Thursday, May 31, 2007

In the Maelstromboli

[Mount Vernon Place, Baltimore]

From the RF diary:

"For those engaged in the flows & flurries of contemporary living: what is the challenge?
The challenge is to be present in the maelstrom & the nonsense; respond to its demands where necessary; and not react to its pressures.
The word for this is freedom, but not a freedom outside the bustle; it is holding a still point within the bustle.
Outside: nonsense. Inside: purpose, poise, grace. Outside, the bustle continues."

Boy, that one really struck home. Wish that advice was available back in 1982; back when I could have really used it.

I studied in Baltimore from 1982-86, living in a broom closet called an efficiency on North Calvert Street. It wasn't precisely downtown, where the tall hotel and financial institutions border the more famous Inner Harbor area, but it was deep urban living. Far more urban than I had ever experienced before.

Before embarking on this four year stay in Balto, I considered myself to be a hip guy, wise to the world and full of being impressed by myself.classroom, but I was a first class country bumpkin by Baltimore standards. Charleston, even as capitol of the lovely West Virginia, is hardly more than a small river town. 2003 population was around 51,000, so we ain't exactly the metro capital of the USA. I studied in-state for my undergraduate degree, so it was a really insular life that I lived before the big city. Insulation and comfort zones-that's me.

What Fripp speaks about was so true for me and still is: how do you keep your head when everything around you is so chaotic and confusing? How do you keep any inner sense of peace and purpose when the world about you does everything it can to upset this balance? Sometimes it just ain't possible. Not with anyone with any level of sensitivity, no matter how much the human parade amuses you.

My first visit to Balto involved a cab ride to my guitar teacher's house. Immediately upon settling in the back, I could smell an old familiar smell.

The cabbie quickly bridged the gap. "Man, the chick that just got out didn't have any cash for a tip, so we smoked a joint."

Far be it for me to judge, but I was a little shocked by his candor and the fact that his driving very well could be impaired.

He started a racial tirade, freely using the N word, gesturing wildly with his hands, as he drove like a roman candle through the dense traffic. He nearly drove over the feet of a young black guy crossing the street. The poor pedestrian's look was one of amazement.

Man, all these n..s! When the race wars start, I'm going to be ready." He then fired off an imaginary machine gun, complete with sound effects, shouting "Yeah, I'm going to kill all you [insert profanity here]."

He then realized the psycho gyrations he had just gone through and did a half-hearted apology. This was only the beginning, my friends.

To save a little time, I'll do a bullet style synopsis of some of the highlights of that time period. "Purpose, poise and grace?" while this stuff is around you? Good luck!

  • Seeing a goth girl for the first time, dressed in complete black regalia including black nail polish, sitting on the steps of a health food store, playing with a large snake.

  • Watching a fight erupt between a record store clerk and a customer break out because the customer was harassing a female in the store.

  • Listening to a mirror sun glasses wearing, hooded, staff carrying, self-proclaimed prophet rant in a public area about how "black people need more role models like white people have in Diana and Prince Charles" and peppering his sermon with Bachman Turner Overdrive lyrics.

  • Listening to the man who lived upstairs who talked very loudly to himself and would shout out: "Hoo-eee." like he was being punched in the gut. Or "That's it, man." Or after long silence, break out laughing.

  • The Moonies, who regularly held court in Mount Vernon, approached me one day. They had a blackboard set up with words like God, man, earth, etc., written all over it, with arrows going this way and that. "I want to talk to you about concept," the Asian woman stated as if I had was already willing to philosophize about such existential topics. As she went about her rambling dialogue, I noticed that two more Moonies had gathered next to me. I felt a bit like roadkill with some gathering crows. These birds were looking for soft, naive and idealistic minds to bring into the Moonie fold. One guy seemed like a fairly normal, sincere guy who had just gotten a bit lost with these lunatics. He scanned my face and maybe he saw a little interest while I stood there listening to the universe according to the very Reverendless Sun Myung Moon, so he spoke up to clarify: "We are trying to build a better world." As much as a target that I could have been in my life for these cults, I was further along the journey and not susceptible to any crazy outside of my own. My answer was flippant and blunt: "Good luck with that. I gotta go buy some deodorant." The look on his face said everything. (Moonie propaganda here. Read and laugh. Everybody wants to rule the world.)

In short, I still find cities exciting, but rife with personal anxiety. To me, they seem like pure madness stem to stern; like some post-apocalyptic chaos that nearly reaches critical mass. I can not find inner peace in them, even when tucked away in a Marriott Hotel. The turmoil outside disrupts my sense of equilibrium. I don't know how people can live in them. But I did discover a little secret while a student back in Baltimore.

It's called beer and after a few of them, even big cities seem to be less threatening and more amusing.




Thursday, May 24, 2007

become the jellyfish

personally, i'm going to set this on loop and stare at it all day

Jelly Fish Lake in Palau


Tuesday, May 22, 2007

Time To Gloat?



Is there ever an appropriate time to gloat?




YES. Right now.




I don't expect readers to remember nor to reread all my previous entries about my former employer, King Jackass, but if you want to truly understand the chaotic leadership of this man, I have gathered them and left them at the bottom of this post.

In Short: I used to work at a church, was canned in August after knowing full well that, despite all of his two-faced promises, he was going to do it. Despite addressing this issue in May, in front of witnesses, he sent me a termination letter that arrived on Saturday, telling me that as of Sunday, my services would no longer be needed. Nice guy, yes? That's just one small example of this egomaniac mad king's way of handling things.

The news has come through that he is leaving, er...retiring in two weeks. WHY? Because of "health reasons". True, the man is old and not in the best shape, but this reason seems to be out of step with recent events. I state the facts and let you draw your own conclusions.
  • No financial statement has ever been presented to the Parish Council, despite requests for five years.

  • An independent audit was conducted followed by a church governed audit (his boss, in other words).

  • Several accounts were found.

  • The announcement was first that he would retire in the fall. Then, two weeks were given as the retirement date.

Those are the facts. I am not accusing the man of stealing. I simply don't have information to back any such accusation, but he was always annoyed that music costs money. It should be free, like it was back in the 60's when people volunteered their time. Music, in his own words, "wasn't necessary" at mass; that only the priest was truly necessary. He never said this to me, of course, but many times I had heard the same words attributed to him. There is something fundamentally wrong with someone who feels this way. There is also something unethical about hiding what you are doing with other people's money, even if you were doing it for justifiable reasons.


It's easy for people to put a priest or their pastor up on a pedestal. It's also easy for clergy to place themselves up there as well. Despite how uneasy it is to say all this: these are flawed human people, just like us. He just happened to be more flawed than most. Oops!


This dude wanted an easy ride into retirement, doing as little as possible, being catered to, not wanting to share the spotlight with a choir (or a musician), he was the king. One time, I was witness, a fellow choir member gently kidded him about spraying some crappy varnish on the outside door. He did not take too kindly and said something about a special place in Hell...blah blah blah. An indication of how high his pedestal was.


Will I get my job back? Unknown. One thing's for certain-the music program is disjoint. One mass doing one thing and another mass something different. Ironically, this is how it was when I first came there. Full circle. It's going to take a lot of time for this even to be possible and may not ever happen.


But, for now, gloating is just fine.

(Archives relating to the story)

Monday, May 21, 2007

File Under: Mi Casa ain't su casa

From the local:

May 20, 2007
Police find naked burglar in Park Avenue home

A man who allegedly broke into a Park Avenue home Saturday also decided to climb into bed — naked.
According to a complaint in Kanawha County Magistrate’s Court, the man remained free of clothing when police arrived on the scene and took him into custody.

According to the complaint, Norris Alfred Dean, 39, of Charleston, allegedly gained access to a home at 716 Park Avenue by way of breaking a small window of the front door of the residence.

Naked, Dean apparently then climbed into bed and fell asleep. He was still asleep in the family’s bedroom when police arrived.

Charleston Patrolman K.W. Oldham charged Dean with the felony of burglary.


More weird news: File under-Sci Fi



Cicadas are coming! "It's one of the greatest insect emergences on Earth," said Daniel Summers, an entomologist at The Field Museum.

Freaks like me.


"Cicadas are the most efficient and loudest sound-producing insects around. Only the males sing as a mating ritual to attract females. A single male’s courtship call can reach 90 dB —- equivalent to a noisy truck on the road or a kitchen blender."


Download sounds and make a dance mix!

What is August without the sound of cicadas?

Saturday, May 19, 2007

It's Only Rock'n'Roll

This album sounds pretty dern good after all this time. And for $12.99, it's got some great tunes.

I realized that the picture of Mick and Keef has been locked away in my memory for years. I wanted to be that.

The artwork I would stare at for hours.



It's one of those albums that you just never figured was so much a part of your thinking. Or maybe It's just nostalgia.
Don't know. Don't care.

I love the sloppy, sipping Old Grand Dad, approach to this music. Personally, there is never much good coming out of me musically if I sip anything stronger than iced tea, but factor in the heroin, and you have to be amazed at this record.










Saturday, May 12, 2007

These Fields of Battle

Ye may inquire: Why hath EclecTic Guy gone mad for wrasslin'?

Tis' true, I have become a fan. I cannot explain this better than a previous post found in ye olde vaults, but to be short, it is great. We paid $5 a piece for two hours of head bangin', riotous, over-the-top, surreal entertainment. Dudes pound, pounce, assault, insult, fly through the air and generally knock themselves silly.

Low brow? High brow? Question ye not. Enjoy, I say. Especially the comraderie at the local inn after the battle.























































Death Falcon at work

>b>


To explain to those newcomers. Death Falcon Zero is the guy in the mask. Professor Danger in the dude in the funky hat, glasses and the stick. In their normal lives, they are totally normal (well....?), totally cool guys.

Why they have chosen to become involved in this surreal grand opera is a question we cannot know. Best to sip Harpoon Ale and be happy.

DFZ and Professor Danger: pre-show stuff

Wild, Wonderful and Weird West Virginia, Pt. 1

Monday, May 07, 2007

Reentry with the Waffle Kings



reentry

One entry found for reentry.

Main Entry: re·en·try
Pronunciation: (")rE-'en-trE

Function: noun

4 : the action of reentering the earth's atmosphere after travel in space

I suppose it is time to enter back into the mainstream. It certainly feels like a difficult reentry into the atmosphere and gravity has already pulled me down. Still, this feels like a good time to share some thoughts with you.

(Who are the guys pictured? That's the California Guitar Trio with their sound man, Tyler. More on this. No, I did not take that picture.)


First, a huge thank you to all the lovely and kind support from friends. Every act of kindness and word has been taken to heart. I want you to know that.

I feel as though I have lived a lifetime this week. It's impossible through words to express the things that I have felt.

But sometime, you have to come back to the world, painful as it is. And I know I come back somehow richer, wiser and more open. My eyes open to compassion and beauty, real friends versus acquaintances, family politics and subtext, and the evils of all bureaucracies.

On Sunday, May 6th the California Guitar Trio came to play at the Cultural Center in Charleston. On a personal note, it was also the first Sunday that is now someone else's shift. Six to midnight. For nine years, that empty multi-million dollar building was mine. In the beginning, when I first could do the six hour shift all on my own, I nearly went nuts in the place. Recording in the studios, listening to many CDs, borrowing the uncatalogued CDs, and taking those that no one wanted. It was paradise for musician/fan like me. It's been a long road and I'll miss Sunday nights and being a part-timer. Why? Simplicity and no politics.

Check out their links about C-Town.

Even before I signed the Faustian deal ("not signed overnight" says a co-worker. How true.) of going full-time, I had had my eyes opened by observing those whose signatures were already well dry on Lucifer's document. I watched people stumble through minefields, watched them nearly explode from the pettiness, the underhandedness and the basic lies people tell through their facades. To quote from Hannibal: "People don't always tell you what they're thinking. They just see to it that you don't advance in life."

But I have digressed...

The CGT concert was fun, wonderful, and showed just exactly what world class players these three gentlemen are. The concert was more than a diversion, for me, I was taken away with the power of music. Getting lost in the music is the best medicine.

I "MC-ed". To define: walk on, greet, intro yourself, read a few quick bits. The odd thing was I didn't introduce the band, but the promoter-in this case the guy who put up the money to bring them to Charleston. Though I ran a thousand scenarios in my head, I resolved to follow my wife's advice and "not try to be funny." All audiences have their own vibe. This one was quiet-you could feel that as soon as you hit the stage. Better to be professional, reserved and save yourself embarrassment. Turns out it was a good plan. The crowd was small and very quiet. Good for listening though.

There was an after concert reception. My wife was tired and so, after we had a quick bite together, I headed by myself up the hill to the Residence Inn to take in my first ever "meet-and-greet". One thing I vowed: no autographs and no camera. My strategy was simple-talk to them as people first, not even as guitarists. Don't get in the way of the food, booze or other guests. In short, play it cool until it's your turn, Mr. MC DJ.

It felt weird to be called an MC, let alone be the DJ or local radio personality at such an event. You can imagine how many times musicians must be subjected to these social events-all part of the process.

First down (and first to leave) was Hideyo Moriya. A Japanese gentleman who, I was told beforehand, is the more reserved of the group. I waited my turn, politely waiting until other people had their chance to talk to him.

I introduced myself, interrupting the flow of veggies and dip. We chatted a bit about composers like Mozart, Stravinsky, etc. Evidently, he loads up string quartets from Shostakovitch and the like onto his iPod.

I mentioned his countryman, Sakamoto. And then the topic of Sylvian popped up. They had done a tour with Fripp-Sylvian. No tricks to teach this dude.

A brief mention of his guitar maker, Breedlove. I asked only one technical question about whether the electronics he used transposed the pitches in any way because I could have sworn that the lowest string, C, was a bit lower sounding than that. He thought about the answer, no doubt a language barrier in play, and told me that no transposing effects were used. He remarked that they chose electronic effects for musical purposes. An observation that was clear to any attentive listener. I didn't expect to bend his ear long. Good idea. Well done. One down, two to go.

What do we want from these artists who tour the world? What can we, the punters, ask these guys that they haven't been asked before? Probably nothing. Watching these guys made me think about my own musical career and how I probably stalled in the 80's when I set about to join a band. My ambition in music has never been fueled and I have often thought about how little I have accomplished as a musician. I have wondered, if I had just taken off with a guitar and suitcase to seek my fortune in a larger metropolitan area, what the course of my life would be right now.

Not to say I am unhappy, far from it. I enjoy the stability of married life and my spouse truly loves me. I am a lucky guy. Still, I realize that I have exhausted the resources (no offence intended to my dear musician friends and their talents) in this city and often labored way too long on projects (guitar ensemble) that outlived their usefulness, speaking purely selfishly. I have learned more out of school at this point than I did in, being so long and so old at this point.

What guitarist doesn't feel a bit of envy when you look over the accomplishments of this unlikely trio of guitarists? I am at a point where I can cheer on the accomplishments of others with goodwill and not feel any disappointment in my own abilities or accomplishments.

Then Paul Richards came down. He was first signing posters in the outer room. Paul was the gent I interviewed on the phone. I was anxious to talk to him, but gave him plenty of space, especially when he was chatting with an attractive young string player from Turkey.

Can't blame a guy for talking to fans, especially cute ones. I stayed politely away and waited my turn. I try to have manners-even when I'm dying to chat with musicians. The moment must be right.

Turns out I was wrong. Once I had Paul's attention, we were chawing away not about guitars, but about Kentucky Derby Day, which they had just seen the day before. I had read a short story by Hunter S. Thompson about the degree of drunken debauchery and related this. I took an instant liking to Paul Richards. Even on the phone, he was so easy to talk to. I think Paul is a genuinely friendly guy who seems genuinely interested in what other people are saying to him. All these guys are humble and down-to-earth.

Once the topic of bourbon was breached, then premium vodka and my favorite, rum, were the topics of the conversation. Two guitarists not even talking about music, but the finer points of expensive Russian Pear infused vodka. Paul, of course, consuming his with Tony Levin.

I told him about my friend, Craig, who brought it about 9 different rums, all varying in age. We were rum connoisseurs for a rather foggy evening/morning. He seemed amused.

Then after torturing Paul, I caught a word with Bert Lams. He's also very approachable and very down to earth. At one point, both he and Paul were asking me about my playing. I "held court." I was in seventh heaven.

Bert lives about five to six hours away from me and so I asked if he would give me a lesson if I arranged a trip. He said, "That's a long way to drive, but sure. Maybe we go out to dinner." A gentleman, for sure. Whether or not it happens, who knows?

Here's a rule of thumb for journalists, DJs and promoters: you ain't gonna be their friends and you aren't going to hang out with them. There is that illusion that you harbor, especially when the musicians are as open as these guys are.

Midnight came way too fast and it was time to say goodnight. Bert had politely said goodnight to all concerned. Paul was being summoned by the promoter, so it was time to make a quick exit. I told Paul what a pleasure it was to meet him. I even told him, "Come in sometime and I'll take you on the rum tour." It was a naive and stupid thing to say. These guys tour almost incessantly. I doubt they remember, though they are generous on their road diaries, the millions they meet-all wanting to befriend them.

We all have dreamed of the touring life; whether it be an air guitarist dancing before his bedroom mirror or a struggling musician playing for his friends at the local watering hole. We want to travel the world, hang out with our heroes, and play to appreciative audiences. Our ticket is luck, persistence and talent. The big T. The haunting T.

It was a reentry into the world, for a short while, with those wacky guys in Waffle House crowns. A glimpse into a life on the road. A glimpse into a life that most of us, even those who really love the instrument, will never know.

I drove home, happy, the night a bit chilly, still buzzing from talking to the people I had seen play just a few hours ago. To them, it's another gig.

To me, it lifted my spirits and took me out of my blackness.

Those guys: I wish them the best because they sure deserve everything they have.

Me? I'm a lucky guy. Someone is waiting at home that loves me. That's worth quite a lot.

Even to a Waffle King.