Red Krovvy, Anyone?

Meeting Ryan for the rehearsal at 6pm to set up for New Year's Eve gig involved crawling off the couch into the deep freeze, but I didn't think it would involve bleeding.

We were doing a tune called Affirmation which involved lengthy strumming with the thumb followed by a funky bass riff. I was happy as a clam, trying not to mess up, when something caught my eye.

Looking down at my thumb, it was bleeding pretty good and had gotten on the bass strings. I had cut myself digging through a Haydn box set earlier in the day and thought that it was not an issue.

The look on Ryan's face was hilarious. Methinks my six-string compadre has a bit of the wheezies when it comes to the red, red krovvy flowing real horrorshow.

"Didn't you know?!" he asked in horror.

"No. I didn't." I said to my own sincere disbelief. I am no soldier nor tough guy. Far far from it. No pain involved, so I never noticed.

I was going to take a pic of it for the old blog, but then thought that might be too much.

As opposed to the bloody strings? Ha!

Another thing: the man brings in these complex tunes and expects me to deliver. I told him flat out last night, "My man, you sure do have a lot of confidence in my reading ability." It's a rough ride at first, then slowly the music feels easier. Some of them are his own and that makes you want to really do them justice. I know the agony of having other players butcher original music and it is destructive.

These freakin' tunes can be quite a lot to tackle. All these complex G9#11 type stuff and a maze for a roadmap. In fact, most of the time, once you get a decent fingering for these seemingly complex chords and a grasp of the rhythms, figuring out the form is the hardest thing for me. I find that's very true in Latin and rock music as well. Easy chords-tricky form.

A two and half hour rehearsal with him (or a gig) is unlike most rehearsals that I attend. Though we have lots of laughs, it's a workout, baby. Oh yeah. The hilarious difference is that he was off to a gig after that session while I was a bit shagged.

The New Year's Playathon at The 'Stro should be blog worthy, so if I don't see you before then,

Happy New Year's to you!

I'll be working.

And looking for you-know-who.

Bear Up Thy Ascot

Looking part Dickensian and part hippie, the young Roberto Freep sports what appears to be a variation on an ascot. Not one for smiling, even back in the golden 60's.

But the real keeper is that glorious Les Paul, a guitar he sold recently I believe.

Remembering Snow

This is a good read, kiddies, written by Uncle Bill.

http://dontprintthis.blogspot.com/2009/12/remembering-snow.html

Merry Holidays Everyone!

The Velvet Kings

We three kings of Velvet are.

Wandering casually

to meet at the bar.

When people play together in a band, they develop a rich history. It can also be annoying to "outsiders" who have to endure faded glories that may have not been so glorious in the first place. That's why last night was so much a treat- we were all into it.

There we were: the original Velvet three. The three lunkheads that decided that our loopy, quirky, Latiny music ensemble was worth taking out of the basement.

We weren't at Casa de Weg very long before the rum flowed and we started listening to band tapes. The first reunion tape, from about a year ago, sounded really rough. Even if it's knocking the rust off after sixteen year absence and combine that with a very a forgiving attitude, I still wouldn't want to subject anyone outside the band to that aural torture.

A few tunes made us look at each other and say, "What the hell?" It sounded like two different rhythms at once and three different interpretations of chord changes. Yikes. Spirited, yes, but not polished.

We are not a group of guys who spare any sharp comments when things went awry. Oh no. We might have worn shades, but never rose colored ones, babe.

Then, we dug back even further into the video archives. We had done some "interviews" from the late 80's with our fictitious characters: C.R. Smoothie, Johnny Velvet and Denny La Groove. There is some genuinely funny material in these free rambling, very cheaply shot videos. You'd have to edit the hell out of those and make them into something worth watching.

Which led to an ongoing discussion about making a Velvet mockumentary. Yes, I keep asking my band mates and others if an idea like this is too adventurous and vain to pursue, but no one seems to think it so. Done right, I think this could be very funny. At worse, we have something to laugh at during the holidays.

The last video was of when the Veebs were a quartet and playing in downtown Charleston at a place called Bentley's. In our typical open-ended policy, musicians joined us at different intervals. Totally casual.

I was shocked at how we sounded. This wasn't the Mahavisnu Orchestra, but it was clear that we knew the material and were growing stronger as performers. I looked over at Weg and said, "Damn. We sounded good." In his typical casual style, "You gotta find a part." Yep. Very important to find a suitable part and play it as well as you can. On guitar, it's easy to lose your way in noodling and overplay or attempt things (as I so often do) way beyond your reach.

Our classic combo of Black Magic Woman - Oye Como Va sounded very good. When it was over, I stated, "That was part badass and part goofy." No matter the tune, there was always something a bit quirky about the delivery. I don't think that has ever changed.

Alas, it had to be an early evening for us and soon it was time to head home.

You can say, "So what, dude? It was just an average band that broke up a long time ago. So what?" I agree, bands come and go.

One thing's for sure, the friends you make in those bands tell you the truth. They get to see you at your best and your worst. And in spite of every solo that went nowhere and every time you sang out of tune, they forgave you. And you them, yes?

While we didn't change the world or impact music in any way, it's was a rich experience that changed us. That's the power of music.

More importantly, the power of friendship.

Arrogance Doesn't Win

Yep. We admit it: we watch Survivor. I'm going to up the ante: PBS is the least thing we watch. Laurence Welk reruns have their (zzzz)charm, but if there's any reality TV to watch, it's Survivor. Good or bad, this show started it all.

[The Evil Russell got ripped off.]

I have to admit when we begin to record a new season, there is a bit of weariness. New faces, new annoying people and the first couple of weeks, the pacing can be slow even when the show's producers try to rev it up. But, by the time the season draws to a close, you are sucked right in.

Last night, it was a shock that Natalie won over the expected and rightful winner, Russell. Russell, a ruthless manipulator played the hardest game and yet, in the end, it was his arrogance that lead him to let Natalie, a person who hid behind him and followed every one of his moves, steal the million dollars away from him.

[It helps to have a nice body in Survivor.]

Every season, some player stands on the proverbial soapbox, making their plea to the jury, and talks about integrity and honor, but lying, manipulation and ruthlessness are built into this game. It's a simple matter of numbers: each week, somebody is going home. Besides, "integrity" seems to go out the window when product endorsements, movie roles and even Playboy photo shoots are offered to Survivor participants.

Russell was very hard to like because he was always reminding the viewers at home that he was the puppet master and the other players were doing his bidding. He forgot one very important element: likeability. Ultimately, you have to burn people and lie to them to vote them out, but in the end, you have to do it with charm. Russell had directly or indirectly burned every one of those jury members and so his fate was sealed.

Natalie was chosen over Mick because she truly was the underdog. The other major factor was Mick, like Russell, failed to deliver a moving speech before the jury. In fact, when Mick and Russell delivered their speeches, I thought:

This is not going well. This thing could turn. And did.

Lesson learned: you can burn every one you want

but, in the end,

be likeable.

Quote of the week

"People believe that their experience is absolute."

One Man's Trashure

I love crappy, cheesy albums. People generally find it very difficult to understand that unintentional humor and mediocrity are truly hilarious. At least, that seems to be my experience.

As we all know, there are web sites dedicated to posting albums pics, like here.

But NOW, you can buy them, here.

The thing is, I want to hear some of these golden tracks. And so, I have sent out an email to Black Gem Records hoping for a compilation. We'll see.

I know the Ultra Lounge series has some wonderful nuggets.

So, keep those lps. They are making a comeback.

These Dark Hills

Gonna get in da hot tub
Yeah!

West Virginia is a most curious place. It exists in extremes. Poverty is five minutes away from untold wealth. Engaging open-minded people one minute and then camo wearing gun toting rednecks the next. It's all a bit schizo to be honest, but I have seen all sides to this hilly state-one that is constantly ridiculed by Hollywood and the national media. But the difference is now that I laugh instead of getting miffed because the stereotypes come from some grain of truth. Ask any social worker and your mind will be blown.



Article 1: The Curious Case of the Coach-Cook Hot Tub Cabin Incident

CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- Next week, Kanawha County school board members will decide whether to appeal a grievance board decision won by a former Riverside High cheerleading coach who school officials say posted pictures of topless cheerleaders in a hot tub on a social networking Web site.

Jill Kimble, the former coach, won her appeal to keep her job as a cook at Mary Ingles Elementary School, although she is not allowed to continue as a Riverside cheerleading coach.

I'm confused. A cook that coaches?

School board attorney Jim Withrow said that in December 2008, Kimble was in the hot tub with the girls at a cabin near Summersville, and later posted the pictures on her MySpace.com Web page.

Excuse me, how did the parents NOT know about this? Posted on the web? Way to keep it on the DL.

A caption under a photo remarked that the girls acted like their true selves: "hoes," according to Withrow.

To quote Fred Flintstone, "Oh, boy."


School officials were concerned with both the photos and the caption, let alone that a Riverside principal had told Kimble not to take students to the cabin again after an initial trip in 2007, Withrow said.

School board members Pete Thaw and Bill Raglin argued Thursday that Kimble should not be allowed to keep her job as a cook at Mary Ingles. A meeting where all five board members will vote was tentatively scheduled for Tuesday at noon.
In its decision, the West Virginia Public Employees Grievance Board found that as a cook, a large part of Kimble's job did not require interaction with students, Withrow said.

Still, Raglin said if there was ever a case to appeal, this is it.

"It's outrageous," Thaw said. "We can't allow them to openly call our students those names" -- or, he said, taking topless pictures of students in hot tubs.

You mean that wasn't on the syllabus?

Article: If You Are From Out of Town, You Are a Danger to Our Children

[ http://wvgazette.com/News/200912090794 ]Photographer arrested at mall after taking holiday photos

I do think it's stupid these days to assume that no one is going to get suspicious if you aim a camera anywhere near someone's child. It's a national paranoia and with some justification, but this guy seems innocent. He did bring the arrest on himself when he provoked the cop who was being a dick.

Imagine the tourists that this story is going to bring in!

Where No One Knows Thy Name

Where everybody knows your name,

and they're always glad you came.

"Hey. What's up, man?"

"Nothing. What's up with you?"

"I'm going to ask you a question. (Pause) And I know you're going to say yes."

Laughs. "Ok, what is it?"

"Can you play tomorrow?"

He knew the answer before I did. Don't even bother asking it, dude. I am there.

I kind of had a feeling that this would come my way. The universe is a really strange place. You see, I had taken several days off playing the guitar because my right hand had developed some pain. Naturally, a gig would become available. Especially one where 100% is required.

Rule #42: If thy hand hurts, never push it. There is a temptation to ignore what our body is telling us, the no pain no gain philosophy, and in terms of playing an instrument, this can do some serious damage. But there is always a quid pro quo, Clarice. Giving your hand time to heal is beneficial, but you lose your edge.

The place was packed and parking outside was really ridiculous. This is a very successful place. A great location, great service, nice atmosphere-it's a local blue blood hangout.

Highlights:

Local attorney wanted to impress his female companion by letting her hear "the hot guitarist." What am I, chopped liver? I let this pass because I know who is the star and I celebrate my friend's notoriety. He has been doing this gig for two years and I love playing with him. He makes playing so easy.

Yep, Big Red made it and even sat down right in front of us. Fly Me to the Moon was requested and a piano was mentioned. "Next time, I'm going to bring my piano!" What are you going to do, have a moving van pull up and load in your Steinway?

[Spot the Red. I have blurred the faces of her friends because I'm just cool that way.]

What's up with the piano thing for her? To quote my compadre, "I do not claim to have any insight into her thinking." Always a gentleman, that guy.

After the old vino had had its chance to work its magic, she started singing along with us. "Are the words written down?" Lucky for us, nay.

I must admit that The Red One was in some fine looking company. One attractive cougar was definitely making friendly with my friend and I thought I caught a wink. Yep. I'm sure I did. She came over and requested The Highway Man, a tune made famous by Willie and friends. "Do you know it?" Although I have heard it many times, it is not in my repertoire. Requests come out of left field all the time.

Some of repertoire is very unusual and our version of King Crimson's The Sheltering Sky is one of these oddities. The fact that we play it at all and people like it (or at least do not complain about it) is totally mystifying for me. When we started the groove on this one, Red was raising a ruckus. "Woohoo! What is this?" as she started dancing in her chair. Mademoiselle Rouge is very enthusiastic to understate the obvious.

After the statement of the theme in this long piece, certainly an odd thing unto itself, the solo section finally resolves into continuous 16th notes figures which go on forever. After this curious musical marathon, we got applause. Go figure.

One of Red's companions requested Mary Jane's Last Dance- a Tom Petty standard. We tore into that tune like hungry dogs. I think Ryan was a little shocked that, when the chorus came, I started singing it. Oh yeah. I likes me some Petty. Being the musician he is, he nailed the harmony right along with me. Can there be better pleasures? Nay, say I and all the court. It is truly fun after all the complex harmonies to come down to simple chord progressions. Nothing better.

We even did Walking On the Moon and The Bed's Too Big. I wouldn't say they were exactly polished versions, but the territory we are starting to cover is exciting to me. Jazz standards, not matter how wonderful, can all start sounding the same. Variety is key in my thinking. Key to a happy duet.

After over three hours without a break, we finally settle down to some food and beverage. Personally, I find I have to decompress a bit before I can enjoy my food. I feel like I've been doing laps on the Indy 500 and now have to drive through a residential area.

To my relief, we wrapped things up after dinner. It was past ten, time to break down and go home.

As we did the load out, I noticed the picture of my guitar mate prominently displayed by the entrance. I find it ironic that his place of employment finds it to be a good idea to have his picture up and yet it is something my place of employment finds so foreign. Pictures of our hosts on the web site? Nay.

It was a good night. Certainly for Madam Red and company. Certainly for us.

So, nothing left to do, but drive

namelessly, of course,

off the hill and straight home.

Which One is Crim?

Tony Levin, simply one of the best musicians on the planet, has recently unearthed some old blogposts. The guy was blogging before it was called a blog, so shut your mouth right now.

Here's the link.

Here's some highlights.

"Ade's computer fell on my head. Nuts taxi ride to band dinner, Robt. was not a happy puppy. After checking twice w. waiters that his pizza would be without meat, it came with both ham and sausage. Robt. tossed the ham out the restaurant window, in a classic example of pork defenestration."

"He also plays stick, a richly sounding 10-string instrument that looks 'as if a monster from outer space had put strings over his penis and tuned it at the utmost possible degree of erection. Most disgusting."

"Robert, to reporter at same interview; "You asked two questions. The answer to the second is no."

"Robert, asked by two fans if they could take a photo, "Yes, as long as I'm not in it."

"From Mexico City Crowne Plaza Hotel room svc. menu: "Vegetarian sandwitch-avocado, alfalfa germs, smoked chicken, boiled egg ...."

"Buenos Aires - man from poster company, asked us, while hanging band poster, "Which one is King?"

"These dual interviews (with Bill Bruford) are more fun for me than solo ones - I get to listen to Bill's answers - and sometimes write them down myself. Some examples: "Making an album nowadays consists of this: fifteen months of phone calls, five days of recording, fifteen more months to get it released. (Then you wait another year to get paid.)

When asked what it's like playing drums in King Crimson, Bill made the analogy to lying on a bed of nails. Laughingly urged interviewer to look at the scars on his back."

Keep Thy Pretense Low

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

There's a lot spoken about pretension in music, but I find many examples of such in CD reviews and liner notes.

Here's a review of a King Crimson CD:

Time Out review of Thrak; "Starting out with seven minutes of portentous, turgid instrumental nonsense, 'Thrak' eventually settles into a spineless blend of vapid, overproduced, highfalutin' bombast.... all such hope or promise is quickly subsumed beneath their suffocatingly dreary miasmic muso meanderings."

Pretension is always aimed directly at Crimson and others like them largely because there are people who believe that rock should never venture outside of certain musical parameters. Nothing against The Ramones, but rock can be much more than two to three minute, four chord songs about wanting to be sedated.

I really believe that writers of this kind consider themselves to be far above the musician in the realm of the intellect. One critic actually stated that "music was far too important to be left to musicians." You see, musicians may have talent, but they believe that we are all a bunch of dumbasses when compared to wordmeisters.

It doesn't end with rock critics. Classical has some of the most hilarious writing ever. From a CD liner notes:

"The C major Fantasy's stormy, multi-faceted gestation suggests an analogous ebullition. A litany of cryptic phrases and references impinge like shards-"

Perhaps the story could be told this way:

"Look, the dude (Schumann) was in love. He was 26, she only 16. Her dad said no. It was extreme bummage for him and so he wrote his blues."

Funny post that I found. The flute? Pretentious? Hey, I liked Jethro Tull. Still do, actually. The guy calls the Stick a joke. He loses me there. I do think triple neck instruments go beyond the pale of good taste.

Keep the verbiage to a minimum and the pretense even lower.

Just Say Yes

Freelance musician's credo: Always say yes.

On the way to Chum's, home of the yellow slaw hot dog, my compadre Ryan gave me a ring and asked if I could play the "Beast-tro."

He already had a call into another player, but had not received confirmation and needed backup.

I always say yes and make life as simple as possible for gig leaders.

We did our usual two and a half hour playathon. It was really crowded. People were all in our personal space, but what can you do? Keep one eye on the chart and the other on the guy who keeps backing up into the music stand. Try to concentrate on the music and not the vacation stories being told by the blue blood cougars sitting less than two feet away.

Even Big Red showed up with daughter in tow. The Red One requested Happy Birthday be played when her blond friend showed up. No prob, Red.

Evidently Big Red's daughter, attired in a magnifico mega-cougarific outfit complete with necklace, was rather rude to one of our party. I was not surprised at all. She just has that vibe.

Still, despite the din of alcohol-fueled upper class come-ons (two guys were working really hard on one gal who had to go because she had to play tennis the next day) the crowd is strangely appreciative. No doubt about it: if there are women, the men will spend the money and the party continues.

After a half hour break, we returned to finish the night. We played over the time alloted.

"Technically, we are done, but there are still people here."

Nothing to say, but

yes.

Jeffrey Butler, 50, of Cross Lanes died November 30, 2009.

He was born September 12, 1959, in Charleston. He was retired from the state of Virginia Mental Health and Retardation as a program director, a 1977 graduate of Charleston High School and a graduate of WVU, of which he was an avid fan and supporter, and a member of Charleston Moose Lodge 1444 and Moose Legion 123.

He is survived by his mother, Betty DeBolt Butler of Cross Lanes; father and his companion, Kenneth Butler and Karen Gray, both of Charleston; and uncle, Raymond DeBolt and his wife, Sharon, of Cross Lanes.

Funeral services will be held at 11 a.m. Saturday, December 5, at Bartlett-Burdette-Cox Funeral Home with the Rev. Bernard Toppings officiating. Burial will be in Spring Hill Cemetery, Charleston.

Visitation will be from 6 to 8 p.m. Friday at the funeral home, where there will be a Moose memorial service held at 7 p.m.

Condolences may be sent to the family at www.bartlettburdettecox.com.

Bartlett-Burdette-Cox Funeral Home, Charleston, is in charge of the arrangements.


This came as a sudden shock. Jeff had has some health problems, but certainly no one would have thought this would happen. In fact, it still seems surreal. How can he be gone?

Jeff was one of the most intelligent people I've ever known. I always thought he could have worked for the FBI or CIA not only for his razor sharp memory, but because he could be very hard to pin down.

During a pleasant social visit, he would suddenly say, "I've gotta go."
"Where are you going?"
"Down the road."
And despite any and all further kidding, jokes or inquiry, that's all you would get. He had plans to meet a girl or attend another friend's house. He had many friends-all over the valley. Who knows where he was headed.

He was excellent at directions as well. He actually studied maps and could recall directions to all sorts of destinations. I have been in WV since 1972 and I have no doubt Jeff had seen more and knew more of it than I ever will. The same with history: facts, dates, names. He was an encyclopedia.

He was an avid WVU fan. Some might say obsessed. He and three of his buddies wore football helmets to those games. His vintage helmet was dubbed, "The Helmet of Knowledge." That was typical of the mayhem at those games.

Then there was his sense of humor. Not only was he was incredibly funny, but it was humor that was truthful about human nature and it was extremely broad. He could make a room full of grandmas crack up or go with a twisted remark about the torsos he had hidden in his basement.

I keep looking for some mischievous sign from Jeff to let us know that it's ok. It would be just like him to do something like that.

There really will never be another Jeff Butler.