Seeing Anew with Old Eyes

I am not a saint.

Big surprise there, yes?

The church is not considering giving me an award for my charity work, nor for my admirable record in helping the poor. No civic organization is planning a dinner in my name for my steadfast community work or a medal for my outstanding involvement in helping the homeless. Alas, no plans for that stained glass window bearing my agreeable likeness.

Flying under the radar is not quite adequate to describe me. How about: not even in the air, let alone near the airport. Succinctly: he avoids mainly and ignores mostly.

I have mused about going down to serve food to hungry people, but have I do so? Nope. The closest I have come to charity is that for the past few years, during the cold months, we wander down to the men's shelter and get rid of some of my clothes and jackets that are no longer of use. With this act, I placate my guilt by clearing a space in my closet. That's close to sainthood, yes?

I shy away from the collection plate for the most part. Occasionally, a worn greenback will depart for something that is urgent and important.

Whye doth he tellth us this stoof?

Because I think that I'm changing my viewpoint on these things. Thus I quote the Saintly Zimmerman:

And I've never gotten used to it I've just learned to turn it off

Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm getting soft.





I realized something was changing inside of me when last I watched A Clockwork Orange.

Background story: Back in late high school/early college we (me and my droogs) first discovered Clockwork on HBO-the early days when nudity on cable was still a bit shocking- even to young men whose thoughts rarely ran anywhere else. We watched it every time this came on (You see, young people, VHS players and the like were just coming into households, so we had no videos yet.) *My memory might be a bit hazy on this point because I do recall watching a tape from HBO me thinks. Oh well. I'm losing it.

Then we got the book by Burgess and went over the top with it. Reading it aloud, using the proper "Little Alex" imitation, memorizing the lines and even getting a good grip on the slang , we mastered that book.

For myself, I admired the film, the book and the characters for different reasons. The film was so different from anything I had ever seen. From the first time I watched it, the images burned into permanent memory. Forget what day it is? Sure. Forget any of the scenes throughout the entire film? Nope. Never gonna happen.

But it was the characters that I admired for their absolute fearlessness. These guys were not afraid of anyone or anything. I have always been a big chicken, afraid of my own shadow. Anything can make me jump. For a soft boy like me, growing up in a good neighborhood, this was a way of being vicariously unafraid.

Afraid? Terms to describe Little Alex and friends like sociopath or psychopath were not in my thinking at that time. Little Alex wasn't afraid because he felt nothing but his own savage desires. The "savagery of youth" is how a colleague of mine describes it and this is so true. Just read the newspapers or watch the news.

We watched with delight the scences of "Ultra-violence". This is, ironically, some of the best violence ever filmed-it is almost visual ballet, it is so skillful. Kubrick was a master, after all.

One scence involves the beating of a homeless man, obviously intoxicated, in some kind of causeway. [That sounds so phony politically correct, even to me. Let me continue, please.]

Back then, we all laughed at the poor guy being pummeled, pounded and kicked, but when I watched this recently, I found myself cringing. I thought "that poor devil didn't deserve that." That is a total 360 degree turn, people. [In fact, we didn't finish The Devil's Rejects because it is so depraved in its indifference to human life. It's a sick film about sick people doing sick things.]

Here, a film that is practically memorized and certainly an all-time favorite, has become more difficult to watch. I began to ponder my reaction. Why cringe? Is it the wisdom of age?

Maybe.

What does this add up to, this wisdom of age? Is it like Eliot wrote:

What was to be the value of the long looked forward to,
Long hoped for calm,
the autumnal serenity
And the wisdom of age?
Had they deceived us
Or deceived themselves, the quiet-voiced elders,
Bequeathing us merely a receipt for deceit?

Sometimes when I'm talking to the young people that I teach at the local college, I often get a sense that my words are failing to reach. They fall to the floor in a tangled mess, useless and without point. I am imparting nothing. No golden chalice nor wisdom of age, but educated gibberish. Then, there are moments when I realize that they'll be ok, they'll find their own way and I am only here to shine a flashlight along the way. Anyway, they absorb more by example than any other means.

Perhaps there is no wisdom in getting older, but experience. Experience only blunts the enthusiasm for things we have already experienced and that is not wisdom, that's only knowledge. So I say, without pomp or circumstance, not from so faraway pillar of superiority, that I am getting softer and stronger with the knowledge that life is to be saved, preserved, sanctified and it is a divine gift. Regardless of your faith, this is the central truth behind the Golden Rule, the Sermon on the Mount, etc. This is the only truth we know because regardless of whether there is a light at the end of the tunnel (and whether that light is, in fact, a train) or whether a rich reward awaits us after the proverbial and inevitable mortal coil shuffle, we can only know for sure one thing: there is only this life. All else is hope and speculation.

So, am I going to watch violent flicks or have I sworn them off? Nah. I'll watch endless zombie carnage and gore and not even bat an eye. It's pure stupid fantasy- an easy line of demarcation. But this other stuff, senseless violence against others, that's causing a change in this old guy.

Other positions on the dial

OTHER RADIO THINGS

(Left. Jerry Waters doing his thing.)

Not to jump ship or root for another team, but I have to confess to turning on AM talk radio in the am (on those rare occasions) for a source of amusement. It's not all amusement on Supertalk WVTS's Jerry Waters show, M-F 10am to noon, but it sure amuses me. No political beast am I, but Waters and ever-present sidekick Pete Thaw (Why does he make me think of a crustacean? Crusty? Curmudgeon?) keep me informed on Charleston and WV politically comical (and sometimes downright nasty and even tragic) happenings.

I have been let in on the nasty fights with the Nitro City Council, debates with the folks pro and con regarding the Charleston Police officer who killed a woman at a KC intersection, in short, this uninvolved old boy feels like a little better citizen-better informed. Waters comes to radio with this to say about it:Later, the talk show host position was offered to him for a couple of reasons: He had been a fill-in on several talk shows in the past. He had hundreds of "Letters to the editors" published in the past 20 years and had become somewhat of a lightning rod in Charleston by discussing topics that others avoided. Not everyone agrees with him, and he doesn't expect them to.

You can't make this stuff up and that speaks volumes. I do not view myself as part of the radio-DJ brotherhood and look not for envy as a subtext here, but those are rather ambiguous qualifications, yes? I had no radio qualifications, so I applaud the man getting the gig.

The best part of this show is the often loony banter that goes on between Jerry and Pete. Clearly, between the two of them, Pete Thaw better knows the facts and often gently puts Jerry, who may be right in the middle of an angry rant, back on a factual track. All sincerity and good intentions aside, I promise the readers of these pages one thing: I will record some of this banter and create an "Omage a Waters". Perhaps if I feel evil enough, it might be mailed to them for a reaction.

Another guilty pleasure gone away: Art Bell. Nobody gets "out there" like this guy. Aliens in our skies? Sure. Art is ready. Creatures we can't see because the exist on other dimensions? "Talk to me", says Art. Apocalyptic, castastrophic global interplanetary taxation without representation? "Fine. You're on the Wild Card line. Go ahead."

Art retired. Shite. This is the first I've heard about it. Sure have been wondering what happened to the show as I drive home every Sunday night.

Cheap Thrills and Memories For the Old Guy

I am a cheap date.

I have been reliving my childhood via old horror/sci-fi movies and I've been having a ball doing it. I'm all for the Time Marches On-Never Look Back Brigade, but sometimes looking back is just fun. I don't want to live in the past because it's over and done, but looking back helps to ground a person I believe.

I bought this little sci-fi gem thru Amazon at an obscenely cheap rate: $3.75 In fact, the shipping was almost as much. Good price for an old classic.

People today talk fervently about how young people's minds are being ruined by violent content on TV, video games and the internet and I'm not here to debate such a complicated subject, but I will tell you that these movies permanently ruined any chance of me having a normal outlook on life.

The first thing that ever messed me up was Mad Magazine. Then it was Chiller Theater, hosted by cheese-in-a-tux Bill "Chilly Billy" Cardille, and that dealt the next blow to my mental health.
From the web:
Chiller began in 1963 when Cardille, Pittsburgh TV station WIIC's wrestling announcer and host of the kiddie show Tip Top Time, was approached to host Channel 11's new afternoon horror movie showcase, called Chiller Theater from the beginning. The films Cardille had to choose from were the great bumper crop from Univeral's heyday — Screen Gems' famous Shock Theater package — plus a few select classics from the Atom Age fifties. The program finally came into its own after a time change to 11:30 p.m. in the mid-sixties.

Now that I'm a broadcaster, I wonder how Cardille felt when the station approached him first about the horror film host spot and then the move to the late-night gig. His family, his wife especially, was probably thrilled.

Me? Now? You wouldn't have to ask me twice.

In fact, I know that when Freaky Music Month comes, it is an attempt to create a similar fright into our listeners that I experienced those late nights with WIIC.

Because my memory for some things, especially dates, is often mush, I have to rely on the recollections of others. For instance, I have learned from the above web site that I was all of nine years old when I first watched The Crawling Eye on Sunday, January 22, 1967 at 1:05 AM. Even some 38 years later, I can remember quite vividly a few images from the film.


This movie, and so many others like it, burned images into this brain of mine at such an early stage of my development that they can not be erased, even by time. Ask me what I had for lunch yesterday and I'll scratch the back of my head and you can see me fish uncomfortably for the answer. Talk about Attack of the Crab Monsters or The Last Man on Earth and I'm there with every detail.

Watching The Crawling Eye now, even with all of it's unsophisticated production values, makes me realize that it's still a good movie. There are some cornball stereotypes like the pontificating-through-his-glasses scientist, a wacky over-the-top psychic, the overly swaggering, confident American(this is a British film by the way) played by Forrest Tucker who spouts "DO WHAT YOU'RE TOLD!" to these hapless villagers. And then
there are those monsters. These pictures speak for themselves.

Watching the film recently I yelled, "Now that's what I'm talking about! Why don't they have monsters like that anymore?!" I have the same insane, irrational enthusiasm for monster movies that most sports fans have for their favorite teams.

Speaking of that, there is still more entertainment value in these hopelessly cheesy eyeball octopi than most CGI creatures (Spielberg excluded, of course) with their billion dollar budgets. Why ye ask? Because of imagination.

My wife calls this movie "stupid". Of course it is, that's why I love it.
Don't expect me to defend this films on any intellectual or cinematic level. Hell no. I won't force you to watch a single frame. Just leave me alone when I want to, ok?

You see, I recognize that there is that warm buzz of nostalgia that comes with these films. Life was a lot simpler then. So clear, so easy to understand. It was a time that I can also remember my father. We spent a few nights watching old Chilly Billy's Chiller Theater. I suppose he got the inside wink-wink jokes that Bill Cardille and his cast of corney characters. My father passed away when I was 13 and so those memories are sacred to me. It is just a way to remember.

Ray Bradbury said that, as a kid, once he discovered dinosaurs, that his whole world changed. In a preface to one of his books, he says even today that he'll always keep his dinosaurs. I say a hearty amen to that.

You all can keep your reality. I'll keep my monsters.


And I'll betcha I live in a much happier world.

Forgot this one (recent great CDs)

Huun Huur Tu

Look at these cats and then reflect on my next statement.

Ready?

These cats rock. Hard.


I have their new live album: Live 1


Tuvan throat singing, Asian rhythms and instruments that sound medieval, but of all these the singing is absolutely the best.

It is the deep subconcious song of the universe. It's that heavy and wonderful.

Buy it and become the OHM.

Seriously Creative Albums (Recent), Part ONE

Imagine that you are living in turn-of-the-century Paris and plan to attend a concert that evening. On the program is a new work by a composer whose last work was premiered to great approval just three years ago. A solo bassoon emerges. Rather high in its range, modal, but still melodic.


Then, all hell breaks loose.

In Stravinsky's words: “the curtain rose on a group of knock-kneed and long-braided Lolitas jumping up and down.” Human sacrifice in a primitive culture? Jarring, ever-changing rhythms, a churning repetitive chord. The choreography, costumes and sets boldly dispensed with grace and beauty to emphasize awkward, primitive starkness. At first there were a few boos and catcalls, but then a storm broke as the outraged audience reacted by yelling and fighting. Diaghilev tried to quell the disturbance by switching the house lights on and off while Nijinski tried to sustain the performance as best he could by shouting out numbers and cues to the dancers, who couldn't hear the music, loud as it was, over the din. Stravinsky was furious and stormed out of the theater before police arrived to end the show. The police? Is this a political rally gone haywire or a concert? Sheesh!

Welcome to May 29th, 1913 and the premiere of The Rite of Spring in Paris. And the beginning of the 20th century and the ongoing and ever accelerating resistance of listening audiences to move forward in music.

If you are reading this, let me compliment you. You are one of those rare music afficionados that constantly looks for not only new music, but music that is different, creative, and downright interesting.

The following is a list of RECENT CDs that have inspired me to recognize their brilliance.

1. uakti-aguas da amazonia, music of Philip Glass
Basic facts:
Style-Glass meets world drums and homemade instruments that are beyond description in sound.
End result- very dreamy at times, very powerful in a quiet way, sounds like a classically trained European composer got lost in the rain forest and went tribal, but retained harmony of the West.

Uakti (wah-ke-chee) is a Brazilian group that make their own instruments ( long before the Blue Man Group, et al) to create a sound that is both earthy and ethereal. Very hard to classify.

I have only two other Uakti releases, but this 2000 collaboration with Philip Glass always seems fresh. Glass' music lifts the ensemble out of the mere "world" catagory and even elevates their odd sounding instruments beyond being short-term curiosities. Somehow Glass' music also serves to organize the album, creating a unified whole beyond the obvious theme of rivers of the Amazon, and those idiosyncratic arpeggios and repetitive figures propell the music ever forward until the last track.

I can't make up my mind whether the music is powerful or delicate. Perhaps it's both.
SIDEBAR: I played this music for some high school students during a class. Some liked it and some were totally mystified.

2. Ekova- space lullabies and other fantasmagore

Basic facts: A Californian, an Algerian and an Iranian walk into a bar and order an electronic cocktail.
End result: Electronic world that's so different.

Take an improvised language, Middle Eastern percussion with oud/guitar and blend in electronics and you have the recipe for either something really interesting or in the wrong hands, something in the dull new age catagory. Ekova makes it work and creates something new.

ekova ("Its roots are in echo, and ova, signifying the feminine side," singer Dierdre Dubois explains. "But it's not supposed to have a literal meaning, just a beautiful sound. I wanted a word I'd never heard before.") are a trio based in France, but none are natives. Dubois is from California, and Iranian percussionist Arach Khalatbari and Algerian guitar/lute player Mehdi Haddab round out the ensemble.

Dubois sings in a language of her own creation. I say language because it transcends the typical nonsense syllables like la-la, lo, lay, etc., and sort of sounds like a French-Latin hybrid.

Why does this work? Nobody know. I only know it works for me. Some people might find this approach annoying, but somehow I really enjoy the sound of the words without having to have meaning. Call me simple-minded. It's ok.

The overall effect of these disparate elements is one of lightness and deft music making. The electronics make the music veer towards laptop techno, but the colors and the mood never darken like Monolake or the vast tribal darkness of Robert Rich.

An excellent companion CD is Dierdre Dubois' first solo effort-One. It's more of a club-oriented album, but Dubois' voice is one of the best. Therefore, the 21st century disco dancey cuts like Firefly are forgiven.

This album has a cover of the classic Nights in White Satin which is absolutely sexy and then some.

And then some.

Dubois' voice is pure smoky silk. Try not to love it.

You will fail. Resistance is futile.

3. four tet- everything ecstatic

Basic facts: Everything but the kitchen sink approach to techno-ish.

End result: You'd better be in the mood for joyful chaos. This is not background music.

four tet, aka Kieran Hebdan, has made one of the freshest electronic albums to come down the pipe in years. Before I sing the praises, let me come clean.

This is a relatively new style for me. I am, after all, quite ancient compared to the age group that listens to this and similar artists. I have not heard the two previous releases which are described by reviewers on Amazon as "folktronica".

I only know one thing: me likey. I have heard those electronic artists who mimic John Cage using his random-radio-Williams Mix-chance operations approach to music making (there is nothing new under the sun, people) and sometimes those artists think that creative randomness MUST equal nihilistic darkness. Sayeth the posing artiste:
To be profound, one must be dark.

Nope. Not buying that one.

This "random" (nothing random and imprecise on this CD) approach feels so free that the thought of the wearily sincere singer-songwhiner makes the body convulse and the mind spin out of control.

No darkness here, just a roller coaster ride of random musical and "found sounds". Can chaos be more fun? Sort of like reading Dylan's Tarantula while drinking a pitcher of Mimosas.

Other awfully good records:

1.Tom Waits-Real Gone.

The shortie: Tom's on fire artistically right now leaving burning buildings in his wake.

2. brazilectro session 7-Various artists.

This series is a snapshot of one of the most exciting trends in music-the latin/electronic fusion. Never have heard a bad compilation from these people.

3. Tosca- J.A.C.

These Vienna cats have got a smooth approach to chill out that never gets formulaic or old. Electric bass and keyboard grooves are status quo, but I haven't heard a bad album yet. Tosca is a fav for sure.

4. Kraftwerk- minimum maximum

A live album from the Gods of Dusseldorf featuring the hits and more. I was very surprised when I heard Kraftie Ralf Hutter tell the BBC that playing their music before a live audience was "the ultimate for us." Me thought the studio was the place for these innovators, but these guys are having FUN doing that Krafty thing.

More to come.

You need to relax now.

Stare at this for one minute.

the "Insidious" Approach to Life

insidious
Main Entry: in·sid·i·ous

Pronunciation: in-'si-dE-&sFunction: adjective

Etymology: Latin insidiosus, from insidiae ambush, from insidEre to sit in, sit on,
1 a : awaiting a chance to entrap : treacherous b : harmful but enticing etc., etc.,

Have a blog? Been getting those "comments" from people who have no profile and no blog, BUT a commercial website?

Here's a few examples I've gotten:
MichelShite 123456 said...
i thought your blog was cool and i think you may like this cool [insert $ site] now just [insert virus?]

Julia Placebo said...
Your blog is creative Keep up the grate work. Don't miss visiting this site about how to buy & sell everything, including your soul, on interest free credit; pay from whatever aperture you are able.

Vermin. Complete vermin.

Apocalypse now?

When I finally crawled out of bed today to take my still sleepy self to the couch, I was still not thinking clearly. There, on the TV, were hundreds of people huddled on a bridge. I thought I was looking at pictures of Africa where misery on a mass level is never in short supply. It did not dawn on me that I was indeed looking at pictures from my own country.
Stunned. Surreal. These words come to mind, but they don't do justice.

I just heard NPR say, "The situation continues to worsen."

Misery-it's a universal.

The multitudes asked him, "What then must we do?"

All aboard the Astral Plane 

Monolake-not a dull summer camp

Monolake is the brainchild of Robert Henke.

Henke writes, "Robert Henke, born in 1969 in Munich. I was always fascinated by technology, wanted to be an engineer. Some day I discovered Oxygene by Jean Michel Jarre and I could not stop listen to it again and again. I did stupid jobs after school and finally had enough money to buy a Roland Juno-6. Now I was able to create strange electronic sound collages and I played in a bad gothic band."

Sounds like a reasonable beginning. It only takes one album to get your musical life going. What was yours?

The first three albums I bought were Jethro Tull-Thick As a Brick, Yes-Fragile, and Cat Stevens-Teaser and the Fire Cat. It is now very hip in the press today to totally dismiss albums like these, but that's because the popular music press is often about fashion and not music. These folks have to pose and feel superior to a music that's long been relegated to rock's past, but the truth is that great music never loses its merit, it just moves off to the side until it's rediscovered by another generation.

Monolake will never generate enough fire in the likes of Rolling Stone magazine, never strike up a huge flaming debate in Details. Nor will Robert Henke be stalked by paparazzi and have his picture on every tabloid proclaiming, "Madonna takes German composer as her lover! Exclusive pics here!" At least I think he won't.

Why doth you saith this, oh eclectic one?

Sometimes I feel a bit like Tiresias, weary from knowledge, seeing the same thing over and again. It's really not all that dramatic for me, but it seems that quality music never really becomes part of mass culture. There are some obvious and notable exceptions, of course, but for the most part when something is quality, it automatically makes it inacessible to mass culture. Our children run to the CD store en masse to purchase the latest 14 year old Disney music replicant or the gangsta falva o' the week whose videos degrade women in every frame-all without a word of condemnation from the popular press.

We live in a society where people consider Faith Hill music. What? The last time I went to Wal Mart, her mug was pasted all over the place. I suppose she has a new album out. I think I heard a TV commentator talking about her "returning to her roots" and "she's not chasing Shania Twain anymore." Fascinating! Then there was that Garth guy who seemed to seduce millions of cowboy booted morons who bought into his faux rain-storm-a'comin-prairie-ridin'-down home wisdom shtick. Why can't you see through that?

So, we return to Monolake. Does Monolake even want fame and fortune? I'm going to guess that Robert would like as much radio play as he could get and if a decent amount of CDs were sold, he'd probably be happy. The music is too well crafted, too well done and too complex to reach a mass market. And most of all, not filled with good ol' fashioned country music cliches.

-eclectic guy

Siddhartha? Is that a foreign car?

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes.)
-Walt Whitman


Of course, I contradict myself. All the time.

I like to think I have a healthy mental life and even imagine that somehow I am “deep” when thinking about the course of life. I imagine that I am profound or original when ideas come into my head. This is all laughable when these things are quickly shot down by the invisible forces that control the world. Call it “the fates”. I’ll give you an example.

For some unknown reason, Hesse’s Siddhartha passage came into my mind:

Most of all, he learned from it to listen, to pay close attention with a quiet heart,
with a waiting, opened soul, without passion, without a wish, without judgement,
without an opinion.

Why this passage came to me while I was going to get some takeout food, nobody knows. It’s ridiculous. So, as I entered the sub place, I silently told myself that I would consciously try to achieve, however briefly, a state without desire, without passion,etc. After paying for my food, I sat down in a booth to revel in my Buddhist reverie, to drink in my spiritual awakening.

There, directly in my line of sight, sitting near the window, was my sudden downfall. She was young, blonde, tan, beautiful and in full summer nuevo attire: hardly anything covered. I was practically spellbound by that vision and laughed to myself how quickly the notion of any quietude evaporates (at least in my case) when that distraction is present. She was a vision.

One thing true to my life: whenever these thoughts gather up a storm in my mind there is, without fail, an event that blasts away all these notions. It's almost as if The Great Bearded Guy is saying,

"Dude. One self I sing. Remember? That cat understood. Contradictions? They are ok. Contradictions are the stones that line the road of truth. The ones that the hypocrites never travel."

So you wanna play guitar, eh?

Last night I had the rare opportunity to step outside my safe radio haven and step into my guitarist suit. I had a gig. Marvel at that. I have been so wrapped up in the now-it's-time-to-talk-into-the-mic-you-idiot syndrome that I have almost completely forgotten what it's like to play a gig. I have forgotten what it's like to be a musician.

The gig made me reflect on this crazy business of music. Now, I really feel like unburdening my soul. I feel like I have been silent on this matter for way too long and now it's time to let the floodgates down. (Isn't the blog a perfect way to be so self-involved? Yes, it is! Go on, Mr. Narcissistic! Go!)

Last night's gig fell within a very safe zone. I had already played this gig last year and was hired by someone I know. But things are weird out there, people. Really weird.

To clarify, when someone calls you asking about your availability for their event, you have no idea who and what you are dealing with. It's a crapshoot and sometimes the resulting gig is really crappy. For example, my flute playing partner and I have agreed to play some really bizarre gigs without realizing what we had agreed to. I recall an outdoor wedding where guests were quickly shuffled inside because it was too cold while we were instructed to continue to play in the 40 degree weather. What are we? Chopped liver? More on this attitude later.

This also includes playing for a funeral for a woman in her late twenties, deceased from the ravaging effects of bulimia. The scence of an icy cold funeral home filled with the grieving, filing past that attractive young woman lying in a casket while we played selections from our dubbed "schmaltz" book, seems almost too surreal even now. I shudder. File this under: never again. Not even for cash.

People have been coming to me for 28 years to learn guitar. They come for all sorts of reasons, but I doubt any of them would continue if I would tell them the tales from the real world of being a local professional musician. If I could take off the rose colored glasses and set them straight, here's what I'd say.

1. Playing guitar is not cool. It's damn hard work.
What? What is this heretic saying? You have crushed all my MTV fantasies! Damn you, eclectic guy!

People have been coming to me for lessons for 28 years. Usually it takes about three lessons before I know who I am teaching, that is, their personality, how they think, etc. Pretty soon after that, I know why that person is there and the reason they are taking lessons. If you think the guitar will increase your coolness quotient, you are sadly mistaken. Playing guitar is such a cliche now that I am amazed that any young person (or anyone for that matter) could possibly think that way. If you are a stock broker by day and want to impress your friends one night, while out on your expensive boat, and you think playing the chords to Hotel California is gonna make you Alpha Coolness Male, then you are an idiot. Please don't waste yours and my time with these baby boomer dreams. You make googles of money and have a boat. Why aren't you happy with that? Besides, didn't GE Smith of SNL prove playing guitar didn't make you cool?

2. Playing guitar does not increase your "social life."

Social life is a metaphor for...er...well..I try to keep this as family friendly as possible for obvious reasons. When I was a functional, alcohol-dependent madman trapsing around bars trying to attract the attention of the opposite ( or should I say opposing?) gender, I believed that playing music would benefit my social life. I will tell you this: in the five or so years that I wore my "being in a band" badge of honor, there was only one time that a girl seemed interested in me for that reason. By the time that happened, I was already in a committed relationship (damn!) and could not rendezvous with the young lady. I found out later that another of my bandmates had already taken that same gal upon on a similar offer the week before. Insert the sound of a tire slowly deflating here.

Those of you who are cynical will not doubt cite examples of famous rock stars and their uber-extravagent tales of debachery. Most of that is hyperbole and the most important word in the equation is famous. The really famous get a pass on just about everything. Nobody gets a silver pass because of their ability to play a six-stringed instrument. Give up that dream now.

3. You are now a second class citizen. Congrats!

No matter what your level of education, profession (day job), status in life, IQ, or annual income, when you agree to play for someone's event, you now are a second class citizen. You have said: "Yes, I am a musician and I will play for your neurotically perfectionist daughter's nuptials-at any cost to my self-esteem or pride. Want me to walk on nails to entertain the guests as they arrive?" It's like saying: "I am now willing to be treated like the dog that I am. I know that I don't have a real profession or a real job or make real money, so please, can you help a guy out?"

When you show up at your first wedding, all showered and practiced, with untold amounts of heavy equipment in your car, it does not dawn on you how far you have sold yourself out. You started out the day like a responsible member of society. I mean, your taxes are paid, your affairs are mostly in order, and your picture isn't up in the lobby of the post office. You haven't been recently featured on America's Most Wanted. Heck, you're even an ok guy. WRONG!

You have swum to the bottom of the fish tank, little carpie. Your social class has been lowered to the nether regions. Think I'm kidding? Baby, you are not as important as the caterer-not even close. You are now an "invisible", a support system, a paid-for cheering squad for the people who actually matter. You are the HIRED HELP. Life's good, yes? All those years of patient practice have finally paid off. This is the big time, baby. You might even get a chance at the buffet. Yahoo!


4. Welcome to the world of crappy gigs!

Your little rock star fantasy is about to come crashing down-hard. Here's your wake up call. Welcome to the world of shifty club owners, drunken redneck bar crowds, slave driving mothers of the brides, pyscho-obsessive brides, snobby condescending rich folks, and a host of other truly annoying characters that populate the world of gigs. Have fun! And be sure to keep your meds well regulated. You sho' gonna need 'em.

5. If you really love it, you will hate it.


People, particularly beginners, think that once you learn Sweet Home Alabama or the riff to a Jimmy Eat World song that you just stop and think, "What a good boy am I." You just sit around for hours in self-admiring extascy, drunk on your own accomplishments.

The truth is, once you accomplish that, you'll want to know more. Once you learn more, you realize how awfully ignorant you are. Then when you have become a bit accomplished, you realize how deeply ignorant you are. Then once you become a pro, you realize that you are what you is and you need to be happy with what you gots.

There isn't a decent, serious and most importantly, honest guitarist out there who wouldn't tell you that they have playing days so bad sometimes that they consider quitting-taking all those instruments, pedals, picks, and capos and throwing them into the nearest dumpster and never looking back. Anyone who is entirely happy with his playing is not a true player or they are a liar. Or perhaps they've long since given up, but continue to go through the motions. Perhaps they are just plain dumb.

6. If you really love it, you will never quit.

I have hated it, railed against, doubted, ignored , spewed venom about the guitar, and I have gone weeks without touching it, but I have never ever ever thought that I would one day call it quits.

I remember hearing a Peabody grad talking about quitting the guitar and going into computers. Quit? What? Cutting back? Ok, but quit? White man speak with forked tongue. Or the West Liberty grad who told me that he had quit to go work at the mill. Yes, life is horrible sometimes, but quit?

You posers who drop out, get married and go into stocks and bonds were never for real in the first place. There is no quitting, only a temporary respite. The guitar no longer holds the most important place in my life anymore, but that little satan with strings knows that I'm always gonna be back, despite all my empty protests.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In the end, my gig did go well. I sat discreetly in a corner and close as possible to the exit(you got to get out quietly at awards gigs). It was estimated that 450 people were there and I bet if you asked them about the music at the event, I'm quite sure they'd not know what you were talking about. That comes with the territory and that was expected, but I was not talked down to nor was I treated like a second class citizen.

I did hit "the zone" a few times where time stops, people disappear and the only thing I know is the guitar and the music that seems to come from it. I will even get paid for this gig if I turn in an invoice. Wow. This was one of the few good gigs that makes it bearable to have chosen such a silly way to make money.

I am a guitarist. Only sometimes.

COMING SOON: The Nuptial Nightmare-An Insider's Guide to Wedding Gigs

E-Tope Playlist for July 10th, 2005

Well kids, everybody needs a vacation and our webmaster took hers. In the meantime, I thought I'd post this playlist for your approval.

July 10th, 2005
HOUR TITLE Composer /CD Label
9:30

Shuffering and Shimiling Fela Box Set www.felaproject.net/

The Waterfront John Lee Hooker: The Real Folk Blues http://www.johnleehooker.com/

Delali Kekele: Congo Life http://www.ritmoartists.com/Kekele/kekele.htm

After Dzihan and Kamien: Freaks and Icons www.sixdegreesrecords.com

Pousada Celso Fonseca: rive gauche rio www.sixdegreesrecords.com

10pm

Candy everybody wants 10,000 Maniacs: Our Time in Eden http://www.maniacs.com/

The Nightfly Donald Fagen: The Nightfly http://www.donaldfagen.com/

Suzuki Tosca: Suzuki http://www.g-stoned.com/

La Traiettorie della Mongolfiere-Gianmaria Testa V/A Italian Cafe www.putumayo.com

Hannibal Soundtrack www.universalclassics.com

Sonata V John Cage: Sound Forms for Piano New World Records

Splendour among shadows Bruford, Towner, Gomez: If Summer Had Its Ghosts www.disciplineglobalmobile.com/cat/9705cat.shtml

The Lazarus Heart Der Stingel http://www.sting.com/home.php

Front Line Elvin Jones: Live at the Village Vanguard, Volume One http://www.elvinjones.com/

Tulo Tulo Abayudaya: Music from the Jewish People of Uganda www.folkways.si.edu

Kuyadya Hove Kune Mazove Zimbabwe: The Soul of Mbira Nonesuch

11pm

Love Has Come to Town Talking Heads http://www.talking-heads.net/

Computer Love/ Tour De France Etape 1 /Chrono/ Aerodynamik/The Robots www.kraftwerk.com

Mobile Monolake: Gravity www.monolake.de

Quiet Departures Eberhard Weber: Fluid Rustle www.ecmrecords.com

TIDBITS:

Unknown woman at local pizza shop turning and telling me that her 26 year-old daughter needs to be "fixed" because she has already had four children, but Dr. (name omitted) "wouldn't fix 'er."

Fox viewers complaining about "jiggling" camera aimed at Hurricane Dennis' 145 MPH winds saying that they were getting "seasick."

Groovy new discs from vacation

Usually I get to get up north to the Boston area, but this year things are really difficult. I have to settle with a recent (and wonderful) trip to Columbus. The Easton Center has a decent Barnes and Noble with a Best Buy close by as well. It isn't Newbury Comics I know, but sometimes ya just gotta take what you can get.


Perez Prado-Cuban Originals
There's no other way to say this: Perez Prado is a god. You faux-jaded hipsters may not even know who this cat was, but he was the charismatic cat of mambo. Some called him the King of Mambo, when in the mid-'50s he conquered America with Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White. Back when I was learning about this music, a fellow bandmate gave me a vinyl copy of one of Prado's records. That was it. It took a while to sink in, but when it did, it was like a time bomb. Wild, wild, enthusiastic arrangements played with tight discipline and the ever present grunting Prado throughout these dancey mambos. Mambo forever!

Dzihan and Kamien (Gee-hahn and kammy-en): Gran Riserva. Just when I thought that I could not get enthused about contempoary music, I discovered these guys. Actually it was Six Degrees, their label, that made me pick up their last one, Freaks and Icons, a year ago. This CD has a cut called Drophere that is a must. What do you call it? Downtempo? Lounge music for the 21st Century? How about: Electro-lounge? Hell. This is just great stuff. No need for names. I wouldn't get credit for any innovative tag anyway.

Magnetic Fields- i
There is something about Stephin Merrit's voice. There's a rawness that I really like. I first heard a cut by the Magnetic Fields on a Nonesuch sampler and I was hooked. This is a total contrast to all the hyperelectronic production and sound manipulation you might hear on my show, so why do I dig it? Good, honest songwriting I suppose.

From the website:http://www.houseoftomorrow.com/tmf.php
The Magnetic Fields are the music of songwriter- producer-instrumentalist Stephin Merritt, who lives and records in New York City. Adept at computer music programming and production, Merritt records his own albums and plays almost everything on them with help from cellist Sam Davol, banjo player/second guitarist John Woo, and percussionist/pianist Claudia Gonson.

Bought the new Tosca. This duo of Huber and Dorfmeister take great care with their music and even with the packaging of their Cds. What is the cover made of? Naugahyde? Smart writing, smart producing and great grooves uusally evolving from the bass guitar up. It makes these EMO turd bands look like the true posers they are. Why isn't this on every FM station in the country?

Well...we all know the reason for that.

Enjoy it kids.


-eclectic guy

Thievery Corporation's label finally, after weeks of being blown off and told"it's in the mail"-can you believe that little chestnut is still used?- sent the CD to the mailbox. I jus' don't get no respect...

I am just wild about Four Tet-Everything Ecstatic. Four Tet is Kieran Hebden and when he says his influences were broad before making this album, I am a true believer. I may be a neophyte to this whole Trip Techno (my term for it) stuff, but this album should be in every household.

Monolake sent me four CDs and his albums are complex experimental techno. I mean what the hell do you call this stuff? Dark Trip Techno? Robert Henke is Monolake and just maybe I can get an interview sometime. Seems like there's some samples from Apocalypse Now or maybe it's just late and those two Diet Cokes are really kicking in. It's just late. www.monolake.de

Paul Avgerinos sent me four of his CDs. This carefully walks a thin line between New Age (most of which is dreadfully dull and unimaginative) and Ambient. Paul comes from a classical background and it seems a degree from Peabody is part of that. I have been delaying listening to these and I need to get over my "teshophobia"-a fear of new age music.

Charleston musician Terry "Bug" Lilly sent me his "Songs From A Green Guitar." This kid has got an amazing voice. Normally singers with guitars make me leery, but I always give everything a shot. Half of Me is a good song.

Prime Time Sublime Community Orchestra, lead by Paul Minotto, has a new one appropriately called Songs That Will Never Win A Grammy. This in-your-face-we're-not-commercial wacky ensemble has not very subtle Zappa influences written all over it. This we're-so-creative-and-never-commercial attitude is written all over this group and while that's a concept I can easily swallow, my thought is this: groups who are creative don't have to so agressively advertize it. Medeski, Martin and Wood immediately come to mind in that regard. Still, anything this wacky has to be played if only to annoy people.

Patrick O'Hearn has Slow Time out now. I enjoyed 2003's Beautiful World. One of these guys with a gentle take on electronica that neither gets too ominous, far-out, dark or freaky, yet he makes it interesting. That's not easy.

new ECM discs in specific:
Marcin Wasilewski, Slawomir Kurkiewicz, Michal Miskiewicz-Trio
Savina Yannatou & Primavera en Salonico-Sumiglia
Trygve Seim- Sangam
Charles Lloyd- Jumping the Creek
Dino Saluzzi, Jon Christensen-Senderos
Giya Kancheli-In l'istesso tempo
Keith Jarrett-Radiance
Gianluigi Trovesi, Gianni Cosia- Round About Weill
Frances-Marie Uitti, Paul Griffiths-there is still time
Tord Gustavsen Trio- The Ground
Christian Wallumrod Ensemble- A Year From Easter

More stuff as it comes. Enjoy.

-eclectic guy

New ECM discs

I have been a huge fan of the European jazz-contemporary-classical label ECM for quite some time. Recently, prayers were answered when I finally got a hold of a decent rep. You see, we struggling radio programmers gots to go out and fish for A&R or Radio reps ourselves. I know that doesn't sound like hard work and I agree it's not chipping paint in 90 degree weather, but truly it's a pain in the lower regions. Some of these people just refuse to answer you (Yes I'm referring to you Asstralwerks!). I take this stuff personally sometimes. Sheesh.

ECM is not for the causal listener. Yes kids, listening comes in levels. Your uncle Tony might like Ol' Blue Eyes, but fire on some Ralph Towner and his eyes will glaze over or suddenly it's a good time to talk about Nascar. In short, we don't come to the table with the same level of knowledge and comittment. Not even close. This doesn't make anyone superior to anyone else, it just indicates how much salt you need to take with each person's opinion. Sometimes ya need a tablespoon, yes?

We even listen to music for different reasons. There is a guy who I know who wouldn't come near this because it's "that European classically derivative trash." The guy is well into his fifties and his idea of great music stops at Throbbing Gristle or any unknown punk teenage angst-filled band from the UK. While I enjoy punk in small doses, this cat is still trying to be a teenager. Sad, sad, sad. I am old. I accept it baby.

ECM even confounds American jazz fans because the music is often experimental and doesn't 'swing.' What? No swing? You call that jazz??? I'm outraged! Yes, my friends, people act like they own music and get really angry over this stuff-especially musicians who often act as if nothing outside of their narrow aesthetic could be taken seriously. Musicians: they do so much damage to the art sometimes.

For a while now, ECM has been off my radar partly because I shut myself off to new music after those classic mid-70's releases by Eberhard Weber, Terje Rypdal and Ralphy T. And partly because my tastes have been shifting so hard towards electronic music. ECM is primarliy known for presenting crystaline acoustic music or a delicate blend between acoustic and electronics-delicate being the operative word.

So, the 13 new ECM discs will slowly matriculate into the E-Tope soundscape. I hope you enjoy them.

-eclectic guy