardness and nervousness. At some point, it was time to have some fun. The Rolling Stones Dead Flowers is a tune I have been obsessed with and so I let 'er rip. The owners' twin girls were being hoisted by my wife and her friend, so this odd little dance party started. The irony of lines like "talkin' to some rich folks that you know" in South Hills was not lost on my compadres.

Little David, a seven year old version of myself, hung around while I played a version of "The Bed's Too Big Without You." It's just three chords and I wasn't singing it, so time to have fun. He said, "What about wrong notes?" I wasn't sure what he meant, but I would stop at certain places and play some distinctly sour notes just to make him laugh. The gig was casual and fun at this point.

There is always a loss in playing ability at the live gig. It is always a mixed bag for me of terrible and stupid mistakes and unexpected triumphs. Sometimes the hands flow like silver and others they hobble along the strings in utter confusion. Part of this is my approach which is to challenge myself. Improv #1 last night went nowhere. Improv #2 was far better and even garnered some applause. A little Jobim and Ralph Towner later, we have arrived.

I had played an hour and 45 minutes without a break, so time to eat. Lola's makes awesome pizzas, but I ordered a salad. These are just delicious. The food, while a bit pricey, is excellent with everything you order. There is an obvious love and passion for food there.

Time to pack up and get paid. I asked Mike, the bartender extraordinaire, how I did, as I wasn't sure what they were wanting or expecting. He said that all went very well and people seemed to enjoy it. "Play what you want." That's all I need to hear. A little bit of everything.

A FB friend gushed and said that I should record a Christmas album. She would buy at least five herself. Sounds good to me.

As I was moving about, I passed the girl who had been moving to the music. She gave me a very nice smile. Can't beat that. Gee. Money, food and a bonus. It's more than enough for an old married guy.

With that money, I headed straight for a gas station and promptly spent all of it, save two dollars and some change. It sure don't last too long, does it?

I return to Lola's in about three weeks and already I know one thing. Novelty wears off quickly and friends, and even wives, stop coming. Next time, there might not be a support system, but only a room full of strangers. But that's ok. You do the best you can.

As shown in the picture, the performer gets his or her name in lights. Well, not exactly in lights. More on a chalkboard. On the wall. By the kitchen.

And not exactly spelled correctly either.

Alas.