Struggles With...

Evidently, when Struggles goes out of town, things get interesting. It's not just a concert, it's an adventure.

Struggles, president of Team Awesome, took Wild Kat to see Bruce Springsteen in Charlotte.

You'd figure the concert would be the story. Well, you have to ask them about a $5 bag of chips, Jagermeister, an uneven sidewalk, an offer of chicken and the stench of sweat. No, that would have been too easy. You see when we struggle, the struggle must be worth it. The struggle must make us question our karma, think about past sins now come due, strand us on the highway, make us orphans in Hickville and wait for friends to come rescue us for three hours in a quaint little local watering hole.

Somewhere inside Virginia, near a God forsaken place called Hillsville, the Struggle Mobile broke down. It broke down real good. In the words of the mechanic, "It's fucked."

We got the call. Where are you? Oh shit. Hillsville, Virginia to be exact. Total Estimated Time: 2.0 hours 25 minutes Total Estimated Distance: 153.89 miles
Well, poo. There goes our evening. And to boot, the Lakers are playing. But friends are stranded. I hate being stranded above all. Off we go!

Team Awesome spent three hours waiting for us, eating fine cuisine at Three Cheers.

They looked like lost orphans. They resorted to beer and bad food. Struggles began with this sentence:"I ate fried pie."
After we howled with laughter, we asked how it was: "Horrible." They laughed like they were punch drunk. Struggles would pause, hand covering forehead, and say with disbelief: "I ate fried pie." When desperation sets in, we are amazed at what we do to kill that ill-at-ease feeling.

Three Cheers had strange people in it that "looked like they want to eat your brain." Don't ask, I don't know. I just knew-"get out now."

Team Awesome now looked like Team Struggles with Karma.

But that wasn't all. Team Stranded needed to get their luggage from Bert's Garage (132 Expansion Dr Hillsville, VA 24343)

So, leave Three Cheers bar and try to find the garage where Struggles' car was taken.

Well, my friends, Team Awesome became Team Dumbass as we wondered about looking for the garage. At one point, they said, "Here, take this gravel road." Having a healthy sense of gloom and doom, I asked, "This road doesn't drop off a cliff, does it?"
"Have you seen the Hills Have Eyes?" And as we drove into the dark, at first gravel, then dirt road, it came to a dead end. Good move, Team Exlax.

Out on the main road, up, U-turn and then Bert's garage. Team Short Bus had to gather their luggage. It felt a little like Wrong Turn meets Dawn of the Dead.

Spartan, remote and creepy. I'm sure during the day though, it's only creepy.

The rain pounded us as we wound our way up the serpentine WV Turnpike. Gigantor trucks were the worst: huge, splashing rain beyond the capacity of the wipers along with mist that made the road completely invisible, except for the reflective markers. Talk about hoping for the best. Team Tired-and-Punchy were most entertaining and made the trip enjoyable.

A total of over five hours later, we pulled back into sleepy Kanawha City, safe and sound from the horrid metal mist monsters, the dreaded Turnpike, ghastly fried pies and far from the friendly city of Hillsville. We said quick goodbyes and let Stuggles borrow the Explorer so that he could take Kat home; plus have something to drive in the morning.

What did we learn, kids?

Sometimes even Team Awesome

struggles.......

A Word In Progress

Desire is the undoer of all things.


That's a phrase that run through my head lately. Not sure it is at all in its final form. At this point, only guesswork as to its meaning.


But I have seen desire destroy people. They go on and repeat the same harmful behavior over and over again. Maybe: be careful what you desire.

When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers.

Just Like Starting Over

Seems that somebody else has had an insight:

http://www.guitarnoize.com/blog/comments/20-years-later-and-back-to-square-one/

The guy's comments are pretty honest. No wonder the guy had to rethink things. Doesn't that picture on the left hand side look painful?

Addendum to a Semester

It happens every so often.

Can't predict when, but sure as rain it is bound to happen: a delinquent student tries to wiggle out of the work for the class, the airtight syllabus, and lawyer their way into a decent grade.

If we go back to this post and read, we see that this was coming. "Perhaps my student shall return. I hope so." states the February 13th entry.

After two weeks, he did return. Then, he pulled a three week Houdini. I had colored him gone and have been enjoying the half hour for guitar practice.

Tonight, after my 7:30 student left, I was ready to "have a go at the box" as Julian Bream so unpoetically says it. It may sound boring and dreadful to you, but a room without distractions, a metronome, my guitar and my Herdim pick in hand- it is a joy to get some practice in. Bliss was not felt for long. I heard a sound and to my utter surprise, said student wonders in. I couldn't believe it. Still, he has this lesson time and has a right to come in; even if he has been three weeks in absentia.

"I thought you had dropped," out it comes from my mouth before any filter can grab it.

"Well, I tried but they wouldn't let me." The Drop/Add train left the station three weeks ago.

He gets his guitar out, sits and starts talking. I listen. He talks. Then it begins. Sensing where we are going, the syllabus is under fire. The syllabus is fireproof and is the result of twenty years of teaching. I have sealed the hatches, people.

He begins the negotiation:

"So, if I play Aura Lee and Amazing Grace, I can play the jury."

"There are four pieces for the jury."

"I thought Sam said two."

"The syllabus says four and Sam is playing four."

Then the motif of the conversation: "I understand what you're saying."

In other words, strike one. We continue to play the game.

(I want to say, "Please, I know where you are going with this. I have written that syllabus so airtight, that nobody is going to wiggle out of it. Leave now, while I'm still calm about this. Don't ruin my good opinion of you.")

"Let's see where you are with the pieces. Play something." If the kid is up on the pieces, then that changes matters a bit. It doesn't give him a free pass, but he may get out of the F zone.

It goes OK, but there are crucial errors. I am still playing teacher by helping him with things he should have known many weeks ago. This is all way too late. Experience has taught me that this is another delinquent student ploy: lure the teach into teaching, instead of evaluating what is really happening. Play the student "who just doesn't get it." I know this one very well, time to stop this. This is old hat. This must stop. Valuable prac time is dripping away.

"The truth is, you are making errors that should have been resolved weeks ago." Pause. "You don't know the music."

The motif returns: "I understand what you're saying."

Strike two. One more.

Then we come to the five absences, all of them unexcused. I get a copy of the syllabus and read the part about absences:

Attendance: Students who have more than three unexcused absences will have their final grade lowered by one (1) letter grade. For each unexcused absence thereafter, the letter grade will drop by one as well. An unexcused absence is when the instructor is not notified BEFORE the scheduled lesson time. Notification after the lesson time will not be considered excused. Family and/or medical emergencies and the like will be reviewed and considered.

He has five in the hole. I suggest even if we take two and say they are forgiven, that still leaves three. He begins the absence clause dance, "If I have three unexcused absences, then that means..." He is trying to interpret the syllabus by parsing the words.

"If I could get a B, then my grade point average wouldn't be as low." I am stunned by this. I cannot stand this game and lower the boom on this charade:

"Dude, a B isn't even on the table. You and I both know that you have not done the work for this class."

I don't think he realizes the snorting bull he is trying to back into a corner. Keep pushing to your own peril.

Strike Three. You're out. (I can't shout, scream or express my true feelings. A professional eats his contempt. Like most twenty-somethings, he doesn't know the impact of his words. He's tried a Hail Mary with full knowledge of his own failure to complete the course and it's failed. )

The motif returns: "I understand what you're saying."

"And yet you continue?" is my thought.

All the while, I smile and try not to show the contempt I feel for this disgustingly obvious hustle. He knows what he's doing. I really liked this kid. Now, I am afraid this changes things a bit.

I do not want to take up this precious half hour by student grade haggling and the relief comes:

"If I take an incomplete, in this class, then I will have to come back and take the class again, but a D and an F are both considered the same here in terms of GPA."

If the incomplete can be taken, he can bail without penalty, otherwise he realizes that he has an immense amount of work to do that may only add up to a D anyway. Dude doesn't want that. But it's not about his wants. He hasn't done the work. In the real world, he'd be fired. He's cooked.

I leave him with the only hope he has:
"Email me if you get the go ahead on the Incomplete." It is his only shot.

In the professional world, the teacher would have thrown a fit, berated them and thrown them out. In the world I studied in, one did not make excuses for lack of preparation. I have to bite back my anger and write it off.

I learned a long time ago the horrid hustle that comes out of those students who neglect to drop a class they just didn't have time for or could care less about.

My class is only one hour credit.

But it don't come cheap, baby.

Can you fake a little more sincerity?

"Talent should read them as noted and with some "sincere" positive feeling. These are under a pretty tight deadline so I need them by tomorrow if possible, Thursday at the latest. Thanks."

Crim Relief

The law of diminishing returns. The older musician knows this very well.
Now that King Crimson has decided (er...Robert decided) that a new Crimson is possible, concert dates have been set and rehearsals underway in Tennessee, where Adrian Belew lives outside of Nashville (or NashVegas as Cx2 calls it).

As a musician, to watch this would be quite a learning experience. The rehearsal is when the musician is naked, making mistakes, trying out new things and generally the band sounds like shit.

Surely the seasoned musicians who make up this unit know when it's time to put down instruments and declare that practice is over for the day.

How do the Crimsonites spell relief?

Monster Margarita at the local Mex.

Happy times.

*************************
Rehearsals? A Sunday rehearsal for the Icarus group reveal a reflection of age and the wisdom gained from the Guitar Craft seminar: When is something completed? When are we focused and when do we need a break? Earlier in my career, I would not have understood this at all, nor would it have been considered. Time was so wasted.

Mentioning the old band, the Velvet Brothers, brother Al commented that the old rehearsal place was "party central." Not only was that true of the typical VB rehearsal, but certainly true of the lifestyles of the members living at the home at that time. So much time can be wasted at rehearsal if the members see it merely as a socializing time. And nothing gets done if cocktails are involved during the process. At times, there was an abundance of friendship and goodwill among the members (and plenty of rum) that rehearsals were so much fun that getting anything done was a problem. Our drummer had to constantly keep the boys on track. Those were mad, mad days.

Fast forward to last Sunday, we were shaping the program. File this part under: Ok, we got this gig. What the hell are we going to play?

Working with Al and Lisa is so easy. There is a genuine courtesy among us, exploring ideas as to arrangements as they arise. We have all been through the band thing and the experience shows.

"Do you care if I start this one to establish the tempo?"

Such politeness! Is it for real? Yes, indeed, but Li-Li need not even ask questions like that. Nope. The way I see it, I am the only gitar player here. Not like I have to fight for space. Plus it's important to allow the music variety.

Once the sets were agreed upon, I said, "Let's take a little break and evaluate what we have done." It was indeed break time. My hands were feeling fatigue and my mind was a little drained.

Al offered up some scotch. I am not a scotch fan, but what the hell. It was smooth, but still had that unpleasant aftertaste. After a few sips, I asked:

"What do you like about the taste of scotch?"

"Peat moss."

Huge laughter. Add to that a bigger, "No doubt!" Add further furniture polish and insecticide. Yummy. Why does anyone drink that stuff?

We returned to the last set to get some details finalized. As is always the case with the lightest consumption of alcohol, I felt unfocused and was merely playing at the music. Time to end the day's work. Time to let these people get on with their evening. This is not a Velvet Brothers mad house of chaos rehearsal.

(Rumors suggest that a reunion for the Veebs may be possible. We shall have to see. You can be sure that you will get a ringside seat, gentle readers, warts and all.)

Driving home, I can see why even the world's best musicians, like Tony Levin, Adrian Belew, et al, recognize the need to take a break and head for the local Mex.

And the Monster Margarita.

Let Your Fingers Do The Walking?

Listeners Say The Dernest Thangs

Hearing that someone was asking about me, it is good PR to go and meet a listener. Of course, meeting a listener is not always a friendly, feel-good pat on the back that one expects. The weight and impact of words-we do not weigh them properly before we speak them.

After a really brief introduction, I get this sense. One that comes very frequently.

"Yeah. Sometimes I hear you obviously struggling with Portugese."
"Well...I ah..."
"My wife could help you. She speaks...."
"Well, cool. I'd appreciate that."

Then the grand finish:

"I like your show

[I'm liking this]

until you start playing electronica

[Zoiks! Knew that was coming.]

then I turn it off."

[Well. Huh.]

This Odd Land

untitled

when students cancel, the teacher gets to practice

in a room without distractions
only a metronome
a pick
and beloved guitar

it is glorious when it works
from 84 to 88 without much hitch

imagine a scale or a series of notes

and then execute it.

driving home-one of those moments of such peace and grace

to paraphrase the master
"i will trust in the benevolence of the creative spirit and follow it wherever it goes."

The Crim Returns: Insights from the inside of the Crimson rehearsals

Adrian Belew and Fripp have been making music for many years. The fact that these two guitarists still feel the desire to play together speaks much about their relationship.

From here:
Two quintessential Crimson moments during Larks II:

The first was when I had a sense of King Crimson coming to bear, inhabiting the music. Very moving.

The second, quite hilarious, with Ade’s & the English guitarist’s legs pumping to each hold their downbeat, in opposite directions because our downbeats are reversed; and Ade is on my upbeat. This was a hoot to see, both of us hanging onto our time. This is the particular nature of the Larks’ climb (the Larks’ ascending, as it were): the first, single, bar of 11/8 sets off the following bars of 5/4. For me, it’s the downbeat determined by the eleven, for Ade, the downbeat derived from the five.

Dribble.

23.40 So pitiful was the dribblingness, I suggested to Ade that we set off to the local Mexican restaurant. The Margarita was Monster.

RF: Would you like to know why I made the call?

Ade: I was wondering about that. (Ade knowing that no force would compel me to return to the horrors of Crim).

The point of seeing/s related.

An el fabbo dinner with my Old Buddy Ade

> This is not the first time the giant Margarita has come to the aid of these lads. Let's see, Google listed at least two Mexican restaurants right in Mount Juliet. If I hang out there long enough, do you think...? Maybe I could get a job and then...

new post

I takes me time with these entries. Sometimes things get a little backlogged. For your amusement. An essay on the wedding gig at large.

"Grimace Golden Apple?"

That's the phrase of the day. No one here is quite sure what it means.

It has nothing to do with this rather serious fellow either.

More photographic magic by Cx2. Thanks.

Vide Cor Meum

Hannibal, the second in the Lecter series, is one of the most elegant films Ridley Scott has ever made, and yet, it was largely dismissed mostly because it followed the masterful and now iconic Silence of the Lambs and also because of the grisly sweetbreads scene at the end of the film.

This scene is one of my favorites and Hopkins is brilliant. That voice of his.

Aspects of a Gig

Children Love Me

At Night, They Come Alive

-Photography by Cx2

Unbelievable