Saturday, July 28, 2007

pre-(sense) and vibe

From the Fripparian diary 09.09

Habit = habitual;
Habit + presence = skill;
Skill + presence + attention = craft.
Skill + presence + attention + understanding = artistry.


Presence is a concept from the Robert Fripp diary that oft comes into mind. It may be the quality that I most lack when going about daily business. When am I truly present? To anything? Hell's bells, for that matter, when do I pay attention?

I am assuming the meaning of this term, as Mr. Philosopher from Dorset has not defined it in his diary, and uses it as a description of being present to the moment, the guitar, your body, and to music. Presence is also something else. Much more than body language, it is something intangible that tells others something about us.

Today that idea came into focus when I was on Capitol Street. A young driver was going so fast that clearly he had no presence to driving. It's Capitol Street, you moron, not West bound 64! He just was in his own world, no doubt lost in where he had to go, rather than how he was getting there. I was amazed when he nearly collided with another car and didn't even tap the brakes. No thought, no presence. A ghost behind the wheel. No doubt, when he arrived at his destination, had no further thought as well.

Presence is not only a qualitative division of attention, but it something that we give off. Call it a vibe. We all give off vibes and people are more or less sensitive to these vibes. Sometimes my sensors are dull and sometimes red hot.

Case in point: yesterday a colleague came in with someone for an interview. The dude's vibe was a very familiar one; one that shouted, "I am a very important person! I have no time for this small-time bullshit." To me, he reeked of arrogance, impatience and bureaucracy. A nasty presence. Glad I didn't have to do that interview.

Later, I asked another colleague about the man. His words: "He looked like some self-important bureaucrat." Cha ching!

Back to Capitol Street: As soon as I entered the bagel place, the young couple in front of me had a presence. Let's say they had a "granola" presence: indecisive, awkward and trying very hard to be too cool so that any decision that they would make wouldn't affect any number of environmental causes. Hello? It's a bagel shop, people. My thoughts were confirmed when the snarky guy behind the counter said with equal measure of truth and humor: "Congratulations you guys. You made a decision." Cha-ching!

This presence business isn't something that you should think about in a constantly active way. Life is lived unscripted and should be clear of a constant restraint or filtering of all events through a specific lens. You see someone on the street that gives you the creeps, you cross the road. Simple as that.

But every once in a while, it comes in handy.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

All Men Are Players


light


It's about light.

The news ran a story today talking about the final beam that they, CAMC, added today to the new hospital clinic. They made a big deal about it with doctors, staff and workers signing the beam. You can see it in the lower left hand corner. Won't make much difference to us. All manner of obscene noise is heard starting right around 7:30 in the morning. Quite a way to start the damn day.

It was a dream to see this cloud hovering over the crane that has been a favorite photographic subject of mine.

[I would suggest that you click the picture to really see the details of this.]

If you look carefully, you can see my hand. Rather ghostly I'd say....

My friends Boots Shelton, who now works for HBO, and Bill Grey taught me a lot about film and photography while I was living in Baltimore. Perhaps some of those ideas are finally sinking in. They always talked about making the camera see what you see or "seeing with the camera." The camera is just an instrument. A powerful instrument for sure, but nowhere near as powerful and versatile as our eyes.

I've learned a lot since receiving the camera. But, to be honest, sometimes when a photo comes out half decent, it's just dumb luck on my part. The camera, while capable of excellent quality pics, still has many automatic features that get in the way. Maybe one day I can invest in a good camera with a telephoto lens.

It's about light. Speaking of light, two musician friends of mine called to tell me Derick Kirk passed away this morning. That's real light passing out of this world. (A Gazette slideshow of a benefit for Kirk is here. ) It's rare when our community comes together in such a meaningful way, but that night was a huge success.

I really didn't know Derick very well, but there are things that kept coming up about this guy: his huge talent and his humility. His light leaving makes the world a little darker and we are definitely a lot poorer in spirit today.

Go in peace, brother.

Monday, July 23, 2007

Jamaican Me Nuts

I may have hit the mother lode. Then again, maybe not.

Last semester, I had a student from Jamaica. We got on the topic of coffee. Rather, I talked about it all the time because Jamaican Blue Mountain is really, really good and though it is obscenely expensive, it does live up to the hype. At least when I said what-the-hell and coughed up for 1/4 lb at the Coffee Bean at the Kanawha Mall. The girl there said, "You'll taste the difference." Right she was, but at $50 an lb, (Even higher? Can't remember now.) I damn well better taste some difference.
I have yet to taste the world's most expensive coffee-the one where a cat poops out the beans, but our office coffee is so horrible that
surely some similar process was involved, but only worse.Said student came through on what I thought was an empty promise: she would get me a pound of real Blue Mountain coffee. Her mom worked at one of these places that sold it.
What I remember of my previous experience with this coffee does not add up to what I am tasting now. The packaging looks real and promises the real stuff. It tastes dark and rich with a whole lot of bitter aftertaste, but somehow it's not what I remember.
What did I pay? Nothing. As I said, I had forgotten about it. So...what the hell. Good bean to enjoy and share. Real or not-doesn't matter.

Friday, July 20, 2007

The Joker Laughs At You

I am he

as you

are he

as you are me
and we are all together.

I used to do this thing with my eyes. You know, instant psycho (not so far for me). Putting on the Eclectic Wife's reading glasses, she took some pics of Narcissus. The Joker laughs fo' sho'.

Monday, July 16, 2007

How to Become French

1. Drink le vin.
2. One must have a beret.
3. Ze scarffff is zo necessaire.
4. Have co-worker humiliate you with camera.
5. Read Voltaire!

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Dynamic Duo: The Nearly Gay Wedding

It's been a week of unusual activity for the Double D (my name for the flute/guitar duet I am the doubtful half of). No sooner had the Cake (icing) Gig was on the books, a call came in for a wedding the same week.

When someone calls (especially the bride to be) on Monday for a wedding on Saturday, there's only one word to be held up to the light: casual. The other, and most immediate thought, in the minds of all sensible musicians is: you can charge whatever you want. And that's what we did. Anybody who has waited this long will pay almost whatever the musicians ask because time is running out.

After a brief jaunt through somewhat unfamiliar territory in South Hills, we found the house. We arrived as planned, around 6:30, but were told that guests would be arriving at 7:00. Nope. Some guests were already there.

"Should we unload first?" Li-Li asked as we parked right in front of the house.

"No, let's go check it out."

My rule: never unload anything until you know where you are going. A 40 lb amp is no fun to schlep about without direction. Add the 40 lb gig bag and various and sundries...you get the picture.

Going around the stone path to the back, we immediately set out to find out who's in charge. Evidently no one. At one point, my partner turns to me and says,

"No one has a clue what's going on!" We find a man and ask who do we talk to about setting up. He says, "The bride is over there in the white shirt."
Gulp.
Double gasp.
The only person in a white shirt is a man.

"We might be at a gay wedding", Li-Li whispers. The look on our faces must have been priceless. A first! One for the books! We finally have truly reached the height of the wedding circuit!

Then it dawns on me: Can't be. No same sex marriage in West Virginia. But still doubt rules.

Li-Li talks to the owner of the house and not only gets the scope, that no, this is not a gay wedding and yes, we can set up by the small fountain. This is one of those faux angelic Greek fountains that looks and sounds like the damn thing is eternally taking a piss.

As I settle down to tune my guitar, I realize that all my toting of equipment has caught up with me and the heat and humidity are taking their toll. I need to cool down. Man, I feel out of focus. Though I brought it, the suit jacket in now not an option. Don't care what it looks like. Even Li doesn't say a word over the decision.
Diversion and Bitching:

This prompts the question: Why do people have outdoor weddings in July? Why? Doesn't make a lick of sense. It's idiotic and cruel at best. One time, the musicians stayed out in the searing sun while the guests very wisely stayed under shelter or in the house.

Even better: why have them outdoors at all? One time, we did a wedding that was in the fall, out in God's country, on a top of a ridge and one that was supposed to happen during a sunset. Too bad the wedding wasn't scheduled late enough in the day because the sun was still nuclear and, of course, all the guests stayed inside while we played outdoors to the empty chairs. Good planning.

When the actual wedding began, after a ridiculously long wait, we watched guests swat at the bees and other insects that kept swarming above their heads. This was while an interminably long Pachebel Canon (dubbed the Taco Bell Canon) kept repeating in what must have been the slowest procession of bridesmaids on record. It was like watching the X Files bees episode. Surreal.
Back to zee story:
The ceremony was as short and sweet as promised by the bride. Another rule: second marriage ceremonies are very short. I like short ceremonies.

The photographer was a slender gal who, despite having long sleeves, quite obviously had a wealth of tattoos. This whole my body as a billboard attitude completely eludes me. Of that school of thought, I am indeed an old fogey. She looked fairly comfortable behind the lens, carefully framing her shots, but certainly didn't have that jaded wedding photog look about her. Her unconventional looks matched her friends: the thin-as-a-rail urban rocker types. One gal casually sipped a beer while watching the nuptials. Methinks I might be more conservative in these matters than I will ever realize. It's just wrong, dudes. Top drawer, honey, top drawer.

We spoke with a man who knew the other half of the DD and I was introduced. He was a fan of our station and of my show. Though it sounds like a cliche, it's always a pleasure to meet listeners. At one point, he exclaimed:
"You sound exactly like you do on the radio!"
Not saying the snarky comment that flashed into my mind, I replied,
"Well, I try to bring a down-to-earth approach to the music."

It's over. We play a few songs, but I made it clear that the reception and the ceremony are separate fees. Time to pack up. And always the hassle of figuring out who is going to pay for services rendered. Since it is gauche to simply walk up to the bride, extend one's palm and say, "Ok, honey cakes, time to pays the piper," one must have some tact. We decide that Li-Li should first approach and introduce herself, then I will shortly follow. Another rule: always first compliment the bride on "how lovely it was"..blah blah blah. Then, if the verboten subject does not arise, then ask, "Did you want to just mail us a check?" Ahh...you see. To the point and yet not brusque.

Played, paid and on our way, it is a hot evening and the air conditioning is blasting as we wind out way back to the Li-Li abode. The monkey suit is half off, the tie is loose, the air co blasts and the Dynamic Duo has done another wedding.

One nearly gay wedding.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Dynamic Duo: the Cake (icing) Gig

It's been a wacky, busy week. I feel like someone trying to swim in a hundred feet of water, all the while hoping to touch bottom. It ain't been easy. And if I have to sift through any more interviews about Rachmaninoff or Shostakovich, I may have to be committed.

Tonight, the DD did a gig which has been traditionally reserved for the solo Eclectic Guy and his beat up guitar. This week, I recruited Li-Li to help me with the gig because of several practical reasons:
1. my hands are out of shape. too out of shape to sound good as solo.
2. the gig is in a huge hall, full of people who, if asked later, if there was music (or a guitarist for that matter) would not remember.
3. What's the difference between a solo guitarist and a house plant at a gig? The plant doesn't complain when it's not recognized.
4. playing gigs with Li-Li is always fun; especially when she doesn't have to be the point person. she relaxes so much more with "Mr. Casual" as the point person.
5. the flute cuts through better than a geetar, especially in large halls. the musical effect is much better.
6. it's summer time, i am back being overweight, lazy and there's a hole in my tennis racket.

I knew I had the gig, but wasn't quite sure if the lady (a person I know from church) was on board with adding Li-Li. So, I called what I thought was the home number for her. First time, I left a rambling message on a machine about how they needed to get back to me, blah, blah. Never got a call-back.

When I called again, a guy answered (who was acting more confused than me, which is scary). The convo went something like this:
"Is [insert name here] home?"
"No, she isn't."
"Well, I'm playing for the event tomorrow and I really need to speak to her. Is she coming home tonight?"
"No, she's down at the Civic Center. Won't be back tonight."
Knowing full well that that facility does not have rooms, I ask with foolish hope: "Well, is she staying at a hotel?"
"Yeah."
"Do you know which one?"
"I can't remember."
"The Marriott?"
"Uh...no."
"Embassy Suites?"
"I can't remember, but try that one."
Realizing I may be speaking to my doppelganger and how quickly this is going nowhere, I bail.
"Ok, I'll try there."
"Ok. Good luck."
The classic runaround in full play. But why? I don't know. Don't care.
But thanks, pal. I'm sure Li-Li is going to jump on board with a gig where she's not even sure if she's supposed to play, let alone get payed.

In the morning, miraculously I got through and it was a go. The D squared is in bizneth! Let's go.

After making sure that every ridiculous and unnecessary thing is loaded into the gig bag and that the full 50 lbs has been reached, time to don the monkey suit and fly to get that flautist (flutist? flutyist? flautayist?).

[Disclaimer: the gal who hires me for this gig is great. The following true facts are NOT a reflection on her. Thank you for your time.]
We arrive, unload and promptly find out that the gal who hired us is nowhere to be found. This is typical, so seasoned vets don't panic. Perhaps no one even told them that musicians were coming. Again, no sweat. Didn't expect the red carpet. We don't expect any carpet at all. Hell, we don't even expect a door. We're musicians, we have no expectations; except to get paid.

After wheeling the heavy keyboard amp into the hall, we spot the area where we are suppose to play. How do we know? A single red chair has been placed off to the side. Upon closer examination, there appears to be a white substance on the seat.

No surprise again. What is surprising is that there is a chair at all.

Let me see if I got this correct: out of the thousands of chairs reserved for the guests, the one with the white shit on it is reserved for the guitarist. Again: seasoned musos don't get upset, they get busy cleaning it off. The substance looked like white icing; no doubt left from another event long catered and forgotten. Sure enough, wiping it off was a good idea otherwise the monkey suit pants would have served as cleaning cloth.

No power? No sweat. Li gets that in motion as I park the car. When I return, power is running. The man who set up the old orange extension cord starts talking about all the instruments he used to play in high school. Normally, this might be cause for annoyance, but he's a nice gentlemen. You can almost see inside his mind as he walks down memory lane of former glory days.

One dude, complete with ID, said his fiance played flute, but then promptly pointed and asked:

" Is that a flute?"

You can tell when a guy is really in tune with his woman.

We start our standard set of jazz standards and light classical as people file in to the dinner tables that already have salads and desserts awaiting them. It's like instant dinner: add entree and eat.

A good move, really. Happy people are people who don't have to wait for chow. Also, at this event, there's no booze, not even wine. When any alcohol, however innocuous, is added to a social gathering, the noise level is automatically going to reach near deafening levels.

A gentleman approaches us and tells us that he is going to make some announcements. His remarks are brief, but after telling the people to enjoy their meal and our music, he tags his introduction of Li-Li with mention of her former employer. The former employer thing- that is not a pleasant topic for her at all.
Yikes and double yikes! That's like saying, "Our guitarist this evening, formerly of St. Dismal's church-the place that fired him. Thank you and enjoy your meal." It was a terrible faux pas. She looks a bit lost and hurt, but we are professionals and the gig ain't over, so we go back into playing.

A few tunes later, we get the signal that the "G" and G-Wife are going to speak, so our obligation is over. We move our equipment behind a curtain in order not to draw attention to our swift and gleeful tear-down process. It is sweet: the gig is short and we are outty!

As we are making our way into the main lobby, still hearing the speeches, Li-Li mocks the speakers with:
"Blah, blah, blah."
I'm a bit surprised. She is usually the one with the solid work ethic with nary a trace of cynicism.
"Well, you are sounding a little bit too much like me."
We laugh at the role reversal. Perhaps I've rubbed off on her or perhaps the many, many seasons of being "event" musicians hath made us both cynics. Neither of us, I believe, harbor illusions of "making it" or being stars or being part of the so-called music industry. We are what we are: solid musicians who play for pay. And ain't nothin' wrong wit dat.

No doubt the jibber jabber continued at the event, but I was worn out from work, the heat and the monkey suit. It's the best time: going home.

But hope! Another gig looms for Saturday. A new adventure in an old, familiar setting: the wedding.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

untitled





"Come on, man. Just a clean shot of lightening."








"Come on, one for Jesus."


You think you're funny, don't you?


Then the rain and winds came pounding. I started laughing.
Stop judging what I put into or take out of this world.
"You're right."
I just enjoyed the moment.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

NOW they tell us

This little beauty came from a new DVD box. What are they warning about, ye ask? The RCA cables.

Imagine now, ye audiophiles, musicians, homeowners, how many times you have played around with such cables thinking them harmless?

Or is this just a Cali thing?