Not Bad

Imagine greater than lame Sci-Fy channel

I had seriously low expectations for this series on TNT. Every time I get excited about alien invasion stuff, I am sorely dissappointed. ABC's V was such a bore that I quit watching. Evidently they did too as the show went off the air and then to reappear later. Too late. You lost momentum.

To all networks, be ye large or small: some of us out here in TV land are intelligent viewers. Quit thinking we are stupid. Thank you for your kind attention to this matter.

Everybody wants to follow HBO and their success with The Sopranos. A series brings in not only loyal viewers, but viewership can grow exponentially. Say hello True Blood.

Babe-a-licious factor is provided by Moon Bloodgood. I ain't making that up.

Noah Wyle (ER heartthrob) is the anchor. He does pretty well so far.

Alien critters are two types: mechs or mechanical bipeds with nasty weaponry and arthropod-like "skitters" which are truly ugly, complete with slimy skin.


There is a slight nod to the zombie genre as human children are enslaved by a "harness" which is attached to the spinal column and makes them obedient  to the aliens via telekinesis. 


You haven't missed much and you can probably watch full episodes on the official site, but don't delay too long as these don't stay up long.

Rent This Flick

Rooster Cogburn: That didn't pan out.

Rented True Grit last night and was really impressed.

Jeff Bridges doesn't play a character- he inhabits the body of another person. Think about how few actors do that. Fine actors are a rarity, like a Brando or a Rod Steiger. Bridges is one among the best.

Yes, the supporting cast is terrific (Hailee Steinfeld as the 14-year-old headstrong Mattie Ross is a standout as well as Josh Brolin), but we wait for Bridges to anchor, to move and to make us laugh.

Don't miss this one.

The Velvet Papers, Pt. 13

"I'm on the outside, looking inside
What do I see?
Much confusion
Disillusion
All around me."


"Been there, done that
Been there don't wanna go back"

After I was finally weeded out, that is to say I was gently never called back to play in the last band, freedom was mine. I just didn't want out of bands, rather a compete break from all band/bar musical activity was what the doctor ordered.

I even begrudgingly did weddings-those gigs with lucrative paychecks. I hated them. What I loved was hours spent composing music in perfect quiet and isolation. Quiet wasn't always possible unless I went to UC and holed up in a practice room.  For most of those years, the church and the UC guitar ensemble got my full attention. Composition was my passion. It felt like a sacred calling.
Of course, I kept an eye on the newspaper and read what bands were playing. I knew who was out and playing. Though part of me wanted to be in the game, the memory of the hassle was enough to keep me far, far away.

Evidently, my guitar playing replacement in the last band (not Velvets, to be clear) was not, shall we say, as open-minded or as willing to learn from someone who was clearly the bandleader. The hot seat I left was at times too hot and tensions were high at rehearsal. The guitarist quit. I savored this story like a fine vintage. Oh yeah. You mean all the subtext that I thought was going on was in fact going on? All the implications were a huge massage to my ego, but that didn't make me want to get back out there.
I relished my weekends free of noise, arguments, power struggles, the constant raising of volume, lugging equipment and all the unpleasant elements that outsiders never see about groups. A cup of coffee, a Mac, manuscript paper, pencils and a guitar: these were the elements of bliss.

Coming Out of Exile

"Count" Weg, Nelson and the curmudgeon stand on the same stage again.

Being horrible at remembering dates, I am going to guess that this exile lasted about 15 years ('94 to 2009), give or take. Gigs were played, the guitar ensemble did public performances as well as the Dynamic Duo (flute and guitar), I just stayed out the freelance scene. It took my upcoming 50th birthday to move me out of inertia and finally realize that enough time had passed and all wounds had healed.

More importantly, Craig and I had begun a dialogue, which was awkward at first, but then we both realized that perhaps this shit was all not worth getting excited about. He had been a steady father of three children and a good husband. Both of our lives were filled with responsibility and steadiness, it was time to forgive and forget. Greg and I got back in contact. The ground was set.

Walk the Mine Field Again

I have to admit that the first time I stepped into Live Mix Studios. it felt really weird. A lot of uncomfortable feelings came back. The place had all the familiar hardware of a drum kit, cables strung everywhere, and instruments galore. Though this usually excites me because of the musical possibilities, a queasiness was in my guts. It's one thing to declare that the past is the past, quite another to embrace it completely.



Disagreements? What disagreements?

 Three Velvets met to discuss a setlist. We scribbled some tune titles from the ancient past on a legal pad, but in true Velvet form, we worked more on finishing Al's Pusser's Rum bottle than any real planning. And finish it we did. God love us. It's hard to get uptight when the world's smoothest nectar is flowing free to all at the table.

While I had forgiveness and goodwill in my heart, I was hoping that I did not meet any stone walls after all these years, but it seems that everyone thought that getting together for the old man's 5-0 was cool. All of the band made it (save the difficult one) and atmosphere was highly energized and positive.

Once we actually got playing underway, it felt good. We had a blast and I knew why we still had affection for each other all these years. The music we made together and the experiences making it created a solid bond that remains some 16 or 17 years after the fact. I cannot speak for each and every member, but for me, there is an unbreakable bond, despite any petty differences. We ain't all in love with each other, but there is a mutual respect that remains today. You can't go through all that and not have it leave a permanent impression.
In a sense, the Velvets just scattered and fragmented into other groups. That may seem like a self-centered way of seeing your fellow musicians, but I played a gig last night and it was four V's plus one. Here we are, still playing, even though the instrumentation is somewhat different, it's four out of the original nine.

I didn't hear the comments, but evidently some favorable comments about the old band were shared. While that pleases me beyond measure, I am not interested in merely recreating the past. That would be a huge mistake. The V moniker remains, but does not limit our exploring and exploring we will go.

Last night, after two gigs, I shared a pint with Veeb Dave. It was a pleasure to sit and chat in person instead of emailing. "What I like about this band is that I'm not sure where we're going next." Hell yeah. As long as it's creative, vibrant and keeps me on my toes, count me in.

Just give me two measures before we start.

The Velvet Papers, Part 12

The Regatta 1988-Al, Dave, Bryan, Nelson and a long haired dude

"Until you've seen this trash can dream come true.
You stand at the edge while people run you through. "


"Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot"

I need to write all this down so that I don't forget it or when I do, I have some record of it all. Also, there is something very satisfying and healing about coming to terms with your past.


Preamble

Saturday night, late, the phone rings. It’s CR, of course. We stay in touch every week or two weeks. After discussions of things of a domestic nature, the topic goes to the old band.

“That was a strange band. We had an identity crisis. We didn’t know it, but the audience did.”

Huh? Of what doth he speake?

Rarely doth fellow Veeb "CR" Romeo wax nostalgic about the old days (he of the self-imposed "15 year musical exile" after the breakup), but this conversation was filled with velvety reminiscences. The value of these conversations is two-fold: his perspective on this stuff differs radically from mine (often shockingly) and we laugh like two drunken teenagers.

The Bacardi Limon cocktails kicked in when when this question came: “Could you be Johnny Velvet for an entire evening?” Well, knock me over with a parasol, why don't you?

He’s talking about having a party at his home in NC with specially invited guests with music provided by a small gathering of V’s dressed in full regalia and in full character. I said that it would be tough because the audience would have to be right. No teenagers or kids running around wondering why daddy and his strange friends are making fools of themselves. That would be a lounge buzzkill. Plus, doing Johnny all night might feel weird, fake and a just a little more than crazy.

He was not aware that I had been committing to blog a history of the band, nor that now I was getting towards the parts that were more Johnny related. “It’s one thing to do parody and another to become it.” He nailed it again. How does CR know so much about any Velvet activity when he lives four hours away? I swear it’s uncanny. I have lost count of how many times he’s called shortly after a rehearsal. “He’s almost psychic,” said one V bro. Yep. I have no explanation for it. He is plugged in still.

Who Are You?

Back to our tale: I was Johnny for a while. Yep. Hard to imagine now, but just as the band took over everything, being JV became a full-time job. Nice work if you can get it, right?

To define JV for the uninitiated, imagine every stereotypical lounge lizard and add some Elvis and Vegas, plus a radiant narcissism. There’s your basic Johnny Velvet. This was all played for a gag. Like all characters, he was a combination of people, real and imaginary. Take CR’s loungey keyboard playing, a splash of Bill Murray, one of our friend’s divorced dad’s overtly hound dog lifestyle and Johnny V was born.

It got to a point where people called me Johnny everywhere I went. It didn’t help that I was living a reckless life, one maybe typical of a young nocturnal bar musician, of staying out practically until dawn, ignoring all sensible diet choices and drinking way too much and too frequently. The attention I loved. Who wouldn’t? I played it out full-tilt like the rock star I believed I was and it was a blast. I was lost in a caricature of my own creation.

It just got to be too much.

I hit a low point one summer when the constant gigging and resultant partying was just too much. I remember this depression coming over me and I just wanted to hide from it all. I hid as much as I could in the basement, lost in composing music. I wrote a lot of strange pieces that were a reflection of my total burnout. I needed an emotional outlet and anchor far away from band-bar world. I remember listening to Brian Eno and George Crumb-worlds away from what I was doing.

Bars can be loads of fun when you don't have to be in them all the time. Otherwise, you see them as the loud, chaotic, shallow shitholes that they truly are. There were times when it took a great effort to get up on stage and act out the part. The only saving grace was the music. Music can survive and get through even to the burned out musician. It can be the lifeline to something meaningful and not just danceable wallpaper to hookups and overindulging in alcohol.

It Ran Its Course, OK?

The mighty, but soft spoken drummer Richie Stewart

A couple of things happened that began the VH1-Behind-the-music-like breakup of the group. Tito left because Dow Chemical bought out Carbide and his job was no more. As I said, Tito was someone everyone respected. A friend of mine said recently, "He was a man and you all were just boys. You respected him like a father figure." Richie Stewart was an excellent replacement. A sweet, sweet guy and a drummer of reserve, taste and chops when needed.

We all used to pass around the bass, but Bryan was added as full-time bass player. He had to be a quick study and put up with the oh-so-casual Velvet way of rehearsal. He recalled that at a gig, he inquired as to the key of the song and was told, "Don't worry. By the time the sound reaches the back wall and comes back, it will probably be in key." Interesting theory of acoustics, n'est-ce pas?

Then CR met his future wife and just like the Lennon-Yoko-McCartney story, the center of the band began to fall out. The first warning sign was when CR arrived late (nothing unusual there) to a wedding reception at Edgewood Country Club. He had an after work party to go to and we agreed to set up his keyboard so that all he had to do was roll in and play. He was so late that one of us said something, probably me, and he plainly stated that he didn't want to do this and would have rather stayed at the party (where no doubt time would have been spent with his newly found love).

It's a normal process. It's called growing up, but I couldn't accept that from CR. If he wasn't interested, then the bottom was falling out.

I cannot say that I wasn't difficult either. I was headed down the wedding aisle as well and my thoughts were  often elsewhere, but I am not here to accuse, incriminate, throw stones or any other such thing. The band breaking up was not easy for me. The worst result was that CR and me didn't speak to each other for quite a while. There was tension in other relationships as well.

The band played at my wedding, sans CR of course, but nonetheless, I sensed things were falling apart.

The Next Gig Please

You have to realize at a certain point that musicians are mercenary beings. We have to be because loyalty doesn't sign the check and the world always assumes that we are happy woodland creatures who just so love to play that we do it all for free. Adding to that, we undervalue our "product" and the people who hire us often try to get us on the cheap.

I was a feeling a diva-like when I realized that the group of musicians known collectively as the VBs would not stop playing, but rather reform as another group. There was some underhandedness that came to my attention that really made a clear line in the divide for me. That was a hard,sharp slap to me. "Brother" was in name only, then. Fine. Players gotta play. I get that.

After being adrift for a while, I joined a quartet with Kai (a super bass player and musician), Greg from the Veebs and a drummer named Chris. We called ourselves the Wine Consultants. We were the house band at The Blue Parrot. It was good group and we did some cool music, but after the VBs, but after a while, it fell short on the fun factor. Plus, the owner was a guy who tried to micro-manage us. He wasn't all there mentally either. We ended up with a bunch of Jimmy Buffet songs that felt like a chore to do. I hated "Fins," "Cheeseburger," and all those fake-ass white Caribbean tunes of the Parrot Head catalog.

After being totally free, I felt like I was in prison sometimes in that band. I was told not to say certain things on the mic and in general, all the wild unpredictability that was the Velvets was suppressed. I felt like there were two bosses in the group and I was in between. I have never been a good soldier, following orders and accepting a place in the rear. It goes against my nature. If the music is happening, I'll stand behind a screen in the back, but if not, then we got troubles.

 I never want to be in a group where I am just a run-of-the-mill competent guitar player playing the standard rock stuff with the supposed look and decorum of a "professional." Many professionals play with such predictable restraint that I find my attention drifting. I want to see something real, not just rehearsed chops.

The Wine Consultants ran their course. Our house band gig came to an abrupt halt when Greg booked us at another bar. The Blue Parrot owner thought were exclusive to him and we thought otherwise. A nasty call from the bar owner's wife sealed the deal. The WC's were officially freelance and after a gig or two, were out of a steady job. That was one smooth move on our part.

I got into another group and the same deal. This time I played "guitarist in the hot seat" and learned an endless list of original tunes by the band leader. He and the singer had dreams of writing songs for Nashville-the mythical place where the golden road to stardom is paved with conformity. With this group, it felt like we rehearsed far more than we ever played.

The last memory I had of this band was at Cheers (now Bar 101) during the Regatta. I was in the corner, by the window, and I would catch myself staring out of it. I wanted out of the band, out of the business and out of public performance. I wanted out of music.

I got my wish. I dropped out.

Them Wedding Bells

The world hath gone strange indeed.

"As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment" ~ TS Eliot

Somebody Gotta Do the Work

People believe that music just happens. There's no planning, no practicing, no thought, it all just appears like glitter and unicorns.The Dynamic Duo played a wedding yesterday but, it wasn't me that had to break a sweat. That fell to Li-Li.

My partner in the nuptial biz, Li-Li (flute, piano, voice), was going loony over The Lord's Prayer by Albert Malotte; a perennial favorite. She got the call to play this piano piece a week before the ceremony, so you can imagine the whirling, grinding machinations of trying to master a piano piece she hadn't played in years. Plus, the stress of arranging and rehearsing with the singer (a friend of the family), then attending the wedding rehearsal. All the while, I was chillaxing at home. I got it tough, baby.

The toughest part sometimes is just figuring out how to get the equipment to the right place without bodily injury. Stairs + two fifty pound amps = pain, property destruction and Lortab. Wait a minute, the Lortab part of that sounds good. But, I digress...

I knew she would be suffering from "can't see the forest for the trees" syndrome, that her mind would be on performing this one piece while our main duty was to provide flute and guitar music before the wedding and a few pieces after. So, in light of knowing my partner's focus of her angst, I set about organizing every pre-wedding piece in a neat little setlist and offered to give her a break by playing some solo guitar pieces.

Good thing I did that. We barely had a lull in our pre-wedding music set as the church quickly filled. Some 200 guests were invited and by the time 5:30 rolled around, we had a full house.

Then Why the Shakes, Mister Guru?

Though I preach meditation, preparation and relaxation, still nerves can still upset balance. It's laughable  because I can watch my right hand become off-balance because of the forearm's creeping tension and yet I remain objective in the process. It's kind of like watching the wheels fall off your car in slow motion, but you feel no sense of crashing. You are watching all this with a frustrated resignation. This is something that has manifested itself with greater magnitude over the years or maybe it's just that I have become far more aware of the issue. Regardless, it comes and goes.

What helped is that the combination of my amp behind me and the house system really made us sound full and a great tone. There is something almost transcendental about getting the right sound out of electronic equipment. If your sound sucks, it can throw your whole game off. Nothing makes you happy.

When I play weddings, I am all about doing a good job, but they all have become a blur to me. All the same players again and again: the rowdy friends of the groom, the impossibly manicured bridesmaids, the nervous mom and dad, the groom is usually a nice guy and the bride may or not have even noticed us at all.  It's like a repeating television episode only with ever so slight variations. It's a fog with a nice paycheck at the end.

As we headed home, I could tell a great weight was lifted from Li-Li's shoulders. She was a wreck from stressing and now it was all behind her. I'm sure she crashed both physically and emotionally after the gig. Hell, I was feeling a bit worn myself. Call it age. All those seemingly perfect young people can wear an old curmudgeon's self-esteem down. You can call it self-pity, but wait until you get there and see how the ride feels to you.

Old T.S. was right. The world is indeed a stranger place as we age. Ironically, I feel that I have firmly established my place in it, but yet there are times I feel estranged from it. It is both familiar and empty, rich and flavorless, filled with divine mystery and the dulled primal impulses of the terminally thoughtless and ignorant. In short, it's always been the same; only our perception of it changes.

Gee...I ought to play weddings more often.

The Velvet Papers, Pt. 11

The Latino Triumvirate in full groove “And then it all went horribly wrong.” ~every VH1’s Behind the Music episode One More for the Camel’s Back The Velvets had one more member to add- a nomadic percussionist named Nery or “Nedy” as it became. Nedy introduced himself at a few gigs and immediately began to pitch himself as a player of the congas. He was very persistent and had no trouble singing his own praises. We were hesitant as that would make the band bursting at eight players, but once we heard him play, the deal was done. Now we had a Latino triumvirate and they forged a solid rhythm section. That was both a good thing and a bad thing. What? Trouble in happy Velvet memories? Really? Get to the parts where things get fucked up. It was a good thing because Tres Latinos gave us a distinctive sound. When they locked, the groove became light as air or a bone throbbing jet pulse. It was a joy to watch and exciting to be a part of on stage, but the bad part was that the balance began to shift. The Latino material became so dominant that it began to alienate certain members of the audience. Confidants would be blunt: “That’s not how you used to play! I hate all that endless Latin shit.” What do you do? I would try to write sets that were more balanced, but inevitably Nelson or Tito would call a hopping merengue and I for one couldn’t resist. Another thing is that some factions of the Latin three didn’t understand the lounge aspect anymore. I would get a look like, “What the hell are we doing? We’re better players than that.” Success Doth Monsters of Us All Make At first, Nery seemed like a dream. He was funny and so cool, but success brings out the monster in us all. The trouble with our new percussionist was that he was a super player and he knew it. He was a diva, in short. During our rock material, he would walk offstage like he didn’t want to be a part of something he didn’t respect. He referred to our lead guitarist at one point as “musical diarrhea.” If he had any bad comments about me, I never heard them, but negativity was not something we used to dealing with. Believe it or not, we had some issues, but mostly we got along famously. Nobody liked the load-out at the end of the night and frequently Nery (and others) would blow it off. Can’t say I blame them as who wouldn’t want to linger and party in the afterglow of a gig? Or go home? Consequently, we began to fine people a small amount, like five bucks, if they didn’t help. Back then, what did we take home after 12 hours of labor at a bar gig? 40 bucks? 50? Big F-ing whoop. Still, it raised some issues. At some point, Nery got into it with somebody. So much so that CR, a man who rarely ever raised his voice, stepped in with, “We don’t talk to each other like that.” I began to weigh the value of the Nedster in the group. Who’s Da Boss? Do You Boys Write Your Own Songs? My stepfather once told me that he liked the group because it didn’t appear that any one person was in charge. If only it were that simple. Though we were fairly democratic, I always felt that Craig our de facto leader. He had no ego musically speaking. His on stage announcements were usually few and self-deprecating. Clearly, he had no agenda to be a star and so I think we all respected his opinion not only for those reasons, but because he was more than fair. Slow as hell, but no hidden agenda. Tito might snap us into shape, but it was Craig’s unwavering state of casualness that led the group through tough moments. The goofs never seemed to rouse him nor did the successes ever get more than subdued acknowledgement. He embodies lounge after all. Being in a band has almost nothing to do with your favorite bands or songs, it’s what fits. Sounds obvious, but no so. One of the songs suggested was Behind Blue Eyes by The Who. Now that is a great song, but we couldn’t do that with any conviction. I smelled disaster. Case in point: one night we did Twist and Shout at the Levee and when we finished, there was silence. I remember looking down at a fellow musician who had a look of, “I’m afraid I can’t help you. It sucked.” I have never felt so embarrassed in my life. A fun song to play, but it wasn’t right for us. Any subsequent performances were felt with great trepidation; never wanting to repeat that terrible silence. Originals came from the three founding members and a few from Tito’s father. Some songs got instant approval and others went nowhere. It’s the nature of a band. In order to get a song approved, it had to pass the suck test. A tepid reaction was a good sign that you might as well hang it up. Also, bringing an original song to a group is a tough thing because if rejected, you feel like it’s a personal rejection. Your songs are like your children: you love them equally. My acid test for my songs was always a private session with CR first. I presented a tune called Wild Tonight (in hindsight not my best effort) and he broke out laughing. I pleaded my case that it was not funny, but had a good groove. Needless to say, that song never made the cut. If I could get him and Weg, then the battle was half over. I was happy that some of my songs made it into the band’s repertoire. When a song is called out and makes the set list each time, you know it’s a keeper. More importantly, those songs reflected my real inner life at that time. I craved and loved my freedom. I was free from school obligations and the restrictions of classical music. As I have stated before, the classical guitar (Thanks, Segovia) was considered a legitimate classical instrument, but it has no place in an orchestra. I wasn’t interested in winning the hearts of blue hairs and snobs; I wanted a much wider audience to know my music. Besides, when you sing your own songs, there is an emotional catharsis that is unlike any other musical experience. Besides, it’s cheaper than therapy. I never tried to come in with a tune completely prearranged. Mostly because I was lazy and “documenting a whim” as CR said one time. Better in most cases to let the band do the arranging. It’s smart on several levels: collective arranging can make a simple song a better song, plus everybody puts their individual stamp on it and therefore it becomes theirs in a sense. No longer just “my” song, but ours. Songwriting can occur without any predetermination. There was one occasion where I was very late for a rehearsal with just CR and Greg. By the time I got there, they had written this ultra cool jam, but there were no lyrics. I told them I could write some lyrics. Sure enough, with a rough demo as a guide, I wrote some very stupid lyrics about what else? Getting wasted. The song, Trashed Again, while the lyrics were basically throwaway and I'd have a tough time singing them seriously today, had a great dance groove and became a Velvet standard. I thrive on collaboration. Fishes Out of Water At the Glass, the Levee and Rio Grande, we had a good time. Other places, not so much. Another problem with popularity is that you get hired for the wrong gigs. There was any number of times when another bar would hire us and the crowd would basically ignore us. I remember playing at Griff’s and the atmosphere was a dud from the minute we walked in. I’m not sure what they wanted, but it sure wasn’t us. I do remember a fabulous version of Ruben Blades’ Caina being performed. I was learning how to play salsa bass and it was the first time I felt the groove (which is on the offbeat the entire time). Again, when a crowd ignored us, I went into circle-the-wagons mode and concentrated on making the band happy. This also taught me that our appeal was not universal. For example, we would never please the average Bud drinking, work-a-day motherfucker who wanted to hear “Skinnerd” or “Hank.” As a guitarist, I always rebelled against the notion that that music was some kind of gold standard by which all musicianship was/is measured. The Velvets freed me from that dire prison as well. Weddings are the kiss ass of gigs. I remember a wedding where grandpa wanted to hear nothing but swing. Jesus! Chart after chart of Satin Doll, Fly Me to the Moon and all the standards- that’s seemed like all we played. One, two, three swing tunes weren’t enough as he and grandma wanted to cut a rug. The annoying looks we got when we played anything else! Luckily we had Dave and a couple of guys who could read charts and at least make the tunes happen. We could have said a flat “no,” but weddings are a different animal. It’s not really about reaching an audience, but being a rather being a handy live jukebox. That’s why weddings pay so well. We are your whores for two hours. Let us entertain you, but you is gonna pay for that right. Country clubs are about the same only people drink more quickly and at least try to have a decent time. An evening at Berry Hills Country Club may start out with everyone chatting in groups on the dance floor and basically ignoring us and it might well end with people doing a congo line. Regardless, we would do our thing and hope we seduced people with our rhythms. That evening turned out well and watching the VHS years later, I was pleased with our performance. Unfortunately, I let a schizophrenic (no joke) film much of the evening, so you can imagine some of the camera work is quite “guerilla.” I once heard someone say, “We’re a bit intimidated by your music. We don’t know how to dance to it.” I told her, “No one is judging you. Just have a good time.” We could burn, we could crash and burn, but mostly we were all about the good time. Next: Bound to Fall and Who is This Johnny Guy?